Playing The Field

Last night after my hockey game (a 10-3 victory in which I tallied 2 assists and Mark was denied on a sick Temu Selanne-esque backhand chance) my sort of lady made a scrumptious dinner of Mediterranean chicken, fresh vegetables and wild rice. After we ate, we retired to the sofa and watched the Chicago Cubs win their first post-season series in 95 years. I enjoyed most aspects of the game except for the constant camera coverage of Kerry Wood’s wife sitting in the stands. After almost every pitch Kerry threw, Fox would cut to her crying and clutching her delicate little hands in front of her face. By the seventh inning, I had enough:

Me: (camera pans to Kerry Wood’s wife) Here we fucking go again. I am sick of seeing that bitch.
My Sort Of Lady: I know, Matty.
Matt: We do not need to see the gold-digging gutter trash Kerry married every time he strikes a guy out.
My Sort Of Lady: I agree. They probably would not put the camera on her if she were ugly.
Me: True. But how many professional athletes wives are ugly? Aside from Kurt Warner. His wife looks like hammered shit.
My Sort Of Lady: Good point.
Me: Look at all those player’s wives. They are like those high school cheerleaders that lettered only in cheer leading.
My Sort Of Lady: I do not think I could ever be a professional athletes wife.
Me: Me either. My tits are not big enough.

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