Way Out In Left: January 9 2005.


Sunday January 9 2005.	WELCOME EVERYONE TO THE LOSER'S SHOW. I'M GLENN AND I'M YOUR HOST UNTIL THE END OF TIME AS WE KNOW IT.
	Why do I even bother with sports? It's fucking goddamn bullshit. Every few years or so ONE of my little teams happen to have a flukey good year and they make the playoffs. Chargers. Padres. Capitals. Cavalier Football. Cavalier Basketball. Whatever. And you know what? I try try try not to get my hopes up, but I can't seem to help it. Hope springs......hope springs....hope springs from a Texaco bathroom right off of I-95 that hasn't been cleaned in three weeks. You know, I tried my best not to get too excited about the Chargers making the playoffs this year, but my hot desire for a champion took over. And of course, they lost tonight. And in typical You're-Glenn-So-We're-Gonna-Twist-That-Knife fashion. Overtime. We tied it on the last play of regulation. Then we missed a field goal in overtime. Then they kicked....Oh, hell, you know the rest. I used every superstition I had tonight. Watched the first half. Turned the sound down for the start of the second half. Watched it on espn.com's webcast. Stood outside in the cold and listened to it through the screen door. Turned everything off and sat in the bathroom in the dark. Nothing. Fucking goddamn nothing. Chargers lose. It's the same old thing in my sports world. Always a bridesmaid, never got within shitting distance of the bride. And don't give me that crap about changing teams. I was born in San Diego, I moved to DC, and I went to UVA. Sorry, but I'm loyal. That's just how I am. I can't change that. So for better or much more likely for worse, I'm stuck with my shit-ass cock-teasing teams. I love them all to death, but just once--ONCE--I'd like to have one of my teams win something. Please. Before I die. C'mon, even the freakin' Red Sox won a championship. Where the hell is mine? WHERE THE HELL IS MINE? It's just not fair. Not fair. Not fair at all.