I consider myself a rather feverish defender of Colby Rasmus against the mewling hordes who would trade him away for, say, Rick Honeycutt. However, my devotions to Mr. Rasmus and his flat bill, which makes him look fly, are shamefully lesser than those of this young lady …
No, I’m not going to mock impressionable teens when they undertake something with earnestness. Instead, here’s a decidedly partial listing of things that “Fire Burning in the Outfield” is better than: Creed, the poetry I wrote in college, seafood, the NFL, Broadway musicals, Rick Reilly, “Two-and-a-Half Men,” tribal-armband tattoos, Nickelback, people interested in Casey Anthony’s whereabouts, the body politic. I could go on, but I need to watch that again.
So where’s your hip-hop paean, La Russa?
(Loving ballad to reader Nick for the 411.)