live shot of me in my paris cafe, commenting on the pointlessness of existence, ranting to strangers about taking jobe over mayer, and the uselessness of the sacrifice bunt.
(the lady on the right insists that jobe's otherwordly spin rate was reason enough to take the gamble, so i did what all good frenchmen do, i quit the argument and lit up a galoises, smug in my superiority that high school right handed pitchers are injury risks waiting to happen and it doesnt matter anyway because nothing matters in this world and all tigers' pitchers get hurt.)
/fin