CRACK ATTACK!

I awoke the other morning finally ready to publicly deal with the disastrous results produced by the Phillies meek attempt at playing playoff baseball. I knew it would be a rough undertaking, which I can admit I was not looking forward to, but my respect and admiration for the loyal DR readership transcended my personal demons and fueled me to put the pen to the pad and spew a diatribe the likes of which hasn't been seen since the Rizzo administration.

Then it happened.

Most, if not all, generations have their share of sobering moments. Pearl Harbor, the A-Bomb, the assassination of JFK, who shot JR, 9-11...the list of these events is long and evokes emotion, memories and all those responses associated with truly historical moments, especially those that had the added element of total surprise. This was not one of those moments. In fact, file this one even higher than Irish people getting drunk on the list of least surprising shit that has ever happened.

Yes folks, life proved not to be a true fan, and was indeed cruel to Bobby Brown, dealing him his first in what is sure to be a long string of heart attacks. He's 38.

Brown's spokesperson attributed the attack to diet and stress, which must be the fancy new term for crack and malt liquor, because the best part about being a career drunk and basehead is that you're too damn wasted to be stressed about anything. Well, maybe with the exception of that little, multicolored, unidentified creature who is following you around trying desperately to kill you, but is so damn quick and chameleon-like that no one else can actually see it and then they tend do hurtful shit like label you as "insane", but I digress.

The point is that yes, the Phils shit the bed BIG TIME, but take some time to think about what's really important. This damn good team will be around for quite awhile and there truly is always next season, but can we honestly say that about Bobby Brown? Break out your Don't Be Cruel album, put Roni on repeat, fake hump something (bonus points if you pretend it's an underaged fan) and remember the good times. Because you may very well be in the middle of a 2008 World Series celebration, but what will there truly be to celebrate if you didn't take the time to say goodbye to a great crackhead?

So, join me as I take a moment to salute Bobby and let him know that he will be missed. But remember, don't pour any liquor out, Bobby wouldn't have wanted to see booze wasted.