At this point, I’ll leave you to your own efforts to find pictures of Julio Franco becoming the oldest player to hit a grand slam (and I think the oldest to hit a pinch-hit HR, in the same at-bat, both breaking his previous marks) last night.

Instead, while I was still giddy over Julio’s slam, (do you realize how awkward “Julio’s granny” or “Julio’s salami” would have sounded in that phrase?), Texas was still in the process of taking another one in the can from the Angels. It’s fun to slap around National League teams, but when games are counting as two in the standings, please at least try to show up. They’ve now lost 8 of their last 9, including four to the Angels, with three more coming up this week. The same offense that has averaged 5.4 runs a game until this point has scored 2.5 a game in their last nine. That’s including the six they scored to beat Houston for the lone win in the stretch. When your pitching sucks this bad, you need the bats to work. Granted, last night they went up against Bartolo Colon, and someone likely told him there was a pizza waiting in the dugout for every strikeout he recorded, which in itself is completely unfair strategy, but what’s going on the other nights? I hate to sound like an Indians fan and cash the season in now, only to start talking playoffs when they win four of the next five, but these next three games are about as big as pre-All Star break games can be.

Speaking of the pitching, I’ve been known to hit walls and other inanimate objects that probably aren’t bright ideas to throw your hand into, but what the hell was Kenny Rogers thinking? Getting taken out of a game he was winning 8-1, after throwing 113 pitches and giving up a homer, a single and a walk to three of his last four hitters, it was time for the hook. Thanks for the work, Kenny, now rest up, you’ve got a pitching staff to carry for four more months. Instead, he gets pissed at the water jugs. I don’t know what was said, if the jugs tried to offer unsolicited advice, or told him his mom looks hot in a sundress. Instead, we get to rely on Chan Ho Park, who I’m still waiting to wake up and realize he’s Chan Ho Park, to carry the staff through at least one, maybe more missed starts by Rogers. And something in the back of my head is telling me that this “he’ll miss his next start” line could turn into “it’s not healing properly and he’ll need season-ending surgery” any day now.

Aside from the diamond, the Cavs announced Danny Ferry as their new GM. Somewhere Bob Sura, Chris Mihm, Vitaly Potapenko and half of Trajan Langdon are getting resumes ready for the Gund Arena front office.

I used to never have a problem with Jeremy Roenick. Sure, he’s the kind of guy that you could hate because he was good, but he always seemed to put on a good face and enjoy himself.

Now, I think he’s an asshole. (And for more fun and opinion, skim through Google News!)

Jeremy, you’re a hockey player. Plain and simple. A guy that’s getting paid by the ticket prices fans pay to watch you play a freaking game. It’s not like you’re the water company. Or the guy with the keys to the grocery store. Or even the DJ at a strip club. You’re nothing more than an entertainer.

While I was pissed as anyone that hockey fucked up their last season, I learned to get by without it. It’s just been an extended off-season, that’s all. And while I’ll be thrilled to see the game get back on the ice, my life has been just fine without you. I’m sorry that you have to give so much back in this agreement. The thought of you only making $3 million instead of four keeps me up at night. The thought that your children may have to settle for a Jaguar instead of a Bentley on their 16th birthday drives me to tears. Hell, a few more years of this, and you might have to start feeding your dogs real dog food.

Bring your sport back, but please check your ego at the door. And don’t forget to “kiss…my…ass”.