So Sorry 

Veteran comedian, Christopher Guest-mate and Simpsons voice-master Harry Shearer must be licking his lips. Shearer's weekly radio program, Le Show, has a regular feature called "Apologies of the Week," and there's a lot of fodder for him to fod these days.

Shearer also plays incredibly hip tunes in between his commentary and sketches; he's so hip he doesn't even tell you what he's playing. You have to go to the Web site. Forcing radio listeners to sit in front of a computer -- now that's hip! Indeed, sometimes Shearer is too cool for his own good, and his comedy turns into a big winking jumble of air quotes, if you "know" what I "mean."

But I love "Apologies of the Week." I haven't yet listened to the archive of this weekend's show, but if it doesn't dedicate the entire segment to Jason Giambi -- nay, enshrine the lad -- for his plaintive, circular, meaningless sorriness, I may have to stop listening altogether.

Giambi will hereafter be known as The Big Tautopology.

Continuing this week, we have another spectacular sports act of contrition. From today's New York Times:

"Everyone associated with the National Hockey League owes our fans an apology for the situation in which we find ourselves," a sad-faced Bettman said at the conference. "We are truly sorry."

Dig this uptight cat: "the situation in which we find ourselves." As in, "Hey, how did we get here? A press conference? A roomful of reporters? A mob of angry mulletheads deprived of a thin excuse to root for men to knock each others' teeth out? How the heck did that happen?"

Bettman probably doesn't refer to his league's fans as mulletheads. That was my little accoutrement. Allow me one more: Professional hockey? Yaw-fucking-nnn.

Time out! Disclaimer: if I've offended anyone, or disappointed anyone -- not that I've ever done anything wrong -- but just in case, well, I'm sorry. I've got a bad case of rampant 'rhoids, and boy, am I contrite. Rueful. Ful of rue. Shamefaced.

Unlike certain guys I know who don't apologize for nothing, no how, no way: "I'm not like Jason Giambi, I'm not going to sit here and cry about things being unfair or attacks are unfair."

Wow, that Trot Nixon has some cojones, first he blasts A-Rod for being a non-Jeter, and now he's going after...huh? Pardon? That's not Trot Nixon calling Giambi a simpering, apologetic tautologist?

Mais non! It's Jason's teammate, Gary Sheffield, who if he hadn't become a baseball player would no doubt have pursued a career in moral philosophy; who once complained that with friends like Barry Bonds, what kinda guy needs muscle-enhancing enemas? Barry, quoth Gary, sold Gary down the river by giving Gary The Innocent some cream to rub on his leg ("C'mon, Li'l Gar, it's like giving yourself a sensual massage. It's like floating down a hibiscus-scented river in a palm-frond canoe. Aaaahh, isn't that better?").

Sheff also complained that Barry, that damn no-good sumbitch, insisted on paying for their limo ride to Sacramento. But you better get one thing straight, bubba. Sheff isn't like Jason Giambi, who allegedly cries about things being unfair. Which in fact he doesn't, or didn't, unless Sheff misunderstood Jason's apology for all the general unfairness in the world as "crying." But when you're manly enough to share your "parasite" with your buddies, you're bound to see any sort of contrition as a sign of weakness.

It's all rather confusing. Good thing we have Jose Canseco around to sort everything out. He's not sorry, and he's very manly. But he is a bit of a parasite.


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