OUT OF HIS LEAGUE - ALEX CINTRON NEEDS IT, SHAQ DON'T DESERVE IT

by Tello Reál, mraspatello@rivalfish.com

"Each Monday, Rivalfish's Rival Room awards two athletes from the previous week that have performed 'out of their league,' for better or worse. As the Jersey Chasers of the land open their mouths and aim for the midsections of anyone wearing a jersey, we at Rivalfish help them navigate the VIP room waters with precision and class" - Rival Room Editor

jer·sey cha·ser, n, A person who only pursues, or is receptive to, the advances of athletes. Most commonly women, and most commonly found on or around college campuses or professional sporting contests.

I’ll be the first to say that I absolutely hate how I feel right now. Myself, and the rest of the Rivalfish posse, returned late last night from the bachelor party of our very own Sean “The Bass� Condon. Yes, a woman is to wed him this September. Direct shocked phone calls and letters to hell, because Satan is the only one who could have matched such a magnificently beautiful and kind and loving bride-to-be with such an avid representation of society’s dregs (seen above). So obviously, a celebration was at hand. And a celebration occurred. My brain feels as impenetrable as my little footsie in a thick ski sock. My lungs feel like they were scorned with the asthma of nine Martin Scorceses. The Rival Room was purposefully neglected and in need of respite. Every man’s brain needs a break from sports. Every man then needs to fill that allotted break time with strippers. We were just doing what was physiologically necessary to cleanse our souls, minds, and collective-consciousness, hoping to bring a much-needed freshness to our daily blogosphere contributions and weekly award offerings.

I had been telling you to f*ck horses, bite wieners, and have vulgar conversations with your domesticated animals. Wasn’t this Monday feature supposed to be awarding athletes for their on-field prowess by steering a nice set or areolas full-speed-ahead towards the deserving recipient? Well that mission statement has been printed and plastered to the back of my hand. As I type this, I read it as it bounces and jostles on my scarred paw. Actually, while reminding me not to ramble about meaningless drabble (and obviously failing to do such) it’s making me dizzy. But it’s not making me unsure of the one thing I’ve been unconsciously waiting an eternity to announce. Ladies of the VIP room night, Alex Cintron, utility man for MY Chicago White Sox, is your Jersey Chaser Target of the Week.

Now it may seem like an obvious “homer� choice, but it’s only homer if you consider the World Series Champions struggling to overtake first place from 2006’s wannabe White Sox, the Detroit Tigers in what has now turned out to be baseball's best division an irrelevant story. Which you probably don't, or you aren't spending time reading a sports blog like an acne-ridden young adult sans social skills. The true SOX and their fans know that all we have to do is win series, and first place will inevitably lie in our laps. 2-out-of-3 here, 3-out-of-4-there, and before you know we are on our way to another 12-1 postseason. In last week’s series against the AL-Central-leading team of homeless fellas from Detroit, our boy Cintron knocked a pinch-hit three-run dongus in the eighth, his first man-swing since September 22, 2005. The sox won 4-3. Thank you Alex; 1.5 games back and the Tigers are sweating like they just left Comerica Park without their full security deal. Next night, eighth inning again. Sox needed a run to break the tie caused by two Joe Crede errors and Cintron needs a hand job. Looking like a heroin-addicted sugar glider, you Chicago Chasers haven’t taken to Alex yet. While White Sox players are finally getting more douche-cleansed and suspect-blemish-covered tail than ever before, it’s not-yet spreading team-wide. No pun intended. What’d he do? Slapped a liner single to left, scoring what would soon prove to be the winning run. Sox a half-game back. Need I say more?

This is White Sox baseball. He joined a World Series team, and showed them why he fit like a phallic-shaped cog in the vaginal “plan� of Dan Raspatello’s girlfriend. Chew on that one for a second, DAN TELLA! I got laid last week, and I hit zero MLB home runs, got out of bed three times, and only wiped my tushy effectively roughly 65% of the time. T his guy is single, spends his off-season in his Yabucoa, Puerto Rico mansion, and sends a portion of his paychecks back to family and friends around the world. This award was made for men like this. Girls, take a deep breath, and blow.

And before I forget you ham sandwich crotches, make sure you give ‘ole Alex a double (pronounced DOO-blay). Cause you aren’t going to need it for Superman aka Big Daddy aka Shazaam aka Shaq-Fu aka Diesel. Not a big fan of athlete nicknames? Then DO NOT LAY SHAQUILLE O’NEAL! I know he’s married and has 14 kids with 23 women. I know he’s hung like the handle of a sixteenth century Katana ninja sword. I hate to say this, but he’s finally proven that he’s getting old. And I’m sure he’s too Goddamn full of pride to admit that such “age issues� may lead to an inoperable Katana-handle, so don’t expect a full prescription of Cialis sitting bedside if you decide to ignore my pronouncement.

In game two of the Finals that would solidify that 350-pound law enforcement professional as one the top three centers in the history of basketball were the Heat to win, Shaq mustered a Will Perdue-esque 2-5 shooting for 5 points. What he couldn’t manage was a Will Perdue-esque night at the line, heaving 6-7 of his free throw attempts violently at portions of the rim, backboard, and opposing fanbase. That notched a lone point for his squad. With those stats in mind, take a second look at Shaquille. Kind of look like he’s about to start drooling? I agree. A little cross-eyed? Yep, I see it too. Possibly illiterate? Yeah, I’d totally agree. I’m sure he’s a great man and intelligent to boot, but don’t act like you Chasers analyze a man quite that deeply. Stats and looks are your criteria, right? I’m wrong? I guess I’ve had it all wrong this whole time. I meant to say “any athletic credentials and a ready, willing, and throbbing manhood.� Is that better? Well, I used to be half-decent at hockey and little-league baseball, and as far as my imaginary girlfriend tells me, I’m revved and ready for engagement, so……..


Tello Reál can be reached for comment or satisfaction at his Wrigleyville headquarters. He will be anxiously awaiting Shaq’s former groupies while lying naked and prone in a vat of re-heated Spaghetti-O’s and Picante sauce. He read it in a Tantric handbook. Be ready for some stinging salutation.