Hey, what's going on? It's Bill Burn. It's time for the Thursday afternoon just before Friday, Monday morning podcast and I'm just

checking in on you. Sorry, Cleo. My dog just popped up like what the fuck, dude? What's going on? Everybody? How are you? How's it going?

Did you guys watch any sports lately? Oh, Jesus, what happened with the baseball there? Jesus Christ. What a difference a couple of fucking days makes. My God.

The fucking Cleveland Indians up three games to one looking to end their streak. Dude, did I call it or did I fucking call it?

What did I say? Did I say it to you guys? I thought I said that this is just fitting. If I say that on Monday, because I think it was three games or two by then, I said that whatever team was going to fucking win was going to look like they were going to lose.

So they tortured the shit out of their fans and whatever team was going to lose was going to look like they were going to win because they take their emotions right through the fucking stratosphere and then slam them right down on the pavement.

Game seven was literally the microcosm that the way that whole fucking game played out was basically if you ever want to know what it was like to be a Chicago CUB or a Cleveland Indian fan.

And the only reason why they both didn't face plan each other is because mathematically it was not an option. Somebody had to win the fucking thing.

But neither team was just neither team was just going to win this fucking series. That was basically it. That was the point I was trying to make the other day.

They were going to torture the fuck out of their fans to the point that even if they did win the thing, you'd still have some sort of nervous fucking twitch or a tick for like three days afterwards.

Jesus Christ, what a game. If you didn't watch game seven, I feel bad for you as a fucking human being.

You know, as it's fucking 71 degrees in Cleveland, Ohio in November.

Then no reason to be concerned. Let's play ball.

Oh, Jesus. Enjoy it. Enjoy it while last people before we get to the tipping point where this global warming thing isn't a fun thing in November anymore.

Anyways, back to bread and circus. Let's talk a little baseball here.

Talking baseball. Congratulations to the 2016 World Series champions, the fucking Chicago Cubs.

I never thought I'd, I didn't, I mean, I guess I thought I'd say at some point when it finally saw the Red Sox when congratulations to the Cubs fans.

I've been there, you know, and I only, I only last, you know, out of the 86 years, I only saw 36 years of it, right? Of course, you know, whatever, the first 10 years as a kid running around, fucking stickin.

Shit, it fucking, you know, you're poking dead skunks and stuff, you don't give a fuck about a curse, right? Some from my teen years on, I suffered for 20 fucking years, if I'm honest.

I vaguely remember 78 and, you know, 86 was my, was my christening as a Red Sox fan like, hey Bill, this is what it's gonna be like buckle up, right?

So I've been there and Cleveland Indian fans, my condolences, I've been there to, I've fucking been there too, but what a fucking game that was Jesus Christ.

And you know what, the Cubs had to go out of early, they had to score a bunch of fucking rungs because this the game went on, it was gonna tip in favor of the Indians because they had, they had fresh arombs and everybody was fucking shit non, oh fucking, the guy from the devil raise, I don't know anybody's names, by the way.

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