This week we're lifting curses, rooting for underdogs and celebrating Bill Murray's World Series victory.
Bill "FUCKING" Murray
Recommended Pairing: Cannonballs: Alternating pulls from a bottle and a joint.
Despite what ESPN says, I firmly believe Bill Murray won the World Series. Chicago Cub fans deserved every bit of jubilation they have exercised over the few dozen hours, sure. But despite all of the footage of drunken Cubs fans celebrating in the streets and all of the highlights from the game(s), the one thing we'll remember about this World Series is how much we love Bill Murray. He's a goddamn national treasure.
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Remember when the Red Sox broke their curse a few years back and randomly Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore were spotted making out on the field while the entire city of Boston flipping bananas? I'm not surprised. It was for a scene in a terrible movie. The best thing that came from it was when she gets beaned in the dome.
They shouldn't have been allowed within ten feet of the grass at Fenway, that was a historic night sullied by some lame ass guerilla film-making.
Bill Murray was essentially catapulted out onto the field in the moments after the Cubs recorded the last out.
With the absence of Harry Caray and "Mr. Cub" Ernie Banks, Bill Murray has inherited the weight of being the face of a franchise over a century removed from a championship. He's achieved the rare air of fame where you don't just get away with anything you want, you're actively celebrated for just being in the vicinity.
With any other celebrity, being on the field, doing interviews and celebrating in the locker room would be met with at least some aggressive eye-rolling. Yet, here we are in an age of unfiltered snark, an age of dissenting opinions just for the hell of it, and we have an overwhelming cavalcade of praise for a single man celebrating a team's achievement.
This is my favorite:
With any other celebrity, being on the field, doing interviews and celebrating in the locker room would be met with at least some aggressive eye-rolling. Yet, here we are in an age of unfiltered snark, an age of dissenting opinions just for the hell of it, and we have an overwhelming cavalcade of praise for a single man celebrating a team's achievement.
This is my favorite:
So I checked the calendar and we have roughly 65 days left in this terribly weird year, but I just want to say one thing: I swear to god, 2016, if you hurt Bill Murray I will beat you to death with an old VHS copy of Ghostbusters.
