Today is the first inaugural Anne Boleyn Awards, in which we select a baseball player(s) that deserves to be beheaded if we here at Diamond Hoggers were sitting with a giant battle axe in the role of the angry King Henry the VIII. Now there is a reason,
other than the fact that I’m a sick fuck, that I decided to start this middle-of-the-week series that deals with these two fine individuals in history.
I think Henry the VIII was a fine man. Aside from his nihilistic and shovenistic views; he was a known gambler and dice player. As a boy he excelled at sports and hunting. He also was an accomplished musician, author, and poet. He was everything you’d want your son to be if you only had one. Hell, who doesn’t know the song by Herman’s Hermits singing “Henry the VIIIth I am!”? To top it all off, the guy liked to fuck, and I mean a lot. Enough so that he needed six wives for all of his jizzum. He talked the talk, and had the cock to back it up.
That said, Anne Boleyn, despite being prominent was a large dissapointment to many, including her adoring husband, Henry. Boleyn was even a dissapointment in the looks department. According to history:
“She was never described as a great beauty, but even those who loathed her admitted that she had a dramatic allure. Her dark complexion and black hair gave her an exotic aura in a culture that saw milk-white paleness as essential to beauty. Her eyes were especially striking: “black and beautiful” wrote one contemporary, while another averred they were “always most attractive,” and that she “well knew how to use them with effect.”
Anne Boleyn was not conventionally beautiful for her time. She was too thin and her colouring was considered by some to be too dark. However, many observers were impressed by her dark eyes and long, dark hair. One Italian who met Anne in 1532 wrote that she was “not one of the handsomest women in the world”, but others thought she was “competent belle” (“quite beautiful”) and “young and good-looking. ” One historian has compiled all the descriptions and concludes thus:
Translation: the bitch was so ugly she made you wanna paint a face on her ass and teach her to walk upside down on her hands. She was a lousy wife too. She could pull off a mysterious darkness while being pale-white as Casper the ghost. She never tried to make a home for her husband, all she ever did was bitch and complain that he left his laundry laying on the floor of his walk-in closet. The only thing she was good for was being a hole to put things in, cooking, and cleaning. To serve her purpose in life, she needed to be able to spit out and spawn off a son out of her nasty, vag’. If not, she serves no other purpose then to chop off her ugly head and be done with it.
The only thing worse than the way she looked, was that poem written about her where she was a deer (sorry I didn’t pay attention any further than that in English class), and the people who still to this day dress up like this mundane, meaningless history figure, hussy.
Basically, we’re using Boleyn to glorify King Henry VIII, and the fact that he lopped off his wife’s head with a battle-axe due to something that was really his fault. Tell me that isn’t a man’s way of solving problems. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if right after, he went behind the armory and got his knob-slobbered by some little victorian style princess. That’s just the kind of guy Henry was, you know.
Alright, so now that you have a little bit of background on why we’re giving out awards named after a meaningless queen, we’re ready for the ceremony.
Today we’re sad to anounce that there is dual-winners of this award, for equaling eachother in wortlessness.
Today’s inaugrual Anne Boleyn Award winner: Reds
fat-assed reliever Todd Coffey, and Yankees closer Mariano Rivera! Congratulations gentleman. You’ve done a fine job in earning this award the first time it has been given out, and I am more than sure you’ll do your share to earn it again. The only negative is, you can only win it once per week-while you two stiffs can probably make the case for earning it with every lousy appearance you make in a Major League baseball game.
Mr. Rivera wins the award, well, for the obvious reasons. If you set fire to this fuckin’ guy (which would almost be more fun then using a battle axe-but King Henry didn’t need fire), he’d explode in seconds. He’s been a gas can all season, and has like what? 3 saves? Thanks a lot for fuckin’ me on my fantasy team and fuckin’ George’s Yankees all year long. OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!
Mr. Coffey, saved by the bell I presume? Well not really saved by the bell, but you were a shoe-inn to take this all by your lonesome, you fat, smelly pig. Then Rivera had to come in as usual and fuck things up last night for a poor rookie starter that I faced in college. I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of seeing your bloated ass and tiny legs run hard in from the bullpen to the mound. It’s a tired act, and it’s time to change things up, you fuckin’ mooch. You’re not getting guys out, you throw the ball right down the dick-and you walk hitter after hitter in crucial situations! Plus you’re fat, you’re red headed, and you look lik
e a viking nordique with that beard. OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!