In the dregs of January, it’s Bachelor Season

It’s the offseason. Football season is over – not to get too Hunter S. Thompson on you. But that means we have to dig in to the trenches, and survive how we can.

This means things like WWE Wrestling actually start getting watched again. And for some reason I allow my wife to get me into the yearly fuckfest train-wreck that is The Bachelor. 

This year’s Bachelor selection really bothers me. Nick Vail is a shrimp-dick of a special kind. You can scroll back through the archives and you will find not one negative word about Ben Higgins, Sean Lowe, or even Zombie Chris Soules (I don’t care if that’s how you don’t spell it).

But this fuckin’ guy. I’m sitting here hating that I am watching it in the first place. But I’m also watching because I really hate this guy. I mean, here you have the ultimate metro-sexual who you now was some type of nerd in high school who has somehow escaped it quietly and started banging broads left and right. He seems to be a bit of a pole-smoker in-hiding so you know he’s doing it not because he enjoys it – that would be alright in my book – but to gain Hollywood notoriety. Nick Vail, you little son-of-a-bitch!

So if you’re reading this post, and you’re saying ‘But Mevs, this is a baseball blog. We don’t come here to read Perez Hilton type takes on the Bachelor’ I understand you. I have a point.

The bright side to all this, is that with every single rose ceremony where Nicky Hipster selects a few uglies and a few black chicks to fulfill the Rooney Rule; we are THAT much closer to getting to baseball season. The way I always see it is Bachelor is almost at the halfway point of the dreadful off-season. If you can survive this guy falling in fake love with a dozen chicks in an environment where anyone would fall in love created by sponsors and trips; we are going to make it to spring and the winter ice will melt and BOOM! We will have spring training baseball.

Meanwhile, I’m going to keep telling my wife each week that I can’t stand this guy and wishing away my days that my daughter someday meets a Ben Higgins so I can die a happy and fulfilled old man. In my worst nightmare, my little girl brings home a Nick Vail and I have to take him into the basement and show him my gun collection.

I hope one of these episodes he awakes to find that he’s developed a medical condition that mystifies sciences and his three-inch pecker falls off; and the show ends in a fashion it never has before. But I know I’m not that lucky. Press onward, baseball fans.