Nightmare Fuel: Sports Statues
(by PHIL RIPPA)
We as a species have decided that one of the ways we want to immortalize our greats is by casting (most of the time) bronze statues of them so we can stand in front of them with our t-shirts tucked into our jeans taking selfies. As proven recently by the Lucille Ball statue – things often go horribly horribly wrong.
I present five examples from the world of sport. Good luck removing these images from your head.
Outside of Wrigley Field is this statue of Harry Caray looking like he lives under a bridge. And he has the souls of the children who tried to cross said bridge trying to escape from his pants.
Jerry Coleman was a god damn American Hero (and a damn fine baseball player). Jerry Coleman should not look like a World War II Elmer Fudd who is happily watching you masturbate.
I have driven past this statue many a time as when Dean used to live Richmond, he was two blocks away from the Arthur Ashe statue. Upon giving me directions the first time, Dean said “turn left when you get to Arthur Ashe beating little children.” It was like Richmond was all “Fine, we will build him a statue but we are NOT happy about it.” My favorite Richmond statue just edging out Jefferson Davis throwing in the towel.
Just know that if you decide you want to go to Detroit and catch a Tigers game, when you go to Comerica Park, Hank Greenberg is ejaculating and using his bat to direct it your way.
Outside of Roberto Clemente Middle School in Philadelphia (which makes sense), zombie Roberto Clemente is rising from the Earth, coming for revenge on all those who have wronged him (and sweet sweet brains). And trust me – none of us are outrunning Zombie Roberto Clemente.