The Camera Adds Ten Pounds -or- Cheezborger! Cheezborger! Cheezborger!

As we sit around and wait for John Smoltz to throw lots of crappy pitches in Barry Bonds' general direction, we can't help but contemplate the changes that occur naturally in one's body.

Some of these here Gorillas are in our mid-to-upper 30's - about the age Bonds was when he started growing like a 16 year old penis at a school dance - and I think it's safe to assume, as the photo to the right surely tells you, that many of us may not be as, um, small as we once were.

And yet, oddly, we are rarely accused of using performance enhancing drugs.

Sure, we're not exactly what you would call "cut." Perhaps we're not "in shape." Maybe we're not even what those quack doctors would call "healthy." But hey, we're still pretty money. Yes, it's true that an unnamed Gorilla recently got a little winded playing MLB '07 - "The Show", but that could happen to anyone, with those new fangled joysticks.

So what are the differences between your typical Gorilla (pictured above) and the Sultan of Sulk? Surly-ness? C'mon, even on nights that Big Al isn't on the mound, we still lead the league in yelling at 20-something blond kids that should be playing indoor soccer. Hat size? Ahem. World - Derek. Derek - world. Hitting skills? Perhaps you've seen our professional hitter roaming right-center field. Skin tone? Why do u think Ronnie is on the squad? Okay, your right, it's because he always has a bottle of crown. But hey, he's black, so we're calling this one a tie too.

So that leaves home runs. We suppose we'll have to concede that one. Even though we play in considerably smaller ball parks where people throw the ball underhand to us, we aren't quite on the pace of the man Berman calls "U.S." I think we all know why that is. Between shitty bats, even shittier balls, and our beloved Parks N Rec moving the goddam fences back at Iglerock - we've not exactly had a great power year, and it is costing us offensively.

And yet, as we noted last week, we're in a prime position to win our sixth straight league title. So we really should, u know, take this next game seriously. Right?

Ah, fuck that. Instead, lets wear shirts that are way to fucking tight, and try to drink 10 biers each before the 6 p.m. start.

Then after the game we'll throw some burgers on a grill - just to prove that we're not juicing, and to avoid any rumors about the early stages of the mental illness that is anorexia. (And no, that's not a disease. We're not gonna call something a disease when the cure costs less than $6 at Burger King.)

Let the chips (and dip) fall where they may. But at the end of tomorrow night, we will have had a helluva time, took some funny pictures, and, hopefully, won a big ball game.

Then on Wednesday, we're totally starting our diet.