Outside of baseball, there’s really only one man worth wearing the crown of my man-crushdom. Whether its his svelte good looks, his vocal charm, or his ability to cheat on multiple baby’s mamas and still be adored by all… this man is someone I’d like to be, if only for a day.
That man’s name is…
So imagine the pure shock, the horror, the Crying Game-esque gut twisting reaction I had when I was informed that Usher was responsible for the comeuppance, development and overnight success of the height-challenged lesbian look-alike from Canada, Justin Bieber.
If it’s pop-culture-to-baseball analogies you’re lookin’ for, look no more, dear readers. For Usher is the St. Louis Cardinals. He’s tops among R&B artists. He’s consistently good. He’s been around the winner’s circle. He belongs among the best.
Justin Bieber? He’s the Cincinnati Reds. A mere fart in the grand world of entertainment, he too will eventually dissipate back into nothingdom, where he belongs.
The Reds boast a team of Cardinal has-beens: Scott Rolen, Jim Edmonds, Russ Springer… hell, even Walt Jocketty. During the course of a 162 game season, even has-beens find time to shine.
But like Justin Bieber and his awkwardly prolonged fifteen minutes of fame, eventually the Reds will burn out…
…the Cards will be on top…
…and Usher will be asking:
Hate me ‘cuz I wanna eradicate Bieber Fever, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Special thanks to C for the vomit-inducing photo)