There are few rhetorical gambits more risible than pretending that “generational characteristics” are anything more than astrology applied in ten year increments. While I, as much as anyone, would certainly appreciate it if you Millenial types would kindly exit my lawn post haste, I do not believe we should assign you individual characteristics based on the random assignation of your birth date to a cohort. That said, I will merely mention the following in passing.

You kids, with your Phillies and your Nationals and your sadly pathetic retro-80s electropop, are doing it wrong. As we discussed during the Toronto series, rivalries do not spring fully formed from the gaping maw of Bud Selig’s fevered brainpan. They are forged in the fires of Mount Doom, where hate is a geological force. If you are a Braves fan, you do not hate the Nationals. The Nationals are just the flavor of the month with fantastically bad hair. They’re insects. They’re nothing. You do not hate insects. You crush them, like bugs.

You do not hate the Phillies. Three years of moderately decent play amidst an otherwise decades long march of pathetic horribleness? No. You don’t hate that. You pity that, and try to wash it off when you get out of that godforsaken airport.

The Mets? Oh please. That’s like hating Corky from L.A. Law. No, my lovely wee lads (and lasses.) Braves fans do not hate the Mets. We point at them and laugh, until someone chides us on Facebook about bullying the special needs class and how that’s not the sort of retro-80s thing that we’re supposed to be bringing back around. The Mets! Tie your shoe, Ike Davis.

No, my dear ones. We don’t hate any of those teams, because they’re beneath our gaze. They are…minor, to us. As proper Braves fans, we hate only one team. As Braves fans, we have only one real rival who merits our passion. As Braves fans, we save it all for the garblegarbled Los Angeles Dodgers.

We hates them, my preciouses. We hates them like hobbitses. We hates them like HBO viewers who didn’t read the books suddenly hate Walder Frey. We hates them like Brett Butler slapping yet another weak singl to the opposite field, stealing second and coming around to score the 32nd run of the game with two out. We hates them the way a proper Falcons fan hates Joe Montana and the rassafracking San Francisco Forty-Niners. From hell’s heart, we stab at them. With hate’s last breath, we spit at them. For every season we watched in near-tears as the greatest player in the history of Major League Baseball, Claudell Washington, was denied his rightful trip to the playoffs…

Die, you scum Dog bastards. Die in hell!

Consider this your game thread, if you can stay awake that long…