Well, heck Mrs. Cleaver- I thought it was just swell is all!

As church lawn fete season rapidly approaches and warm summer breezes gently waft the sweetly caramelized cheerio kissed air over the 190, thoughts of all things Sarbes wane ever so slightly. To be totally honest I haven't seen one good jersey to write about in two months. Luckily for the readers being well prepared is almost as crucial to SJB as being drunk enough to actually enjoy a game of Kan-Jam™. So into the vault we go! Where to start? How about with this flaming train wreck? Seriously. I mean, wow. To start, he got Miro Satan's number. Miro Fucking Satan. Undoubtedly one of the laziest Euros in the history of sandbagging, heartless, spineless, goldbricking, slacking, scrimshanking Euros. Miro makes Alxei Yashin look like a coal mining longshoreman roofer. The only proof you need that Miro was one of the lamest Sabres of all time is that my man's name is fucking SATAN. You know, like Lucifer the prince of darkness. However he chose to pronounce it SHIT-TAN. Talk about going a buck sixty out of the gate and cranking the parking brake for no reason. And what is the deal with the antiquated T.V. character call back? Is it because you remind people of a poorly written, unfunny, uninteresting, irrelevant, obnoxious stereotype from before your mother was born? LOL! ROTFLMFAO! What an immense waste of time and money. All on a slug as well. What a treat. The best thing about this jersey is that there is absolutely no conceivable way this jersey could get any worse. Good job douchetard. Sick jersey bro. Sick.