Just about every species practices—and in some cases perfects—certain forms of cannibalism.

I didn’t say that. The guy on TV, that anonymous narrator with the fake American accent did. Listen:

Do you know which creature, relative to its size, is irrefutably the most aggressive on the entire planet?

Got me.

I’ll confess, the answer was not my first, or fifth choice. Not a lion (he explained), or an elephant, or alligator, or ant or even a gnat (which I would have guessed, just to be ironic, because as small as gnats are, there have to be even smaller insects whose asses they can kick—otherwise there wouldn’t be so many goddamn gnats).

Check this out: there is a type of frog in South America so insatiable that not only does it attack and attempt to eat anything and everything smaller than itself, it even attempts to ingest things larger than itself. Seriously. Not infrequently (he explained), this overkill (so to speak) leads directly to death: it’s not suicide, it’s even more senseless. When these little fuckers get their mouth around something—another frog, for instance—and refuse to let go, they will hang on until they choke themselves.

Kind of makes you look at old Kermit in a whole new way, huh?

Yeah, I’m the guy who always cheers for the gazelle to escape when it’s being tracked down by the cheetah on one of those nature shows.

But I reckon I’m like most people: whether it’s car crashes or confrontations in nature, it’s almost impossible to avoid watching.

And, as painful as it is for me (not to mention the poor prey) to see, I also can appreciate that if the cheetah doesn’t make the kill, she (and her babies) are just as likely to die. It is, as they say, a jungle out there.

But as grisly as it can be, watching a big cat take care of business is not as bad as the crocodiles cruising the shallow water and pouncing on the thirsty zebras.

But in ascending order of creepiness, I’m not sure anything is more cringe-inducing than the frog. To be certain, there is something beyond primal about frogs. The shark and even the snake have the teeth and they kill quickly, or inject venom to hasten the death. The frog just rolls up and opens its mouth. And swallows.  Or, if it takes a few bites, it patiently gobbles in bits and pieces. It’s not interested in biting, stinging, ripping or shredding. It just ingests. Take a look at the video, below:

Ouch.

Maybe part of it is in knowing that even if faced with certain animals or mammals that could easily kill us (sharks, whales, certain bears, etc.) they are simply not interested in human flesh –or would likely only eat us as a last resort. Looking at a frog there is no question: those unmoving, and unmoved eyes signal only one thing: if I could get my mouth around you, I would.

To which I say: watch out for that snake.

When Reggie Jackson ruled The Big Apple he famously referred to himself as “the straw that stirs the drink.”

Dan Shaughnessy, the controversial columnist for The Boston Globe, has never been loved by many, and he has long been loathed by more than a few (fans and especially players).

Here is a guy who could not complain enough when the team was filled with “characters” like Manny, Damon, Millar and especially Schilling. Now? Arguably they’ve bid adieu to some distractions (Damon, Lugo) and ran out of rope with malcontents (Manny) and did their best to retain delusional free agents (Jason Bay) and picked up gamers who do their talking on the field (Beltre, Lackey) and are now comprised, practically top to bottom, of winners. So who shows up today, whining that the team has become bland? Guess who.

Shaughessy has officially become the anti-Reggie Jackson: he is the stick that stirs the shit.

In recent weeks he has predicted that the upcoming Josh Beckett contract negotiations will end badly. He has giddily wondered if Big Papi is done and how bitter Mike Lowell will be in 2010. He has happily jumped on the naysayer bandwagon about how poor the team’s offensive production is likely to be (as in: they didn’t/couldn’t land a big bomber in the offseason; of course, the song was near the top in runs scored last year so this sudden teeth-gnashing about run production is hysterical at best). He has, in short, been a man in frantic search of a controversy.

I know, you might say. This is what columnists do; it’s their job. Nevermind the fact that this is a poor commentary on what newspaper writers do these days. The point here is that Shaughnessy is slowly but irrevocably being exposed as the most opportunistic of hypocrites. He made a career out of lamenting/celebrating “the Curse of the Bambino”, and then sort of tolerating the good times (for non-fans or people not paying attention, The Red Sox have been to the postseason every season but one since 2003, winning two World Series in the process) but breathlessly pointing out every hiccup and hurt feeling. And, when there was not enough readymade action, he would always foment some. It’s what he lived for. A guy who could not say enough bad things about Manny or Curt, he now invokes both as being the exact type of flavor the team now lacks. The mind boggles. But it really doesn’t. This is Shaughnessy. This is what he does.

Look: if the team is merely a perennial playoff contender who steers clear of me-first prima donnas, I will speak for old school Sox fans everywhere by saying, Great! If there was one thing real fans could have done without the last decade or so, it was the proliferation of pink hat-wearing bandwagon jumpers. It’s safe to assume that so long as the team continues to win, this element will happily attach themselves, but if some of them (per Shaughnessy’s projections) fall by the wayside, all the better. Besides, they’ve really been rooting for the wrong team anyway: if you want bottomless pocketed ownership and me-first mercenaries, there is a team that just opened a very big stadium in the Bronx. In fact, it’s in the shadow of the old stadium Reggie Jackson used to enliven. Maybe that’s the same spot Shaughnessy should have been all these years.