In 2007, Carlos Zambrano predicted the Cubs would win the World Series.
They did not.
In 2008, Ryan Dempster predicted the Cubs would win the World Series.
They did not.
In 2009, Milton Bradley predicted the Cubs would win the World Series.
They did not.
So who will it be this year? Will it be cockfighter extraordinaire Aramis Ramirez? How about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Soto? What about newcomer Marlon “Gee, I Hope the Bleacher Bums Don’t Give Me the” Byrd? And what if everyone keeps their mouths shut?!?
Worry not, dear readers, for staff “ace” (I guess being fat, lazy and hot-headed constitutes as being an “ace” even if you only win nine games) Carlos Zambrano got a head start on the stupid train last September when he vowed he would retire after 2010 if he had yet another poor season.
Uh… yeah. Okay. And Alfonso Soriano can hit a breaking ball low and away.
Something tells me that even if “Z” does have another poor season (and I sincerely hope he does), he still isn’t that stupid to leave a guaranteed $55 million on the table, to walk away from the game.
Then again, this is Carlos Zambrano we’re talking about.
So hate me haters ‘cuz ya love to hate, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I”m right.
Some of the names may have changed, but the bad contracts continue to pile up. The Chicago Cubs off-season moves have made the Cardinals a much better team than the Cardinals could have made themselves; and the Cards haven’t done… well, anything really.
But watching the Cubs destroy themselves is nothing new.
And when trying to reassert my anti-Cubs passion during the long winter, I got an early charge from this recent Marlon Byrd signing. Huzzah! Hey, Chicago, whadya say? The Cubs are gonna overpay for a centerfielder today!
And a right fielder (Fukudome)…and a left fielder (Soriano)…
Didn’t y’all learn anything about immediately signing a guy from Texas coming off a career year? Nah. Nevermind.
The Prince of New York paints a nice, self-destructive picture of the Cubs organization hinged on that Byrd deal; meanwhile, I’m beginning to believe Jim Hendry is employing the James Cameron school of thought by throwing a ton of money at something that is fundamentally underdeveloped, hoping it will be a hit (or be able to hit… a breaking ball, in particular, if you’re Alfonso Soriano).
The difference is: James Cameron threw a lot of money at some stuff that actually looks cool even if the story is sorta lacking. I mean, I didn’t love Avatar, but I was certainly entertained by it. One can’t say the same for what lines up to be another epic bust of a season for the sCrUBBIE dubbies.
And Jesus hates them.
Don’t hate me, ‘cuz I’m right.
With Major League Baseball and various publications handing out their end of the season awards, RSBS has
decided to follow suit. Sure, our prizes may not come with any
financial reward and they may not trigger any clauses in the affected
players’ contracts. But, it is our civic duty. So, without further ado,
we present Part II of our two part Postseason Awards Show. Jeff, take it away.
Most Prolific Snub:
Come now. No Cy Young Award for the anchoring, go-getting horse of the Cardinals pitching staff? Oh. Okay. Look, I get it. Lincecum is good. He’s really good. But in 2009, Wainwright was better. If you don’t agree with me, well, go get high, eat some Doritos and listen to Beck.
Most Alarming Faux Accusation:
That I had anything to do with the Erin Andrews peep-show tape
Ha ha ha, y’all. Very funny. As soon as news broke that some dude took nudey video of Ms. Andrews while she undressed in front of her hotel boudoir, my phone blew up with texts, tweets, calls and restraining orders. It wasn’t me. I swear. I wish it was… sorta.
Most Consistent Whiner:
Oh, waa-waa-waa, the Tigers blew the season; waa-waa-waa the Lions are awful; waa-waa-waa I don’t like hockey and Bill Laimbeer slept with my girlfriend. Whatever, dude. Be like those who used to live in Detroit and just leave it… and its sports teams. And know that you’ll never live up to Bill Laimbeer. Don’t you remember that gimp mask?
Most Laughable Pre-Season Prediction:
That the Cubs would win the World Series
Up until early August of this year, I was still hearing the precocious murmurings of this being the year for the Cubs. Those individuals would say something in defense now but they can’t because their heads are stuck deep in the sand. Milton Bradley. Carlos Zambrano. Alfonso Soriano. One has the mentality of a child. One saves his best game for the Gatorade cooler. One can’t lay off sliders in the dirt. Get over it.
We at RSBS are at least grateful that we don’t have to deal directly with Chip Caray and his fisting fetish. Well, let me say that I am grateful. I cannot speak for Al on this subject.
Hate me ‘cuz you can, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
And so it goes that the world’s de facto millionaire man-child, Milton Bradley, sees his season end prematurely — stopped cold by the Chicago Cubs’ general manager Jim Hendry. Or so we are led to think…
After the tumultuous inaugural season Bradley had with the eternally ill-fated Cubbies, isn’t it possible that Milton simply quit on his own and Hendry & Co. were left to cover up what would otherwise be the Major League scandal of the year? At this point, I am willing to believe anything; which is why we put our loyal interns to the test — to uncover the hidden meaning in Hendry’s public statement, to discover what’s really going on, to report the Truth.
Dear readers, here are the results — the top ten reasons why Milton Bradley’s season came to an abrupt and early end:
10. Wanted to give lifetime minor leaguer Bobby Scales a shot at breaking the .250 mark
9. There is only room for ONE colossal fail per team and Alfonso Soriano has a pretty good beat on it
8. Admitted to being an avid reader of the Chicago Sun-Times
7. Suffering from an acute torn mental labrum
6. Decided to dedicate more time to establishing universal health care
5. With the NFL season under way, wanted to pass the “Chicago Public Relations Disaster” moniker on to a more accomplished, more deserving, more disappointing (and prettier?) candidate in Jay Cutler
4. Made secret promise to self that if he succeeded in beating Jacque Jones as the most hated right fielder in the history of the Chicago Cubs he would pack up and go home, satisfied, with $10 million more in his wallet
3. Worried his name might leak as Candidate Number 3 in Rod Blagojevich’s pay-to-play federal investigation
2. Adamant about having the Ricketts Family rename his team: The Chicago Uncle Toms
And the number one reason why Milton Bradley’s season came to an abrupt and early end:
1. He’s just… a whiny… little… bee-otch
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
For those of you Cubbie-lovin’ pipedreamers out there who still believe in that wretched mantra of “this is our year” — a mantra disproved over and over and over again — then I got another nugget of fact to help bring you down from that dark cloud of praise.
Paul Sullivan, of the Chicago Tribune, writes:
When manager Lou Piniella spoke to [Alfonso] Soriano last week in Pittsburgh and told him he would be
giving him a few more days off, Soriano said he understood. But Soriano
was miffed when he learned his name wasn’t in the starting lineup
Wednesday after he had a pair of hits Tuesday night.
“That’s why I’m mad,” Soriano said. “If he had told me yesterday, then I wouldn’t come today ready to play.”
Did he really say that? Let’s look again:
“If he had told me yesterday, then I wouldn’t come today ready to play.”
Yep. He said it. And yes, this proves it: Alfonso Soriano is an idiot.
Call me loopy, but if I were making $17 million a year to show up, ready to play baseball every day, then you could bet your behind I would be ready to play baseball — every day. Starter or sub, leading off or in the eight-hole, you’re a goddamn professional baseball player, Alfonso Soriano. You’re living a dream. Okay, you’re living a nightmare, but still, it’s a dream and you should treat it as such.
Goats, black cats, Steve Bartman, decking Michael Barrett, Sori’s hop, Big Z’s hot head, Dempster’s celebratory broken toe, Zambrano vowing to lollygag, the defunct abomination that is Milton Bradley…
Is it any wonder that the Cubs continue to disappoint?
I know, I know. Even I am beginning to think my Cub-bashing agenda has become hackier than hack. Still, what has to be said has to be said because the pain is now inching into my personal life.
My nephew is almost one year old now. While his mother (my sister and devout Cardinal fan) tries the best she can, still, having a Cub fan as a father has already begun to affect him with serious, damaging, negative results.
Here’s what he looks like when his mom dresses him in Cardinals gear:
And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Everyone hates me! I don’t understand it. It’s like I’m the anti-Midas.
Instead of turning to gold, everything I touch turns to s**t. And now
they’re even booing me! I just want to be loved. What do I have to do
to be loved?
RSBS‘ dear readers know that I am always one for some good old japery, so I will ignore the fact that this question comes to us from a Hotmail address with the username LouBrockLover67 attached and assume that you, M. Bradley, were at one time a huge follower of the powerhouse Cardinal club of the mid to late 60s and just go with it. Of course, I am also secretly holding my breath that the Chicago Tribune gets word of this post and in digging through the RSBS archives publicizes the fact that I have called a certain M. Bradley a “whiny spoiled crybaby man-child” on more than at least twenty occasions. Hey, It worked for J-Rod and Raul Ibanez… ah… yes, a fettered blogger can dream; I suppose that is still legal and accepted (for now).
But, at this time, what causes my greatest concern is the notion that the Chicago Cubs are being hijacked by just one individual’s antics, gaffes and overall lack of production at the plate, which runs contrary to the the aged tradition of the Cubs’ losing woes being dependent on a complete team effort (or, more appropriately, the lack thereof).
Yes, M. Bradley, everything you touch does turn to s**t, but at least you have the good sense to throw it back into the stands — with only two outs. Look, they are going to boo you just like they boo Fukudome and Soriano and Lee, just like they booed Kyle Farnsworth and Jacque Jones and Keith Moreland before. Cub fans boo. That’s what they do. There ain’t no changing that.
Still, a less hostile playing environment at Wrigley could be had if you, M. Bradley follow these simple guidelines for success: a) hit over .230 b) bash a Gatorade cooler in the dugout with a bat and c) give back that $30 million and just play for the fun of it!
See? Now that was the easy part. Unfortunately, M. Bradley, since Northsiders have proven over the years that they are absolutely incapable of love (see Bartman, Sammy Sosa and Dusty Baker), I am afraid that you will just have to do without while patrolling the swirling winds of fickleness at Clark and Addison.
Beer. That is the only thing Cub fans love. Buy the right field bleacher bums a couple of rounds of beer with that fat, zero laden paycheck and you might just get the impression that you’re liked… sorta.
Until they sober up.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
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***Pictures of Sarah Palin in a swimsuit also welcome.
Would someone please explain to me how MLB.com (in all its ballsy-get-outta-my-way glory) has no problem calling Washington Nationals’ first round draft pick, Stephen Strasburg, a “future ace” before he has ever put on a Big League uniform? I speak Chinese. I speak it really well. That does not make me the “future ace” of Sino-US diplomacy.
Or does it?
Now that I have suffered through Bud Selig mispronouncing Cincinnati as “Cincin-nattuh”, Harold Reynolds beating the meaning out of the word “signability” and the absence of MLB Tonight (perhaps the most entertaining baseball program on the planet due to its painstaking efforts to suck in the ADD crowd), I think I have a solution to all this draft hoopla.
Listen up, Washington Nationals. Quickly, throw all the money you have at Strasburg, give him a private jet, a harem fit for a politician and whatever else he could possibly need, then let that boy prove himself at the Major League level. Right now.
The current state of the Nationals is, at best, barrenly bleak: their pitching staff is five Shairon Martis wins above absolutely atrocious, their defense makes Alfonso Soriano look like a diamond wheel gold-glover, Adam Dunn can’t get a properly fitted jersey to save his spare tire, the jerseys they do have are highly susceptible to the occasional spelling blunder (*ahem*, make that, blunders, plural), they suffer from an extreme identity crisis (are we the Nationals/Expos/Senators/Twins/Rangers/the other Senators?), enlist low-brow stomach-churning marketing, are exposed by their inability to properly discharge sausages into the stands, still employ Kip Wells and now they can’t even shoot off fireworks without dumping debris on their own city fire chief (thanks for the tip, Matt).
What the hell could it hurt to put Strasburg in the rotation?
Throw him into the D.C. fire already. Let’s see if this kid is indeed a “future ace”, an ace, a back-end starter or a just a plain old joke like the rest of the Washington Nationals.
Do it, do it quickly and do it now. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.