I was going to write something clever about the Army/Rutgers football game that took place at Yankee Stadium yesterday before I realized: no one cares about Army or Rutgers football and unless the Yankees are playing, no one cares about Yankee Stadium stadium either. So instead, I would like to turn back the clock and shed some light on my lugubrious and oft mysterious colleague, Mr. Allen Krause.
As has been mentioned before, Mr. Krause and I met as freshmen in college — a time when long standing family values give way to good old fashioned drunken curiosity and late night emergency room visits take the place of family game night. Lucky for you, the RSBS interns were able to scrounge up some old footage of us playing dizzy bat. Clearly, I am the one spinning and Mr. Krause, well, he’s the one who saves his beer, despite some painful circumstances.
It may be 14 years later, but his priorities haven’t changed; and that is something that deserves applause. Good job, Mr. Krause!
Hate me ‘cuz I drudge up the past, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Do you guys drink beer and eat fried chicken and play video games while you’re supposed to be perfecting your craft?
Frankly, Kevin, I’m insulted. That’s like going up to C.C. Sabathia and asking him if he sits around eating Krispy Kremes while he’s supposed to be working on his change-up. Look at the guy! You don’t get a body like that without a healthy serving of lard and/or hydrogenated fats at least twice a day.
The same is true of the RSBS team. We are a well-oiled machine and part of that oil comes from the grease collecting at the bottom of the multiple family size buckets of KFC original recipe chicken that we consume every single day. Sometimes the grease gums up the controllers of the Xbox forlornly attached to the 13-inch TV one of our mothers gave us in 1998 but luckily a splash (accidental or otherwise) of Schlitz or Milwaukee’s Best solves that problem.
Just kidding. Blogging is a grueling slog through the minefield that is humanity but it’s a slog we happily undertake for you, the reader, on a daily basis. Slogging, however, shouldn’t be entered into lightly. It’s a process, one that often begins with hours of painful research trying to come up with the perfect photo of the current Miss USA:
Or the ideal angle at which to view Ines Sainz:
Sure, it may look easy but there exists the rare occasion when the results more closely resemble the feces streaked walls of the primate cage at your local zoo. That doesn’t mean we didn’t try, though. Also, as a side note, who’s to say that design by defecation doesn’t constitute art?
The fact of the matter, Kevin, is that we’re here day in and day out to bring you a product that requires our full attention and a respect for our audience that belies any sort of orgy of fast food gluttony or the occasional video game bender. What we’re doing is too important to not take care of ourselves. And now that I have fully made my point, I feel vindicated in finishing the cold beer I cracked open while sitting down to write this. Hey, it’s only one out of three. That’s not so bad.
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*The Filibuster will be taking its regular offseason hiatus starting next Sunday. Don’t worry, it will be back in time for Spring Training 2012, so keep a lookout! In the meantime, please enjoy our offhanded satire and scantily clad womenz who will take its place on Sundays during the Fall/Winter. Thank you to all who have written in!
I know we spend an inordinate amount of time discussing Michele Bachmann. The problem is, she’s everywhere and she’s frightening. Some of her statements can be excused as mere pandering to the base and that’s understandable. Some of them may be sincerely held beliefs. But some of them betray a fundamental lack of understanding of economics, policy and the world.
For instance, this past week Bachmann promised a crowd that during her presidency, she would ensure the return of $2 gas. Now, leaving aside the fact that $2 gas is no longer possible without a sustained subsidy regime that would add to the national debt, what is even more frightening is her obvious inability to understand how global commodity markets work and how important world partners determine pricing. Maybe this isn’t important to the base but it is important if you want to be President of the United States. Let me try to explain through an analogy.
This would be like me promising that if you elect me baseball commissioner, I will bring back $3 beers at the ballpark. Sure, you’ll love me for it and you’ll cheer because who really wants to pay $7 or $8 for a small cup of crappy beer. You’ll also quickly realize that my promise is impossible to keep.
See, the first problem is that as commissioner, I don’t have the ability to set prices at independent ballparks. I could ask the owners nicely if they would be willing to do it. I could even threaten to levy huge fines against them if they don’t. But, they have to cover the costs and as commissioner, I don’t have the power to set their prices.
Now, my second option would be to try to uncover stores of previously untapped beer being hoarded at the ballpark in an effort to increase the supply and drive the price down. However, the unit price is set by an external force, the big corporate brewer, and I have no control over them. If the cost to the brewer to produce the beer is $2 a beer and he then sells the product to the park at $3 a beer, the park has to then mark it up in order to pay the salaries of the person selling the beer, take care of upkeep for the concession stand and even put a little money back into the park.
Granted, beer is not a commodity like oil but gasoline, which we’re actually talking about here, is a refined form of a commodity much like beer is a refined form of commodities like wheat and hops. The same rules work on both and economics governs all.
Ultimately, Bachmann’s promise is all the more ironic because the only way to return to $2 gas is for some pretty heavy-handed government intervention. Correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t that what the Tea Party is supposedly dead set against? Logically, it makes no sense. However, when you consider her education and her inspiration, it’s pretty obvious that logic isn’t necessarily a strong suit.
In my house, the MLB All-Star Game is almost Christmas. It’s a time for being with friends and family, for stuffing your face with unhealthy food and coming up with a believable excuse for missing work in the morning while you nurse that helluh-bad hangover.
But to do it, ya gotta do it right. So here is a list of things the RSBS interns and I deem necessary for an enjoyable ASG experience:
Or wine, or gin, or vodka, or peach Faygo (if you’re Mr. Krause)… or whatever it is you shove down your gullet to help you forget Joe Buck is annoying, go for it.
Like I said, Joe Buck — the king of pretension — will have your ears bleeding by the 7th inning stretch if you don’t have a quick finger on the proper controls.
Until the World Series rolls around, the All-Star Game seems to be the one game the rest of the world actually pays some attention to (I know this ‘cuz my mom always texts me during the ASG, commenting on things happening during the game, as if I’ll be impressed). The problem is, the folks at FOX cater to that crowd and seem to feature a ton of feel-good filler before and during the game. Look, that’s cool and all, but I only care about the game, not about hometown heroes or how so-and-so grew up poor and blind and is now an All-Star who can see… sorry. I know that makes me sound like an a-hole, but the truth is: fluff has a time and a place, neither of which are during a game that supposedly COUNTS, which brings me to the next must-have…
A Sense of Humor
Now it counts! This time it counts! The All-Star Game counts! Yeah, okay, whatevs.
A Keen, Observing Eye
This part is tough, especially after about 10 peach Faygos… but the MLB All-Star Game is the one All-Star Game that is played true. It’s not a show of offense. Guys don’t ease up or fall back. They play just like they usually play: hard and to win. When I attended the 2009 ASG in St. Louis, I marveled at each player’s individual effort. Seeing a star-studded field of players who were obviously giving their best to win was a real treat and it’s something that only happens once a year, so PAY ATTENTION DAMMIT!
And, of course, don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
It’s the Fourth of July (properly pronounced JOO-ly, like Grandma used to say) and that means you should be out enjoying the day off, not hovered around your keyboard looking for awesome random stuff on the interwebs. However, if you are hovering around your keyboard looking for awesome random stuff on the interwebs, this is your lucky day ‘cuz the RSBS interns have pulled together a short pictorial collage that amply represents all that is good on this historic day.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right, yo!
The Cubs announced the first Wrigleyville Block Party will be held Friday to Sunday on the west side of the ballpark during the Yankees series. The event is free and features bands, food and drink booths and “interactive” entertainment for families.
Folks, let me be blunt. Unless clogged streets of drunken youths and bands of impatient motorists with horn-happy hands represent the ideal, outside of hosting an actual baseball game, there is very little family-friendly about Wrigleyville. Remember, this the same Wrigleyville where I was assaulted by a blabbering drunk because I was… *gasp*… wearing a pink shirt.
So, curious as to what sort of block party events the Cubs front office planned for the neighborhood, the RSBS interns were sent out on an important reconnaissance mission, and this is what they found:
Pin the Tail on Rats Big as Pigs
In this fun event, lucky participants are encouraged to hunt down Wrigley rats. What they catch, they can keep. Extra points are rewarded for doing it while talking in an exaggerated Ozzie Guillen accent (“rats as beeeg as peeegs”).
The Racist Frozen T-Shirt Game
Pay $10 and you can compete against your peers to see who can put the frozen “Horry Kow” t-shirt the fastest. If anti-Asian ain’t your style, try the “Pujols Mows My Lawn” tee! Fun for the whole family!
Annoying Fan Photo Op
Fork over $25 and you can choose to have your picture taken with world famous Cubs fans Rod Blagojevich, Denise Richards or… Ronnie Woo Woo! Then again, you can also take that $25 and burn it; it’s essentially the same thing.
The Drink Overpriced Horse P!ss Booth
At this funfest, you can drink $7 Old Styles until you a) get sick b) go broke or c) start rooting for the Cardinals!
And finally… the most exciting event of them all…
The Write a Bad Contract Raffle
Participants empty their bank accounts and hand everything over to Jim Hendry, who will then do what he does best: waste money on bad baseball players.
It’s a good thing the Yankees are in town, otherwise Wrigleyville would be a complete mess.
Hate me ‘cuz I kick ’em when they’re down, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
“You don’t boo your own team. I don’t care who
you are or what you say or just because you spent your money to
come here to watch us play that somebody happens to make one bad
pitch and give up a homer and you are going to start booing?”
–Ryan Franklin, April 20, 2011
Um… okay. My patience is… er… nah, forget it. I don’t have any patience anymore!!!
We’re NOT TALKING about JUST ONE PITCH, Mr. Franklin. We’re NOT TALKING about JUST ONE YACKED performance. We’re TALKING about the difference of 4 or 5 games in the WIN column.
And it’s only April!!!
So yeah. Do your job. Get guys out.
THEN we’ll stop booing.
Keep this in mind, sir: YOU make millions of dollars whether you f*** up or not.
WE, the FANS, we are the ONES who KEEP YOU EMPLOYED by dishing out $45 (or more) per game, per SEAT… the ones getting raped by beer vendors selling $8 bottles of crap (Bud Light)… the ones who have to put up with your whiny whimpers to the reporters in the press.
We have every damn right to boo your @$$.
You don’t like it?
STOP LOSING GAMES ALL BY YOURSELF.
And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.