Fort Worth, TX
“Any intelligent fool can make things bigger and more complex. It takes a touch of genius, and a lot of courage, to move in the opposite direction.”
Albert Einstein said that. Jon Daniels DID that.
He and the Rangers made their qualifying offer to Sir Parties-a-Lot and now they can sit back and let madness ensue knowing they’ll at least get a nice draft pick if and when some insane club with house money decides to give Josh Hamilton what he wants. (From what I have been reading on Twitter and some other baseball-centric forums, dude is asking for 7 years, $175 million.)
Right? WTF Josh Hamilton? SEVEN YEARS? ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY FIVE MILLION UNITED STATES DOLLARS?!?
If this doesn’t prove Nietzsche’s god is dead lesson, I don’t know what does. Look, I’m impressed with the healthy Josh Hamilton just as much as any one else, but the problems with handing Hamilton a multi-year $100 million+ contract are as well known and documented as Hamilton is out of touch with reality.
1) Dude is a china doll. Can’t stay healthy.
2) Dude is (and always will be) an addict.
3) Dude is also a well documented RELAPSE just waiting to happen.
One minute Josh is manning left field, hitting bombs, the next minute he’s doing t***y shots off your college aged daughter, making it rain with whipped cream and pay-puh. Don’t believe me? Do some Google image searching.
Too risky. Way. Too. Risky. I wouldn’t give him anything over three years. Period. I’d pay him what he’s worth — close to the $20 million a year threshold if healthy (and sober). But no way I’d trust him for anything more than three years. His record speaks for itself.
And while I’m all for giving folks second, third, fourth chances, I’m also smart enough to know when to say when. Hamilton (and his enablers) seem to have a problem with that.
The good news, for sanity’s sake, is that most of the big pocketed clubs don’t have any room for Hamilton. I hear the Braves are interested but don’t want to be too left handed. And the breakout Orioles are in the mix too. But don’t expect L.A. or New York or Boston to go there. I’m not sure the night life in those cities could handle a potential Hamilton disaster either, and that’s really saying something.
So go ahead. Hate me ‘cuz I’m hatin’ on Hamilton’s free agency, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
The names were different, yes, but the destruction was equally devastating. Maybe even more.
I’m talking about the EPIC FAIL that was the 2012 NLCS, compared to the one that first stopped by heart 16 years ago. Yes, in 1996 it was Todd Stottlemyre in the role of Lance Lynn, with Andy Benes as Chris Carpenter and Donavon Osborne as Kyle “I Ain’t A Big Game Pitcher” Lohse.
It was Ozzie’s last year, Tony’s first and the first time back to the World Series since 1987 and the uncomfortable early 90’s era Redbirds… or so I thought.
Up three games to one in the best of seven series against the Atlanta Braves, the jockstraps came off a team that simply couldn’t score any runs; and instead of spending the last days of October in complete ecstasy, the 17-year old me stayed locked away in a dark closet, reading Nietzsche by a flashlight, ultimately coming back to the same redundant question: WHAT… IS… THE POINT?
I still don’t know. What is the point? Why get so worked up over something so silly? I wish I knew. And, for RSBS‘ sake, I sure hope Mr. Krause doesn’t have to find out. Not this year. So yeah, um… go Tigers.
Also, Marco Scutaro is my Toby Flenderson.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
I like the extra wild card playoff. Obviously. My team (the reigning WORLD CHAMPIONS) are in because of it. But I am not a fan of the umpteen ulcers currently destroying my insides as we face a do or die situation against Kris Medlen and the Atlanta Braves.
To prove it, I was going to post a picture of myself suffering from said anxiety before I realized that doing so would drive people away rather than draw them in, so instead I give you a wet and bouncy Michelle Jenneke.
With summer temperatures slowly creeping up on us, the potential for flop-sweat induced wedgies at the ballpark is on the rise, making an afternoon or midmorning rain shower a pleasant respite for anyone wanting to spend some serious time unstuck at the game. Though it is not widely known, making it rain isn’t quite as difficult as one might think. Here are three simple methods:
1. Be Different
As my doleful and oft unctuous colleague, Mr. Krause, taught us, sometimes, making it rain is just a matter of doing the opposite of what’s expected of you.
2. Be Ignorant
This is an easy method for rain-making, especially for those US Americans who reside in the realm of absurdity. I recall Focus on the Family asking their invisible friend to make it rain in Denver, to drown out the “changes” being outlined by Obama at the 2008 DNC.
3. Be Livan Hernandez
This is the easiest, most economical way to make it rain. In fact, I’m doing it right now… to the guy in the cubicle next to me.
Hate me ‘cuz I makes it rain, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Is the hype to be believed? Could the Nationals actually contend this year?
Could they actually contend? Hmm… does watching a pitcher’s duel strike me with uncontainable bonerjamz? HELL to the YES, my friend! There are 159 games left in the season, and the Nats could win ’em all!
Or not. Still, this is not your embarrassing Expo leftover Natinal squad of old; rather, this is a team with bona fide pitching, timely bats and a revered sage at the helm! Do you think Davey Johnson thinks they can contend? I’d bet my 1986 eight-ball wrapper collection he does.
And why not? Without Howard and Utley for a good stretch, the Phillies find themselves offensively challenged. The Braves, still salty from their epic fail of 2011, certainly don’t have all the answers. I’m not convinced the Marlins are really any better than they were before they decided to blind us with ugly and the Mets are the Mets (though don’t sleep on them either, as a .500 season is not entirely out of the question).
The truth is, the NL East isn’t as predictable as it used to be. And the addition of another wild card team makes it possible to hope a little longer.
But the number one reason why the Natinals have a legitimate shot at competing for a playoff spot this year is… The ONE.
Okay, wrong ONE. But believe me, to Stephen Strasburg, there is no spoon. Also taking the red pill this year are Gio Gonzalez, Jordan Zimmermann, Edwin Jackson, Ross Detwiler and (presumably) John Lannan. That’s one helluva starting rotation+.
When Bryce Harper eventually finds his way into the rabbit hole, there will be even MORE reason to respect the potential of the Washington Nationals (not to mention a tomfoolery fodder spike for Deadspin).
Would I put big money on the Nats now? Maybe not. Would I put money on them to be a cellar dweller? Absolutely not. This team could find its identity and they could do it as soon as now. They could be the ’11 D’backs or the ’08 Rays.
Better yet, they could be the 2012 Nationals. (see what I did there?)
Hate me ‘cuz I love Stephen Strasburg as if he were one of my own, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Have a topic you want to see us Filibuster? Send us your Filibuster questions by emailing RSBSblog@gmail.com or by commenting below.
The 2012 season will be Chipper Jones’ last, signifying for me a quaint full circle of baseball life. From a goofy-grinned rook to an over-the-hill vet, I had the pleasure of witnessing it all, and I can’t help but tip my cap to the future Hall of Famer for all he’s done throughout his career, on and off the field.
With that, here is what immediately enters my mind whenever his name comes up:
The 1995 Season
Infuriated by a silent October in ’94, I vehemently quit on Major League Baseball. I will have nothing to do with those crooked chumps! Who do they think they are taking away my Fall Classic!?!? Troglodytes the whole lot of ’em!
Yeah, but… see, there’s this guy named Chipper. He’s with the Braves. He’s gonna be a superstar.
And he was. 23 bombs. 86 RBIs. And one cool stroke, from both sides of the plate. By the second half of the ’95 season, all had been forgiven and I was hoarding baseball cards of a man with a goofy name.
The 2008 Season and Media Guide Photo
Now a lot of stuff happened between 1995 and 2008, but I want to focus on the monster season Chipper had. I recall arguing here with my lugubrious and oft-crotchety colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, whether or not Chipper could realistically hit .400. He made a good run at it, but had to settle for .364, and in the process provided one of the worst media guide photos of all time:
All-Star Weekend 2009
I had the good fortune of attending the ASG in St. Louis and taking in all the awesome that comes with such an extravaganza. As you can imagine, heavy drinking was involved, and on the evening of July 13, at a seedy bar deep in the heart of Soulard, I was an accomplice to my friend losing a $100 bar bet on whether or not Chipper played any significant time at any other position than third base during his career. I found out it only takes a few vodka bombs to forget that Chipper spent a some years manning left field for the Bravos. I think my pal has forgiven me for that absentmindedness. Now if only we could remember how we ended up in Sauget smelling like frosting, covered in glitter.
Yes, I’d say Chipper had a brilliant career, even if the last few years have looked more like an AH-64 Apache helicopter crash after attempting to push its limit. What’s THAT look like? Glad ya asked!
Left-Hand Hate KO’d by Love.
I’ve been living in the house of ill repute. I got my diploma from the University of Strange. Somehow Jeff and Allen let me spew about any and all things on this fine site, which BLOWS MY MIND.
Writers who can’t read get a lot of work because they’re rare. Like tall jockeys. Or short NBA centers. I’m RARE. I grew up with gypsies and dancers. I still can’t read but I CAN dance. And hopefully, unlike the Vatican and Penn State, I’m on the right side of child molestation…
After a great and entertaining World Series it’s free agent time! For managers AND players!
The Cubs’ pursuit of Mike Maddux is on and I’m in. In my strange, odd baseball world, I think he’d be a fine choice. I don’t really believe hitting coaches do much, but pitching coaches do. He did some fine work with the Texas Power Rangers staff and got em back to back AL pennants. I never even heard of half their guys but they pitched their tails off. The older brother of legendary Cubs and Braves great Greg Maddux deserves a shot here. He doesn’t want the Red Sox job, doesn’t want to move his family halfway across the country. And after all the drama that has unfolded in Boston’s recent collapse, who can blame him?
With Theo on board, the Cubs are close to becoming respectable. I just hope the supporting brass knows enough to leave him alone so he can do his damn job without interruptions. There were many rumors that Jim Hendry had people in his ear about who to draft and what free agents to sign. THAT CAN’T HAPPEN AGAIN!!
I remember when I got fired from Applebee’s, because I refused to take Mr. Senor Love Daddy off my name tag. DON’T TELL ME HOW TO DO MY JOB!
Hopefully this doesn’t happen to Theo. Even if he doesn’t pick Maddux, I’m sure he’ll Do the Right Thing.
Follow Johanna on Twitter!
During Games One and Two of the National League Division Series featuring my beloved St. Louis Cardinals and NL powerhouse Philadelphia Phillies, my damn Droid has been blowin’ up with furious text messages, emails and
porn links Twitpics. I’ve noticed a trend: fellow Redbirds fans furious that we haven’t put a pounding on the Phils.
So… uh… let’s back up here.
First of all, love them as I do, I am perfectly aware that the Cards barely snuck into the postseason. In fact, considering the injuries we sustained and the fact that Albert Pujols didn’t become Albert Pujols until a couple months into the campaign, MAKING THE PLAYOFFS AT ALL was a tremendous above and beyond achievement. And remember, if the Braves hadn’t tanked, we wouldn’t even be here.
But we are here, so that’s something to be happy about. Let’s just not be too pompous in our own expectations, shall we? Admit it. On paper, we’re overmatched. We should be down 2-0. We shouldn’t even have a shot. Luckily for us, the game isn’t played on paper, we’re tied up 1-1, and right now we have just as much of a shot as anybody.
BE HAPPY FOR THAT!
And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
As one who is acutely aware of the aggravating effects of speaking in unchecked and unvetted absolutes, I must choose my words wisely, especially after witnessing baseball miracle after miracle after miracle. But, judging from the number of cardiac arrests I had in the comforts of my own home last evening, I can honestly say — WITH COMPLETE AND UNSHAKEABLE FAITH — that September 28, 2011 will go down as the greatest single day of regular season baseball games I have ever watched.
Words… ah, these words… not even they can do my feelings justice:
Baseball. It just doesn’t get any better than baseball, my friends.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Over the last several days, the St. Louis Cardinals have done a number on my heart rate, sending my anxiety levels soaring with on-again-off-again torments akin to those of jilted lovers past. Are the Cardinals trying to teach me a lesson for giving up on them in August? Do they not know that I have kowtowed my ignorance, begged them for compassion? Pleaded for forgiveness?
I NEVER LEFT YOU, MY FRIENDS. I COULD NEVER LEAVE YOU. SO STOP FREAKING ME OUT.
There are three games left. They’re behind the Braves by one game. And they get to play the LOLstros.
Win, and there is great potential that I will break things in my apartment from all the excitement. Lose, and there is great potential that I will break things in my apartment from all the excitement.
I need to get out of the house.
So I’ll be at Sox Park, where the home team will put you to sleep faster than a handful of benzodiazepines chased with a bottle of scotch. I’m hoping the visiting Jays can distract me from the tension filled anxiety of my own nervous psyche. But I will be scoreboard watching. You can be sure of that.
And, when it comes time to break things, I’ll fit right in. No one will probably even notice.