In an election year, it should be no surprise that we US Americans are being bombarded with a barrage of twisty little lies. Whether it’s the Obama camp’s magical math making unemployment numbers “plummet” or Rick Santorum and his imaginary friend pretending that the whole American Revolution and subsequent Constitution thingy isn’t really what it seems, we cannot escape the onslaught of fibbery.
But such fibbery is expected from the political lot. It is when such vitriol enters the baseball universe that I get extremely pissy.
“We were able to get through this because I am innocent and the truth is on our side.”
— Ryan Braun
Um… no. You were able to get through this ‘cuz you’re a multi-millionaire with legit counsel and a Mark Fuhrman wannabe handling your bodily fluids under the direction of King Bud. Exoneration in this case does not equal innocence, Mr. Braun. It merely suggests there is reasonable doubt. You still got more testosterone in you than Kim Kardashian at the NBA All-Star Game. And it seems just as… icky.
“My loyalty is here (Texas). This is where I’ve been, this is where my family has been. I would love to be here.”
— Josh Hamilton
Now I don’t want to go picking on Josh Hamilton because he’s not very bright, but I do want to pick on him for spittin’ the same stupid lie as every other potential free agent baseballer lookin’ to get paid: ENOUGH ALREADY. “My loyalty is here”… pshh. PLEASE. Your loyalty is wherever they pay you the most. That’s how it works and we all know it. Your family is not going to have too much of a problem moving to a different city to chase that pay-puh. Determine who will give you the most money with the most years and that’s where you’ll go. To say anything different is a slap in the face of cold, hard fact. I’m an adult. I can handle the truth. Maybe.
“The guy (Alfonso Soriano) works his butt off all the time.”
— Dale Sveum, Cubs Manager
Okay, Dale. I’m gonna help you out with this one. YOU NEED SOME NEW GLASSES, BRO. See, I’ve been following Sori’s career since he was a young pup. And from New York to Texas to D.C. to the Chi, Alfonso Soriano is THE LAST PERSON ON THE PLANET I would say “works his butt off all the time.” ESPECIALLY while in Chicago. In fact, there is an entire faction of Cubs fans who want him crucified! They wouldn’t flinch an inch if Sori ceased manning left field tomorrow. Forever. For good. Why, Mr. Sveum? Because Alfonso Soriano is the absolute KING of lollygagging. His defense is atrocious and he is NOTORIOUS for gazing at might-be homeruns that are actually doubles that drop in for long singles because he doesn’t hustle out of the box.
If you’re here to fix the Cubs, Mr. Sveum, you might want to know what they’ve been used to the last 103 years: PAIN. SUFFERING. AGONIZING PAIN AND SUFFFFFFFFEEEEERRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING.
Hate me. Fine. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
I’ve lost my…
Rooster Cogburn, my John Mclane, my Jules Winnfield.
I lost Whitney this year AND my all-time favorite Cub, Aramis Ramirez. Armariezz. THAT’S WHAT I CALLED HIM. Didn’t call him A-RAM OR ARAMIS. I always called him Armariezz. THAT WAS HIS NAME. I wish Whitney and Aramis had things to sing together to the Brew Crew but she’s got better things to do now than hang out in MlilaAAAAuwaaakayyy…
Since I can’t hang with Armariezz anymore then I wanna hang with Adrien Brody, Andre 3 Million and Gael García Bernal from that Gillette commercial. That’s a bad@$$ club!
So much hipper than when they had Federer, Henri and Tiger. Can’t believe it happened.
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Would you, MLB? Would you hurry up and tell me what to think about the Ryan Braun situation so I can properly compartmentalize my NL Central adversaries? I need to know if I should hate Ryan Braun or if I should just respectfully dislike him. And I need to know NOW.
When this story broke in early December, I immediately paused 30 Rock on the Netflix stream so I could specifically call my friend, Mr. Mahmud, and mutually gloat in the complete downfall or our fellow divisional foe. Ha ha ha, Prince is gone and now Braun is a fraud… fa la la la la… THE END.
Or so I thought.
I mean, this is the post-steroid era in baseball, right? You get caught with a dirty test, your name is mud. You’re a cheat. An A-Fraud for life.
Unless of course, you’re a likable, attractive white man who plays in a market tailored towards good, wholesome folk. At least, that’s how it seems.
I understand there are some strange circumstances regarding Mr. Braun’s positive performance enhancing drug test, specifically, that there aren’t any “performance enhancing drugs” present, but rather TWICE the normal testosterone levels, which would lead one to believe that such an oddity might be the result of treating a “personal medical problem” (how ’bout I just come out and say it: SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED DISEASE).
My reaction to that is: okay, so what? If dude is TWICE the man everyone else is, of course that would effect his performance, right? And to say he didn’t know what he was being medicated with is no excuse. This is the 21st century. He has every doctor, nutritionist, trainer, coach, jedi master, etc. at his side to advise him on these issues. Don’t take this, Ryan, or else it will RUIN YOUR CAREER.
Then again, maybe Braun just gets a pass because he is a cool dude. People like him. He plays in a small market and he’s white. I guess that makes it all okay.
Either way, I want an answer and I want it now.
Hate me. I don’t care. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
If you’re like me, then you must have been feeling pretty good on Wednesday after the Cardinals sneaked by the Brewers to take a 2-1 series lead in the NLCS. Hell, I wasn’t just feeling good. I was feeling FANCY!!!
Having gotten word that I would be attending Game Two of the World Series in St. Louis, I was also quite busy securing travel arrangements, making a shortlist of folks I’d have to brag to and trying to decide what exactly I was going to eat at the ballpark (there’s so much to choose from!).
And then the Brewers went and won NLCS Game Four.
DAMN YOU, BREWERS! DAMN YOU STRAIGHT TO HELL!
I ain’t havin’ this, y’all. It’s bad enough that we have to go back to Milwaukee now. But I will NOT let a 10-ton vegetarian take away my dreams of going to the World Series! Will not, CANNOT!
It’s time to unlock Steve Jones…
Continuing a long-standing tradition here at this nearly four-year old blog, I wanted to take this opportunity to weigh in on both the MLB playoffs and the Republican primary race in a familiar format. I had a couple thoughts about how to approach this and I really wanted to go with the early front-runner, comparing the Republican candidates to different pizza chains. It kind of made sense with Herman Cain in the race and fittingly enough the Godfather’s Pizza of the race as well (i.e. what the hell is Godfather’s Pizza/Herman Cain). It also allowed for the Jon Huntsman-Chicago Pizza Kitchen analogy with both being the best possible option but too few people having heard of either.
C’est la vie.
The pizza analogy had to go away, though, because just as there are only four teams left in the playoffs, there are only four candidates with the possibility of becoming the Republican nominee and that lines up much more neatly.
On one side we have the two front-runners, the American League of the nominees. The Rangers play the role of Romney, denied their glory the last time out and hell-bent to make up for it this time around. They’re strong fundamentally but they just can’t seem to put it together. Sure, they shut down Rays in the first round but even though they look good, you just can’t be sure they’ll hold on through the end.
Meanwhile, the Tigers bear more than a passing resemblance to Rick Perry. They were quiet for the first half of the season but when they finally decided to get in the race, they did it with a bang. At one point, riding a 12-win streak, they seemed nearly invincible. The bang has gone away, though, and now they more just seem banged up with injuries taking a toll. They could both pull it out and they both have something to prove but the goal seems a little more elusive than it did just a few weeks ago.
Over on the National League side, we have the “non-traditional” candidates. For instance, the Cardinals, just like Herman Cain, came out of nowhere and now are turning heads. Tell me the truth, at the beginning of September would you have given either the Cards or Cain a snowball’s chance in hell? But here we are in mid-October and both are not only making waves but also making people think they’re for real.
The Brewers? Well, you just never know what you’re going to get with the Brewers. One day they’re Ron Paul, the next they’re Michele Bachmann, then they look like Newt Gingrich, and…..well, you get the idea. The Brewers have a serious multiple personality disorder. They looked fabulous against the Diamondbacks and then dropped two straight. They mopped up the field with the Cards in game 1 of the NLCS then looked like amateurs in game 2.
So where does that leave us? Well, here are my predictions. I think the Rangers and Romney roll the Tigers/Perry duo to face the Cards and Cain in a winner-take-all final. But the Republicans are the party of tradition and waiting your turn. They nominated McCain the last time around after he finished second to GB Jr. and this time it’s all about the man McCain vanquished. You read it here first. Romney gets the nod. Just make sure you check back in a year when the next edition of Allen’s Post-Partisan Playoff Preview picks the winners and losers in both the playoffs and the Presidential Election.
I ran the Chicago Marathon yesterday, so pain is on my mind today. Obviously, the Cardinals’ loss to Milwaukee didn’t make me feel much better; but as I sit here with ice on my quads, a beer in my hand and a masochistic grin on my face, I continue to remind myself that a) things are gonna get better b) it’s a MARATHON not a sprint and c) we signed up for this.
With every pitch, with every swing (every stride, every step) our feelings and emotions are fully invested. We worked hard to get here and we’re not gonna lay down and die just because we’re a little knocked down. Instead, we’re gonna lace ’em up, pound the pavement and enjoy the burn.
With a smile.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Image via Christian Petersen/Getty Images)
What better way to celebrate the return of contemporary television’s greatest comedic achievement than to steal one of its taglines for an hyperbolic thrashing of the MLB seasonal awards?
That’s what I thought.
American League Cy Young
Um… no brainer, y’all. Justin FRACKING Verlander. Anything else is just… stupid. And dumb. And Cubbish.
American League Most Valuable Player
Though my repugnant and oft pedantic colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, would like you to believe Mr. Verlander is the “most valuable” to his team, let’s not lose sight of what’s really going on here. You can argue semantics all you want, Mr. Krause, but we all know that the MVP is reserved for a position player. How do we know this? Because the pitchers ALREADY HAVE THEIR OWN AWARD. And that, my friends, is a deal breaker! So the MVP goes to Curtis Granderson. Close your eyes and imagine the Yankees without him this year. Scurry, ain’t it!?!
National League Cy Young Award
Halladay or Kershaw or Halladay or Kershaw or Halladay or… wait, Kershaw? It’s a fine line. And my gut says Kershaw; however, upon further review (and I know using stats from 2010 isn’t fair, but who says I’m fair?), in a galaxy far, far away, Adam Dunn took Kershaw deep. Twice. In one game. And THAT’S A DEAL BREAKER. Congratulations, Roy Halladay. Again.
National League Most Valuable Player
My instincts say Ryan Braun deserves this award BUT Ryan Braun is a Brewer and yep, that’s a deal breaker! So Matt Kemp, come on down! In fact, if Lance Berkman hadn’t done such a nice job, I might also hand Kemp the Comeback Player of the Year Award because, let’s face it, compared to ’09 and ’11, he was nothing short of regurgitated fecal matter last year. Think about it.
Yes, they have other awards too, like, Manager of the Year, Silver Slugger, Gold Glove, etc… but honestly, who cares? Quick, name the 1989 National League Manager of the Year. See, you can’t. ‘Cuz nobody cares (it was the Cubs’ Don Zimmer).
And if nobody cares, well, then THAT’S A DEAL BREAKER!
Hate me, it’s all good. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
How has your relationship with Nyjer Morgan suffered after his attack on Albert’s manhood?
Well it’s about time! Seriously, I was wondering when someone was going to call me out on the conflicting interests of my Nyjer Morgan man-crush. As if publicly rooting for a Brewer wasn’t enough, I had to go and pick the looniest one of the lot, the one who called my team’s future Hall of Fame first baseman “Alberta” Pujols.
My initial reaction to Nyjer jawing at Chris Carpenter in the game that led to the maniacal tweet in question was: Okay, that’s enough, Nyjer. Yapping at your opponent is one thing — one thing Nyjer does quite well and usually within the boundaries of what is considered acceptable in baseball — but he was strutting and yelling “F*** you, p****!” to Carp, a man who could crush Nyjer with his stare if he wanted to. Watching that strange exchange was akin to the feeling one gets when his dog starts sniffing the butts of other dogs at the park: somewhat embarrassing, but also totally natural.
Nyjer is crazy. And that’s why I like him.
He’s… different. He’s a showman. A wild gunslinger. A loose cannon.
He’s also quite talented and completely entrenched in winning. The man wants to win (are you getting this, K-Rod???). Nyjer has more energy in his pinky finger than most Major League squads put together. But along with that fiery and insatiable appetite for winning comes a handful of bad decisions. We saw it last year as he beat his chest while being physically removed from Sun Life Stadium. We saw it when he slammed his mitt into the ground after missing a ball over his head, a ball that stayed in play and rolled around while he pouted. And we saw it on September 7th when he almost got his @$$ handed to him by an angry Cardinals mob.
Do I like that he does that sort of thing? No. But that’s who he is, and let’s be honest, he makes the game interesting. He makes it spark. He is the Dennis Rodman of Major League Baseball; and as long as his numbers back up his jawing, as long as he puts winning above all else, I think he makes baseball better and immensely more entertaining.
Calling Albert names? Our rivals have been calling Albert names for over ten years now. So what?
Words, words, words.
When Nyjer takes a swing at him, that’s when I will have had enough. But not even Nyjer is stupid enough to do that. Albert would DESTROY him like he’s been destroying Brewer pitching (.329 lifetime against the Crew).
Don’t hate me. ‘Cuz I’m right. And you know it.
**Have a topic you want to see us Filibuster? Want to find out the disgusting details of how Mr. Krause shows his “love” for big government? Send us your Filibuster questions by emailing firstname.lastname@example.org or by commenting below.
Earlier this week, when asked about his role as set-up man to John Axford on a playoff-bound Brewers club, the manic and pock-marked hot head had this to say:
“There’s been plenty of save opportunities, and I’ve pitched once in the ninth inning and it wasn’t a save. I’m not happy. That’s the bottom line for me.”
Whaa whaa whaa. Cry me a river, you big, overpaid, underachieving man-baby.
You see, dear readers, K-Rod is what we nowadays call a “stat-whore” — an obvious “save” chaser, a child more concerned about his “legacy” than the overall well-being of his team. And apparently, winning means nothing to him. Being successful means nothing to him. If it did, he’d keep his mouth shut. Instead, he’s yapping about how rough he has it while presumably yearning for a return to that moribund, going-nowhere New York Mets club.
Are we, US Americans, responsible for this man-childish behavior? Probably. To be fair, we are the ones who tune in to train wrecks like The Jersey Shore. We are the ones who judge people based on appearances. We are the ones who look the other way while skinny little Brady Anderson racks up 50 bombs.
Will it ever end? Probably not. But being aware is being alive, which is good news for you and me.
And K-Rod? Well, he is just another one of the walking dead.
PS. Aside from being a big baby, K-Rod is also the poster child against extreme, high definition close-ups. I mean, seriously, there is no reason for a grown man to have that much acne. Unless…