And so in this Podcast brought to you by Lifestyles…
The proverbial (and literal) gloves come off in this verbal masquerade of utter ridiculousness and yes, injuries do occur (though mostly to Johanna and, since they are mental in nature, hardly noticed). Among the topics of conversation one will find: Jeff’s wandering Forever 21 eyes, Zack Greinke’s ribs, the difference between a half and a full nelson, Cameroonian baseball, Bud Selig-bashing take 47 and much, much more… all to make you smile, laugh and play!
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*Special thanks to our PodMaster Keith Carmack. Keith is all over the interwebz killin’ it. You should definitely check out his crew and their subsequently hilarious podcast at Undercard Films. And keep your eye out for what’s next. Dude’s makin’ a movie!
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Recorded Saturday, March 12, 2011
Too often we ignore tough questions and refuse to speculate on the “what ifs” we confront as a baseball loving community. You could make a strong case that this happened with the steroid scandal and it is inevitable that baseball will face other equally difficult problems in the future. Luckily, RSBS refuses to sit back and rest on our laurels. We will continue to push for consideration of all the too real issues facing the baseball community.
For instance, isn’t it time that we think about what would happen to baseball if the zombie apocalypse broke out? On a geo-political level, Daniel Drezner already addressed the topic and presented several different paradigms. Today, RSBS takes a look at possible MLB specific scenarios.
The Danny Boyle
As players continue to experiment with various PED’s and try to avoid detection by using previously unknown substances, we face a very real possibility of infection à la 28 Days Later. It doesn’t help our chances that baseball players are already genetic freaks with practically superhuman strength, speed and dexterity. In this scenario we have two avenues of salvation. First, we can hope that security reacts quickly and shuts down the stadium so the zombie baseball players don’t escape. Yes, this probably means several thousand dead fans before the problem can be, uh, eradicated but it’s a small price to pay to avoid the annihilation of all mankind. The second possibility is that zombification will affect the players’ brains to the point that they can be taken down easily with available weaponry like bats, t-shirt cannons and plastic knives.
The George Romero
The second scenario is a more classic zombie approach. If an infected fan were to enter the ballpark, the tight spaces, confined exits and various nooks and crannies present a zombie wonderland. Or house of horrors depending on whether you’re playing for the undead or Team Humanity. In this we’re once again lucky to have access to a veritable arsenal of zombie killing treasures and, as long as they remain uninfected, the services of trained head smashing machines like Jose Offerman. Let’s just hope it doesn’t start at Citizen’s Bank Park because Chase Utley’s batting average suggests he’ll be hitting more air than zombie heads.
Our final scenario draws on contemporary inspiration like Zombieland and Shaun of the Dead. Zombies are generally seen as terror-inducing eaters of brains. But recent popular culture reinterpretations have shown us that it doesn’t necessarily have to be that way. For instance, what if a zombie A-Rod stumbled across the mound while Dallas Braden was pitching? Or what if Manny Ramirez became a reanimated corpse? It might even lead to the new catchphrase, “That’s just Manny being a zombie.” Which would be funny because it was true. Sure, we’d have to keep an eye on the epidemic and make sure it didn’t spread. This might even lead to protests against the segregation of zombie baseball players in separate dressing rooms. But I think we can all agree that the comedic potential is definitely there.
Over here at RSBS we’re still hoping that the zombie apocalypse stays firmly rooted in the world of film and fiction. In our opinion, Woody Harrelson and Mr. Darcy are much more suited to zombie fighting than we are. But if the day of reckoning does come, you can rest easy in the knowledge that you were prepared. No, don’t thank us. It’s our job.
Awaiting your praise, huh, Mr. Lung? Well, you’ll get your salutatory essay soon enough. However, today is not the day. Today I’m in too much of a celebratory mood. Why? Why not. It’s the beginning of the Islamic weekend, I have a martini in one hand as I’m writing this and I just obtained Season 2 of True Blood which started off much stronger than the first season.
Not only that, but the Yankees have not yet won the World Series. There’s so much to be thankful for and we’re still three weeks away from Thanksgiving (and the Eid Al-Adha, too).
But more than that, I’m just grateful because no matter what else might be going on, I can still wipe my @$$ without needing any kind of assistance. That, just like Chase Utley, is the gift that keeps on giving:
Happy Hump Day!
Wait. So who won the Home Run Derby? The only participants I even heard about were Chase Utley (for his expressions of love toward New Yorkers and Yankee fans) and Josh Hamilton (who apparently smoked super crack that allows him to destroy baseballs). Oh right. Justin Morneau. Oh well. Nothing to talk about there.
But there’s plenty to talk about when it comes to Josh Hamilton. Or at least that’s what I gather from watching Joe Buck’s play-by-play at the All-Star Game the other night. From Hamilton’s inability to brush his teeth by himself the morning after the Derby (I’m still not sure what Buck was trying to say) to a sloppy and drawn out True Hollywood Story rendition of Hamilton’s life, Mr. Buck managed to alienate most viewers within 15 minutes of the game’s first pitch. And that’s only if you were lucky enough to tune in late and miss the pre-game festivities.
However, none of this should really come as a surprise. Joe even recently admitted that he’s been phoning it in for awhile now. I mean, his on-air performance is about as thrilling as a Hilary Clinton stump speech and almost as inspiring as John McCain’s control of important health care issues.
It’s just sad that this is what Jack Buck’s kid has come to.
Anyway, it could be worse I suppose. He could make odd drunken sounding noises like his broadcast partner, Tim McCarver. Makes me wish for the old days, with guys who could really call a game. Guys like Ernie Harwell. And that’s all I’m gonna say because otherwise I’m going to come across as an old codger. At least it’s better than auditorily fellating an almost Home Run Derby champ.