Tony LaRussa will be back at the Cardinals’ helm in 2011.
I’m happy about that. I’m just as happy about that as I am happy that I still have all my teeth. And believe me, I like having all my teeth.
But I think I’m in the majority of Cardinals fans who really is over the glamour (if you can call it that) associated with Tony LaRussa. Is he a fantastic manager? Indeed. Is he one of the best ever in the history of the game? You bet. But… Mr. LaRussa, what on earth have you done for me lately?
Not that much. Unless, of course, you consider alienating our number one prospect doing something productive.
Look, y’all, it is not my intent to get all privileged and Yankeefied here, to whine about continued success and be an annoying voice of nag; because I know what it feels like to lose. I’m not seeing this for something it’s not. But let’s face it: a team that features both Albert Pujols and Matt Holliday in the lineup and Chris Carpenter and Adam Wainwright in the starting rotation, must be in the playoffs.
2011 is an all-in year for the Cards. They better throw every dollar, every asset, every rosin bag in to winning the whole damn thing.
Anything less will be a complete failure — and probably the last of TLR’s tenure with St. Louis.
Go ahead. Hate me. I don’t care. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
So, it looks like we’ll watch the playoffs from the sidelines this year
since both of our teams decided to nosedive in the second half. Which
teams’ failure is the most discouraging, though, the Tigers or the
A clever move from my sinister and oft pejorative colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, inserting himself into the Filibuster box by stuffing it with this one question, over and over and over again. I guess some part of Mr. Krause is looking for sympathy in the wake of yet another disappointing season in Detroit; because anyone with any sort of baseball awareness knows that the greater discouragement between these two teams most assuredly belongs to the St. Louis Cardinals.
Hell, up to a few weeks ago we were all buzzing about how the Cards could just mail it in for the NL Central title. How could they not?!? A team anchored by two of the best pitchers in the game (Wainwright, Carpenter), flanked by serious ROY candidate Jaime Garcia, a solid Jake Westbrook… and I haven’t even gotten to the offense centered around Albert Pujols and Matt Holliday… a team like this… it screams playoffs.
So how is it that they are dead?
Lack of motivation. Sense of entitlement. Clubhouse squabbling. Streakiness. The absence of a clear, dominating, team leader.
Really, that’s what it comes down to.
Meanwhile, the 2010 edition of the Tigers never had a chance to begin with. Outside of Justin Verlander (who struggled early on), their pitching was a complete mess (Dontrelle Willis anyone?). They started two rookies in Austin Jackson and Scott Sizemore… and at the very last minute they signed a less-than-stellar Johnny Damon to… well, to do what, I don’t really know. His non-impact did the talking. Or not. Depending on how you look at it.
So, Mr. Krause, of course the Cardinals’ 2010 fail remains more epic (as the kids iz sayin’) than your disastrous Detroit Tigers, who are apt to see Jimmy Leyland walk away after the season, so that he can spend more quality time smoking… and… smoking.
But not all hope is lost for the RSBS universe. The Rays and Rangers look like fun teams to root for in the postseason, and let us not forget… Mr. Krause still has a horse in this race:
Hate me ‘cuz I got people who can extract sensitive information, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
***SEND US YOUR FILIBUSTERS****
Something on your mind? Want to see Jeff and Al sweat (separately, not together, eww)? Think you got a real stumper? Send us your Filibuster question(s) by commenting or emailing them to us at email@example.com.
***Pics of Mr. Krause declaring his love for Albert Pujols & Co. also welcome. I have a hunch…
What are your thoughts on Chris Carpenter? Do you take it all as “intensely passionate” or just a good ol’ jerk?
Underneath the Halo
I don’t care much for St. Louis. You could put me pretty firmly in the Brandon Phillips camp on this one and my feelings toward the Cardinals’ organization. I didn’t like Tony LaRussa when he managed the A’s and I don’t like him now. I could care less about Albert Pujols and Alfred Molina. I mean Bengie Molina. Damn. Yadier. I don’t like the Cardinals.
But I do enjoy seeing guys get fired up and making themselves heard. I grew up watching Bob Probert enforce for the Red Wings (I’m guessing he’s also not a big fan of St. Louis based on his interactions with Tie Domi) and the day that Bill Laimbeer and his elbows gave way to Michael and the beautiful game was a sad day for all Michiganders.
So I respect Carpenter going into the fracas and deciding to own it. Sure, he may have been overshadowed by Cueto’s karate kicks and the managers’ ejections. But only one man truly owned this rumble and that man is Chris Carpenter. Without him, it’s just a bunch of guys jawing at each other. He took it to that next level, the level where bad blood becomes real blood and a true rivalry comes into existence.
And, quite honestly, baseball is better for it. Rivalries create storylines and storylines sell tickets. Add a little fisticuffs into the mix and you’ve got magic.
Let’s not get too excited here, though. My respect for Carpenter is finite and in no way extends to the rest of his team. After all, like Phillips already pointed out, they are “little b!tches, all of ’em.”
Photo courtesy of Yahoo!Sports
Leave it to my pessimistic and oft paralyzing misanthrope of a colleague, Mr. Krause, to dampen everyone’s Labor Day spirit by mentioning those two words most feared by fans of our national pastime: Baseball Strike.
Chris Carpenter pitched a one-hit, complete game shut out against the Brewers to further solidify the Cardinals’ grips on the NL Central crown and Al wants to talk about a potential baseball strike!?! This malicious posturing is akin to sleeping with your crazy ex-girlfriend on the eve of your wedding.
Why screw with pain?
Yet Mr. Krause has made a lofty name for himself by dropping unfounded speculation. So we’ll just go with it.
And by go with it I mean briefly say that given the collusion and vindictive-laden history of Major League Baseball and its owners, the Player’s Union has got to have the right to strike as a last (albeit catastrophic) resort. While the horrors of the impetuous strike of 1994 continue to wreak havoc on the game (disillusion among fans, PED scandals, destruction of small market teams, etc), the Union would be absolutely insane to go so far again.
But still, the choice must be there for them to have any leverage.
As great as baseball is, it is not responsible for governing a people. It is not responsible for policing our streets, putting out fires, getting people to work. If they wanna strike, they should be able to do so… then watch as our interest in the English Premier League collectively jumps to dramatic new heights.
If it ever came to that — baseball taking itself for granted… again — then I think we all know how serious the alcoholism epidemic will become among Major Leaguers. I know this because my Labor Day (just one day without work) looked a lot like this:
|Tosh.0||Returns Oct. 8th|
Now imagine 750 out-of-work Sidney Ponsons running through the streets of our nation and tell me the Players Union doesn’t know better.
Hate me ‘cuz I walk the walk, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*Cap tip to Tosh.0 on the video.
Listen up, Major League Baseball. I love you. I really do; and sometimes being in love means having to bring you back down to earth, to be horribly blunt and to shower you with lots of smack (the slang, not the drug, though sometimes the drug seems like a better option in extreme cases, like when you overflow my inbox with crap I don’t want and never asked for).
MLB, you are not the NFL. You are not the NBA. You are MLB.
So while I commend you for trying to drum up interest in something — the first year player draft — that is, on the surface, boring and otherwise three to four years removed (if that) from the current game, I must ask you to please snap out of it!
For the record, I do not care about the NFL and NBA drafts either, but I can certainly see why people do. If you are a basketball and/or football fan, you have seen the potential draftees come up through the highly competitive elite forces of the NCAA. Bowl games are slammed down your throat. March Madness is so mad that it doesn’t end until April. You know the players. You’ve seen their talents. You hope your pro team gets a shot at their services.
In contrast, the potential baseball draftees are as familiar to us fans as is a logical, amicable, non-infuriating Ann Coulter. In the NFL and NBA, if you get drafted, your chances of seeing playing time at the top are almost a given, while most of the guys drafted in the MLB draft will never put on a big league uniform. Sure, your Griffeys, A-Rods and Verlanders — guys who go in the first round or two — will most likely make it; but the majority of the rest will wallow away in the minor leagues, battle disillusionment, come to grips with not being good enough and before you know it they’re faxing TPS reports behind a desk while reading RSBS for giggles.
So as MLB pats itself on its self-aggrandizing back about televising this overblown shindig so they can sell lots of advertising to companies gullible enough to think that it will actually rival that of its football and basketball brethren, you can be sure that I will be spending my time wisely. Dear readers, I advise you to do the same; and just in case you can’t think of anything better to do, here are some suggestions:
- Remember, question and lament the hype of Pete Incaviglia
- Write hate-mail to Rush Limbaugh and sign it “Jesus”
- Clone Chris Carpenter
- Come up with clever gimmicks to sell your new religion start-up (worked for me!)
- Or, God forbid, watch an actual Major League Baseball game with real-life Major Leaguers
Indeed, that is but a short list of things I will be doing instead of watching your draft, MLB. I will not be listening to Harold Reynolds start every sentence with “Now, here’s a guy…” nor will I sing praises of your precious college phenom Stephen Strasburg when he is — as you already told me he would be — drafted in the first round. I’ll wait until he collects the league minimum $400K for that.
I know a poser when I see one and it is because I love you, MLB, that I have to call you one to your face. Go ahead and hate me ‘cuz I’m critical of your identity crisis, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
And let me tell ya, folks, they’re well on their way.
For if Opening Day is any indication as to what we Cardinal fans can expect this season, we are in for a long, painful, vomit-inducing ride.
In fact, I’m still cleaning up the mess I made yesterday.
Thank you, Jason Motte.
But more thanks to you, John Mozeliak, our miserly GM who spent the entire off-season ignoring the Cardinals’ biggest problem: the gaudy, bloody mess of a metastasizing bullpen.
Sure, having a healthy, strong, productive Adam Wainwright and Chris Carpenter in the rotation is great and all. And yes, we will take a lot of leads into the sixth inning; but unless we find a way to get Albert Pujols on the bump for the 7th, 8th and 9th, we are in line to fall apart every single night like Amy Winehouse at an open bar mixer.
And though I am impressed with Jason Motte’s blazing fastball, it’s not really all that impressive when that’s all he throws (that slider that doesn’t slide doesn’t count). I’m sure Jack Wilson was thinking the same thing when he sat back and ripped that game-winner.
Dear readers, if running a baseball organization was a democracy, the revolution would have long been over by now; and the ominous, towering, domineering statue of John Mozeliak would be lying in ruins.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.