Hate me ‘cuz I have the gutz, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Chris Perez image courtesy of Getty Images; all else taken off other stealin’, theavin’ blogs)
As the 2009 regular season comes to a close, so too do the pains suffered by most Major League clubs (unless you’re the Phillies, of course, who will have to endure a flat bullpen through at least three playoff games) and no team has bled out more publicly than the New York Mets.
I haven’t said a whole lot about the Mets’ woes because, well, everybody else has done quite an adequate job of ripping them apart, feasting on their mishaps, devouring their disastrous misfortune.
Then I found a futon.
On the interwebs.
Ladies and gentlemen, your 2009 New York Mets (played by an inanimate metal futon frame shot with a hand held digital camera):
Yep. It’s broke.
Either just leave it there, dead on the ground, or start all over again fresh with a new, shiny, expensive futon that can take a beaning or two. Put a great big kiddie helmet on it if ya like. I’m cool with that.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
“Yeah, maybe he [Brad Lidge] is not having a stellar season but after what he did last year, the guy deserves a little bit of a break… He’s not really any sort of appropriate object for scorn.”
— Allen Krause
Uh oh. Dear readers, there he goes again.
Indeed, with the above statement, my always venomous and sometimes sneaky colleague across the aisle, Mr. Allen Krause, not only managed to embarrass himself with more tired slandering, but he also succeeded in alienating his entire base: people who love the game of baseball.
Believe me, those people in Philadelphia ain’t too happy about the lackluster performances of one Brad Lidge.
And with a Major League leading 8 blown saves this season, who would be?
Lidge should not be an object for scorn, Mr. Krause? Let me tell you something. Your recent absence from my watchful eye and the overall sanctity of RSBS‘ loyal readers has caused you to forget the most important fact of them all: this is US America!!!
And US America is not some sicko socialist regime where everyone can expect to be treated equally regardless of class. This is not some soft ego-massaging utopia where the Kevin Greggs and Brad Lidges of the world are as praiseworthy as the Mariano Riveras and Joe Nathans. No, this is not some machinated system of social stability, Mr. Krause. This is not some communal crackpot of communist theory. This is not some lewd egalitarian fantasyland where everyone should expect to be taken care of if they get sick and need health care… don’t you know how hard it is for doctors to live their lives with just one Bentley in the garage rather than three!?!
If you can’t succeed on your own, you deserve to be punished!
Whether we’re talking about Brad Lidge or Kevin Gregg or Jesus himself… it doesn’t matter: if you suck, prepare for your roast.
‘Cuz that’s just how life is when you’re free.
Hate me ‘cuz I’m fluent in sarcasm and smarmy as hell, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Just as the homerun he gave up to Albert Pujols during the 2005 NLCS finally falls back to earth, so too does Brad Lidge’s status as an elite Major League closer. Having notched his seventh blown save of the season (by giving up a game-tying single to bonafide bust Milton Bradley no less), Lidge forces us to ask the serious question:
Who in the world is going to be fooled by that low and away slider when you throw it on the first pitch?
And then, I gotta follow up by asking:
Who in the world is going to be fooled by that right-down-central fastball you are forced to throw after they don’t swing at the low and away slider early in the count?
There was a time (it was just last year actually) when Brad Lidge was one of the most feared pitchers in the league. Nowadays he’s looking more and more like Mitch Williams circa 1997 (or Kevin Gregg today — in both cases, it ain’t good).
Lidge lucked out in that his team won it in extras but that doesn’t change the fact that he gave Cardinal fans the type of heart attack once only attributable to prospective hunting trips led by Dick Cheney (no, that will never get old). The Phillies, this year, have proven over and over again that there ain’t no such thing as a sure thing and Lidge’s once-devastating slider is definitely not a sure thing.
You want a sure thing?
Bet on an MMA fight looking at least kinda gay.
Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Old defensive liability power hitters who strikeout 150+ times a year and can’t hang in the National League should retire.
And yes, perhaps players should go back to wool uniforms (‘cuz when you’re itchy, you play with an edge).
Verily! The Gospel according to Jeff hath been spoken.
With that, I virtually extend my hand through the interwebs and take that of my calloused and oft misguided colleague, Mr. Krause. Indeed, I accept his dubious (and ultimately self-deprecating) proposal knowing full well that victory is in my near future.
And, since we’ve opened up the Gospel, let it also be known that:
The closer is the most overrated role in baseball.
And Albert Pujols is the only man who could make me gay.
Wait, did I just say that?
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Round two of the Cubs/Cardinals rivalry kicked off Friday night and once again the game wobbled in the unsteady hands of each club’s respective bullpens.
Ryan Franklin was a success.
Carlos Marmol was not.
If you don’t know by now, Albert Pujols is a baseball god. He hits for average. He hits for power. He steals bases. He motivates his teammates. I would rather donate half my salary to the Republican Party, sit on Rush Limbaugh’s lap and make out with Ann Coulter while listening to the entire Barry Manilow catalogue than piss off Pujols.
No wonder Franklin got the job done.
As for Marmol, well, can anyone blame him for yet another failure? His manager hates him. He has no clearly defined role on the team. And he just found out that General Motors is pulling the plug on the Pontiac line!
Life just ain’t fair; I couldn’t be happier.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(*Base images courtesy of the Associated Press)
For the record, Dear Readers, I am only one and three quarters of an inch shorter than my self-aggrandizing friend and normally trustworthy colleague, Mr. Allen Krause — not “a lot shorter” as he so vainly suggested in his most recent post. Inches, mere inches, I really am not one to be fraught over inches. In so being, I would like to extend the arm of peace to my friend by quoting Rebecca West when I say Mr. Krause “is every other inch a gentleman.”
And with that bit of business out of the way, I would now like to take this opportunity to ignore the Cardinals’ recent acquisition of Khalil Greene. Why? Why would I disregard such a move that even I admit looks to be beneficial for the 2009 squad? Because of Trever Miller, that’s why. The addition of Miller to the bullpen is supposed to make me feel better, Mr. Mozeliak? Hardly. Give me Brian Fuentes. Give me J.J. Putz. Give me a real closer. Give me something!
Let’s look at something more interesting… like the freakazoids who inhabit this planet. Not satisfied with your everyday sports memorabilia? How about you get on eBay and buy some game-worn underwear soiled by your favorite superstars Alex Rodriguez, Josh Beckett and Kevin Youkilis?
No? Perhaps you’d like to make a deal with the devil herself and get behind the liberal head-hunting train, because, in her opinion, it’s your duty as an US American to hope your new administration fails. Duh. Of course, Ms. Coulter’s got it right: nothing’s more American than hoping your American brethren suffer beyond measure.
But folks, this is just a small sampling of the oddities gnawing at my corrigible conscious. The recently acquired RSBS staff (graciously borrowed from Russell at Arizona via Slough who seems to have gone on an extended vacation) has gone through the StatCounter files and found quite the eclectic collection of keyword searches leading the masses to the hallowed pages of RSBS. There are a slew of nutball examples, but I’ve pulled my five favorites for your viewing pleasure:
“Allison Stokke Drunk”
Okay, okay. I get it. She’s hot. Unattainable even. So you think you gotta get her drunk first to have a shot. Well, she could be lying dead in the middle of a desert and you still don’t have a shot, Sicko!
“Wemen Hitting Mens Balls”
Hmm. Alright, let’s pretend that the spelling error doesn’t exist — that this is just a case of a concerned individual who wants to know how women should go about hitting men’s balls. Hmm. Nah, still doesn’t make any sense.
“Kwame Kilpatrick In Cuffs Picture”
Right on, brother. Right on. Detroit has never been more proud.
Yep. I feel ya. I voted for him just because he’s from my neighborhood too. Well, that and it was the right thing to do.
“Attractive Chinese Wemen”
Whoa! How did you know? Oh, and also, a word of advice: you might want to learn how to spell “women” before you start looking for them on the internet.
I know this — from experience.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.