It’s good to see Bud Selig worrying about the important things in the game of baseball. Fix the All-Star Game? Nah. Rehabilitate Pete Rose? Nope. Police managerial fashion? Oh yes.
Now, maybe Selig has a reason for this. Perhaps it’s his version of the “broken windows” policy made famous by Giuliani in NYC. The idea is that if you crack down on the small crimes, the big crimes are less likely happen. But I’m really not sure how telling Joe Maddon that he can’t wear an MLB-branded hoodie would have stopped Mark McGwire from juicing.
It might be something else, something a little more personal. I think it comes down to the age old battle between the cool kids and the nerds. Selig may be rich but you don’t have to look at the two guys for long to figure out who has done better with the ladies. Selig could pass for a Dali painting of Bill Gates. SI’s Peter King apparently favorably compared Maddon to Spencer Tracy. Yeah, those are whole different universes on the looks scale.
So, what do the nerds do when they finally get power? They make the cool kids pay for all their previous infractions. Here’s the train of logic and I think you can agree it makes sense: Selig gets beat up in high school because his face is already getting droopy. 50 years later he sees Joe Maddon, equates him with the kids who beat him up and decides he’s going to finally get his revenge. Selig 1 – Baseball 0
I understand that baseball has to have rules surrounding dress. There needs to be some, uh, uniformity (if you’ll pardon the pun). But if instead of focusing on the much more real issues facing baseball this is where you’re going to fight your battles, you’ve just proven once again how unfit you are for the job Mr. Selig.
You guys make a lot of Bud Selig’s poor management of MLB. If you could
take his place for one day and make one change, what would you change
and how do you think it would alter the game?
Aww, gee, Harrison (insert overwhelming use of sarcasm), thanks a lot. I only get one day and one change? What’s the point? You know this: It’s gonna take a lot more than just one day and one change to correct the myriad wrongs laid down by King Bud over the past 18 years.
Is it realistic to ban the Cardinals from losing 20 inning games? No? How about simply getting rid of the Royals franchise? No? Okay. What about forcing opposing pitchers to only offer breaking balls in the dirt to Alfonso Soriano? Fine.
Then I guess I would have to consider one of the obvious:
- stop making it (the All-Star Game) “count” for anything other than a celebration of the best in the game
- shorten spring training
- eliminate the plethora of off-days during the playoffs
- change the schedule back to 154 games
- sew Barry Bonds’ mouth shut forever and ever, amen
But to be honest, none of the above would be worthy of my one day and my one change. No. If I only get one then I’m gonna focus on what’s really wrong with the game and fix that as soon as possible. What would I do?
Allow MLB ballparks to serve beer after the 7th inning.
Imagine being at that 20 inning game on Saturday, soberly watching in extras, thirsty, parched, dried up… brat in hand but no suds to wash it down. That, dear readers, is simply unacceptable.
And it goes well beyond the frustration of watching a game go past nine innings without the comforts of a cold, frosty one. Think about it: if you are really so blasted from drinking beer during the game, is that one and a half to two innings of sobriety really going to make it okay for you to operate a vehicle?
If you are really that wasted from drinking beer during the game should you be driving home anyway?
Here’s what we do: tell everyone to drink responsibly. People are or aren’t going to do that anyway, whether you serve beer after the 7th inning or not.
So please stop punishing me after the 7th inning. Often times those last couple innings are the ones where I need the numbing powers of alcohol the most!
Move over, Bud. Let me make this change.
Otherwise I’ll be forced to continue double-fisting when they holler out “last call”.
Hate me ‘cuz I finally bring logic to the discussion, 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
***Images of King Bud in a dress also welcome. They exist. Trust us.
Note to King Bud Selig: If you wanna sell your product to a bunch of guys, hire Kim Kardashian for your spots… not Dane Cook. Not Bon Jovi.
Chicks, Bud. Hot chicks.
Maybe I’d settle for Reggie Bush. Maybe.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
“I didn’t want to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger or Lou Ferrigno. I wanted to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Lou Ferrigno COMBINED! ON ‘ROIDS! ARRRRRGH!”
“My talent comes from the ‘man upstairs’ and lemme tell ya, the ‘man upstairs’ is F***ING JUICED! ARRRRRGH!“
“Yeah, I take Viagra, but just to stay healthy. It doesn’t help me bang hot chicks for hours and hours and hours at a time! ARRRRRGH!”
My duplicitous and oft abrasive colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, has been busy conjuring up all sorts of facetious baseball scenarios, one of which embraces the Selig-spawned, Selig-spun “world” World Series, proposing to pit the Major League Baseball champion against the… the… Japanese baseball… league champion? What?
First of all, this is a Bud Selig ploy — a major league trick to make you think he’s actually working towards the betterment of the game. Preposterous! The World Series is called the friggin’ World Series because it boasts the two best baseball teams in the WORLD. No Japanese champion can hang with the MLB champion. If they could, then all those Japanese players would already be playing in the MAJOR LEAGUES!
Ah, such treachery. It saddens me to see Mr. Krause, someone so smart and so spry, take such a gigantic dip into the crazy-pool. But wait. Yes… it gets worse…
Some More Crap:
…Because somehow Mr. Krause got it in his head that once Albert Pujols’ contract is up with the Cardinals in 2011, that the perennial MVP candidate will be out to find a new, more financially sexy organization to call his home. Mr. Krause even mentioned the possibility of seeing A.P. wearing an old English “D” across his chest!!!
Total f***ing horse****.
Sorry. Had to go there. Ahem…
Like the Tigers always have Ty Cobb, so too will the Cardinals always have Albert Pujols.
Don’t worry, Al… at least you will always have the image of Alan Trammell in a Tigers uni, forever.
(McGwire image courtesy of Coffee with Adam)
By now everyone knows that the Office of the Commissioner of Major League Baseball will get a fresh face in 2012 (conveniently, that is the year we’re all gonna die anyway). But just in case those thousand year old destruction theories are not accurate, let us start to think about who might be able to save baseball from another passive, tyrannical reign after King Bud Selig has gone fishing. Because as my oft cantankerous colleague, Mr. Krause, points out, King Bud dropped the ball.
To me, there are only three viable candidates. They are presented here (above right). In bronze. I think.
Two of them are dead and one of them is forever young (albeit in 2-D).
Verily, they would all be adequate replacements at the top of the grandest game on earth.
– – –
Vladimir Ilyich Lenin
Bolshevik Leader, Marxist, Revolutionary, Head of State
What’s wrong, Matt Holliday? Five years guaranteed at $16 million ain’t enough? Fine then. Mr. Holliday, you’ll be making the same salary as Wilson Betemit… if Wilson even has a job. Luxury tax? There ain’t no luxury tax. Proposed salary cap? Yeah, propose this: everybody makes the same amount of money. No matter what. You don’t like it? Then die. Die. Just die!
– – –
Talking Rodent, Steamboat Captain, World Icon, Clubhouse Leader
Woo-hoo! Baseball! Woo-hoo! Baseball! Woo-hoo! Pine tar!
– – –
What shall it profit a man if he gains the homerun record but loses his soul to ‘roids? For everyone who refrains from untucking his shirt after winning a game (talkin’ to you, Brewers) himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted. I say, I’ve fed his sheep. Now I’ll tend to them, … tend to my sheep.
– – –
Tend… these… sheep. Somebody. King Bud didn’t do a great job at tending his sheep. Somebody. Somebody just tend these goddamn sheep!
And while you’re at it, don’t hate me.
‘Cuz I’m right.
(Top image courtesy of Transgressor)
In recent weeks, much ado has been made about the ongoing interweb scuffle between bloggers and “real” journalists. From JRod’s mental wanderings on Raul Ibanez to Geoff Baker’s self-serving opus dei to Hugging Harold Reynolds‘ public flaying of Jay Mariotti, everyone seems to be getting in on the controversy — creating it even.
I’m sure JRod is pretty pleased, if for nothing else than for being noticed (albeit harshly). As sports bloggers, isn’t that all we really want? To be noticed?
Apparently, this is the best way to go. Stir up some real crap.
So I’m gonna.
The following are very, very, very TRUE:
- Vegetarian or not, Prince Fielder is fat
- In my “fantasies”, Yadier Molina and Albert Pujols always fan me with palm tree leaves from the side while I… y’know, do my thing
- The color orange is on steroids!!!!
- Rush Limbaugh is also fat… and annoying
- Babe Ruth was only awesome because he had to overcome and compensate for the fact that he had a girl’s last name (and breasts)
- Barack Obama is a smoker. Deal with it, yo!
- Bud Selig is as good at being commissioner of baseball as the Washington Nationals are at being champions of baseball
- I spent a lot of money on Cardinals games during the summer of 1998, in awe of Mark McGwire, realizing that something fishy might be going on, but, like you, didn’t care that much about it ‘cuz it was friggin’ awesome. Like Selig, I too, looked the other way; but I would still make a much better commissioner of baseball than he because this All-Star Game’s “this time it counts” thing is absolutely ridiculous.
- Our earth is flat; gravity is just some bulls*** made up by Communists
- Manny Ramirez is Predator… and a cheater and annoying; but in a few days no one will remember that he got popped for taking a banned substance… and just in case you’re wondering, no, Manny is not fat — just big-haired.
Hate me ‘cuz I’m a fire-starter, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
We should all be outside, throwing the ball around with the neighborhood kids, hitting grounders with the fungo bat and telling little Jimmy to keep his eye on the ball, to level his swing.
Instead, we find ourselves trapped inside our apartments — breaking things — deeply saddened by today’s news and seriously questioning our loyalty to a game that continues to let us — an entire nation — down.
This, my friends, will be the legacy of Bud Selig.
Screw revenue sharing. Forget the WBC. Eat it on interleague play.
Bud Selig is the sole reason why we the fans — the rock-solid foundation of Major League Baseball — find ourselves in the midst of yet another seriously debilitating depression.
Go ahead, Bud. Pretend like you didn’t know anything. Entertain your highfalutin, self-righteous, narcissistic thoughts as being the trailblazing ambassador of the game.
Yes. We all know.
The Truth is: YOU dropped the ball.
And you will forever be remembered for that.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.