In the world of advertising, there are two popular ways to promote and/or sell one’s product. One way, which isn’t recommended, is to be a real dick about it. Ya know, start off by saying your opposition (or whoever really, doesn’t matter) is the worst… ever…. in history. Then make some funny faces into the camera to make us forget that you’re the son of one of earth’s dumbest human beings. Then, threaten violence.
Sorta like this:
Kinda lame, yeah?
That’s because the product itself is lame (sorry, Arizona, but y’all are really failing me on your decisions of late). Bottom advertising line: avoid lame products.
Because when the product is as awesome and as captivating and as moving as the hallowed RSBS Podcast, then the good vibes of promoting it just sorta roll out… naturally… on the interwebs and beyond, as is the case at UNDERCAST. Go to this episode of UNDERCAST and listen to the sweet-@$$ commercial at the beginning (you’ll probably wanna listen to the rest of the show too, if you like enjoying life that is).
Q: What’s Red State Blue State?
A: It’s a podcast. About baseball. And other things.
Q: What’s baseball!?!
A: America’s pastime.
Q: What’s America!?!?!
Ask yourself that question again, dear readers, and ask it often: What is America?
And how disturbed are you that part of it is going to be run by another Quayle?
What could possibly be funnier than a holocaust-denying bishop exchanging blows with an Argentinian reporter?
I can think of many things.
But in the end, what is making my side split today is the announcement that Condoleezza Rice (what’s the second “z” for anyway?) has signed a book deal with Crown Publishers to write three — count ’em three — books detailing her tenure in the White House as well as delving into her oh-so-saucy personal life.
Crown issued this statement:
“Rice will combine candid narrative and acute analysis to tell the story
of her time in the White House and as America’s top diplomat, and her
role in protecting American security and shaping foreign policy during
the extraordinary period from 2001-2009.”
Extraordinary? You betchya! That was an extraordinary, poorly structured sentence!
When Crown Publishers says “candid”, what they really mean is “bullhickey” and when Crown Publishers says “acute analysis” what they really mean is “a cute anal cyst”.
I am going on record with that.
Ah yes, the moment we have all been waiting for, my friends: the inevitable onslaught of uninteresting, embellished memoirs (see James Frey) from Bush administration cadres who would be much better off hiding under that blanket of destitution they collectively weaved over those eight long years.
Dick Cheney’s memoir: I Screwed Over My Own Country and Got Away with It
Donald Rumsfeld’s memoir: Blowing Up People Is Fun
Dubya’s memoir: I Am Smarter than a Fifth Grader Because I Am Way More Educationified
I suspect these tell-alls will not tell all and that they will all be as candid and truthful as an Alex Rodriguez/Katie Couric interview.
If you want the truth, read the battery of explicit facts spewed by one Jose Canseco. He seems to be the one with all the info and up to this point, he has been the most accurate when disclosing the inner workings of a poorly policed administration.
Speaking of good stuff, I am and always have been a reader (how else do you think I became so intelligent?) and though I enjoy some good fiction every now and then, my true passion is reading about real life. These days I can be found reading Jane Heller’s Confessions of a She-Fan. My busy schedule of Cub fan hounding and John Mozeliak thrashing has allowed me to only read a little bit each day, but I can honestly say that I am thoroughly enjoying it.
And since we are all about telling the truth here at RSBS, I am not going to withhold the fact that while reading Jane’s book during my commutes on the Chicago Transit Authority, I do my absolute best to hide the chick-lit-esque cover boasting a female fan donning a Yankee cap, looking up at an invisible monster whom I can only assume is Theo Epstein. The cover lady’s eyes are dreamy. She’s definitely into me. But I still force myself to cover it up. I live in Chicago after all. Like the rest of the blue collar cities, we hate ‘dem Yankees… don’t get me wrong, the book is great and all…
Just remember: I have an image to uphold.
Luckily, my stealth allows me to take in Confessions and really enjoy it. And while I may not have the desire to date a Yankee, as author Jane Heller once did, I sure would not mind dating some of the Yankees’ leftovers.
Believe me, that would be way more interesting than any Condoleezza Rice book.
So go ahead. Throw the book at me; just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Sixteen-year-old Eri Yoshida, a knuckleball throwin’ femme phenom, recently became the first woman ever drafted in the Japanese Professional Baseball League — which would most probably make her the first professional female baseball player in an all-male league (I think; our staff is working on this one).
Eri, a studious highschooler with a keen eye for Red Sox geriatric Tim Wakefield and his trademark knuckleballing mechanics, has proven herself quite the asset amongst her male counterparts and thus looks forward to breaking in as a rookie with the Kobe 9 Cruise this spring.
In lieu of these developments, we at RSBS (namely Me) would like to take a moment to congratulate Eri Yoshida on her groundbreaking achievement by memorializing the trailblazing feats of women sports icons both past and present because… well, because we can and we should.
And we will.
Helene Robison Britton
Inheriting the St. Louis Cardinals from her uncle, Stanley Robison, in 1911, Ms. Britton broke ground as the first woman in the history of the world to own a Major League Baseball club. During her six year reign at the top of the Cardinals organization, the team managed an average winning percentage of .441, a number which — in a round about world — popped up again in 2008 as the batting average for hitters facing the Cardinals bullpen.
Okay, so she’s not much of an athlete, but she sure knows how to piss a lot of people off with her baseball-related antics. Sen. Clinton’s meandering baseball allegiances have long been the seed of the People’s frustration. America may not see in just black and white anymore, but we die-hard baseball fans tend to be staunch conservatives when it comes to flagrantly waving about one’s fan preference. Don’t get me wrong: I sincerely respect Senator Clinton. She had a great run and she would’ve gotten my vote if the desire for change in Washington wasn’t burning so strong in my heart. I voted for that change. And how am I (and all US Americans) being rewarded? By seeing the same old Washington insiders posted in the highest offices under the President.
Excuse me while I go stab myself.
Super hot woman who knows more about sports than I do? Not much else to say.
Now that the dust has somewhat settled, let me commend Gov. Palin on being the laughingstock of modern politics. Not quite the Dan Quayle Potato-Head, still, she provided plenty a laugh throughout the campaign. She’s worthy of commendation because she stuck it out and never got too rattled (unless you count that Katie Couric interview, SNL, et al). As an avid hunter, basketball player and all around “hot mamma”, I bet she’d be a pretty sturdy fireballer on the mound late in a game. The Cardinals need some bullpen help. I’m just sayin’…
*Drool… drool… drool…
What? She didn’t make the Olympics? She doesn’t play baseball? Do I even care?
Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Again, my hat is tipped to the Chicago Cubs, their players, their front office and yes, even their fans for winning the National League Central Division title. Job well done. I’ve commented on blogs galore, I’ve shaken your hands, I’ve stopped calling the cops when you fire bomb my house.
Congratulations on doing what you were supposed to do. You were picked to win the Central. You went out and spent a lot of money to win the Central. So, it should be no surprise that you did indeed win the Central.
But I have absolutely no patience (nor the stomach) for this kind of crap sprawled across my Sunday paper:
If it weren’t for my sadistic infatuation with the shooting incidents finely described in the Metro section, I’d cancel my Chicago Tribune subscription in a New York methamphetamine minute because their escalating sensationalist style of journalism is growing too tiresome to be considered real reportage.
Publishing a new book entitled This Is The Year?
The year for what!?!? Winning the division? Because that’s all you’ve done so far. Congratu-friggin-lations on that. You won the NL Central. You did that last year too. Remember? Where’s the book for that great feat of baseball achievement? Oh, there isn’t one? Well then, let’s write a book about this year then without having actually done anything of real importance?!?!
Is this for real? What else have you done this year that warrants a book banking/hoping/praying you’ll win the NLDS and then win the NLCS and then… win the WS?
This is exactly the reason why Cub fans hate themselves. They let the media and the hype and the curses and the exploding payrolls inflate their egos beyond the realms of sanity, so much so that they actually believe “this is the year” when they’ve still got a whole lot of work to do… just like they did when all they had to do was record five outs against the Marlins or win three games against the Diamondbacks or whatever the case may be this year.
Sure, it’s been a hundred years and the media loves this kind of story… look: I get it. But, don’t you think publishing a book called This Is The Year is a bit like asking that girl you like but haven’t talked to yet to marry you?
Yeah. Good luck with that.
I’m sure your manager, “Sweet” Lou Piniella, one of the smartest, classiest managers in the game, is loving your gung-ho holier-than-thou approach to the toughest part of the season. Because we all know (cue the sarcasm) that the playoff games preceding the world series crown are really meaningless, especially if you’ve got a book called This Is The Year.
Nothing guarantees a victory like premature jubilation.
Just ask Al Gore.
And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
“It’s wonderful to be here in the great state of Chicago.”
— Dan Quayle, 44th Vice President
Dear readers, the dust never seems to settle on the always emotional Chicago baseball debate. An incessant contest of he-said/she-said peppered with never-ending rapid fire quips that are as old as the milk in my refrigerator (that’s really old), this argument (like Republican attack ads) simply will not go away. Just when I thought everything had been said ad nauseum, message boards and blogospheres started to blow up again with more of the same…
Like in *this recent story* where presidential hopeful Barack Obama is blasted by commentors galore for his remark:
“You go to Wrigley Field, you have a beer, beautiful
people up there. People aren’t watching the game. It’s not serious.
White Sox, that’s baseball. Southside.”
Come on, folks. Why act like you’ve never heard this before? The sentiment is as old as the argument itself. The Sox fan says this and the Cubs fan comes back with: Remember the Black Sox.
Sox Fan: Well, remember the goat.
Cubs Fan: Oh, yeah, well remember we pack the house for every game while you’re lucky to have a handful of fans in the stands.
Sox Fan: Oh, really? Yeah? Well, try not winning a world series for a 100 years.
And so on and so on until the end of time or until someone gets hurt.
I think the bigger, more admirable story here is that Barack Obama chooses to distance himself from the popular political move of making everyone happy. He’s a Sox fan. He’s sticking to it even if that means pissing off a great number of his constituents. I think it’s safe to say that his steadfast affiliation with the Southside is a great breath of fresh air after the fallout from the much publicized Rudy Giuliani fiasco, not to mention Hillary Clinton’s adamant declaration to be a die hard Cubs fan, then a Yankees fan, then a Cubs fan again.
Politicians live under a microscope and they have a reputation for being sleazy for a damn good reason.
I find it quite difficult to even find a solid argument against that so don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
That westerly breeze you folks on the East Coast felt today had nothing to do with Tropical Storm Fay; no, it was the collective sigh of relief from Cardinal fans the world over as the team announced Jason Isringhausen’s season is most probably over.
In what has become an abomination of a year for the formerly revered closer, this once imaginary ending has turned into reality, causing Cardinal fans to yet again face their own unique brand of pessimism: that Izzy’s departure is still bitter-sweet. Sweet in that we can all relax knowing he won’t screw things up anymore. Bitter because we can be sure that someone else will.
And let’s face it: though we’ve all maintained the customary party line that the 2008 Cardinal bullpen woes have been a ‘team thing’, we all know that it began with and was perpetrated by Jason Isringhausen and his lackluster performance(s). As the leader in the bullpen, the go-to guy in the 9th, the man who got things done, Izzy’s inablility to close games this year caused a ripple effect of incompetence all throughout the bullpen. In his destructive wake, Izzy’s fellow relievers found themselves under an immense amount of pressure — pressure they haven’t been able to overcome still to this day.
I am not ungrateful. Jason Isringhausen has put together some great seasons in St. Louis. And there have been times when my cheers were among the loudest. But there comes a time when your best just isn’t your best anymore — when you just don’t have it in the tank — when you discover that yes, the rose does have thorns and now that the pretty red petals have all died and fallen off, all you have left in your hand is a prickly stem with very few aesthetic attributes.
Three reoccuring nightmares have haunted me this season:
1) The Cubs win the pennant
2) The man featured below worms his way back into the political spotlight
3) Izzy enters a game with less than a 10 run lead
While one of those nightmares will continue to pester me until the seaon’s end, at least the last one looks like it is merely a thing of the past.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.