The events of this past holiday weekend finally confirmed a suspicion I had harbored for a while. God is screwing with us.
Oh yes, I know this is blasphemy. And to make a statement like this during the advent just adds fuel to the bonfires already being stoked for heretics like myself. But it doesn’t make it any less true. Look at the facts.
On Saturday Michigan lost to The Ohio State University for the seventh time in a row. And it wasn’t even close. Consecutive defeats would be bad. Four in a row is unimaginable. But seven straight times? That’s ludicrous. Terrelle Pryor will graduate (or at least leave OSU) never having known the stinging scorn of the Ohio State fans because of his performance in a loss to the Maize and Blue. Sure, the Tigers may have picked up Victor Martinez and stolen a little bit of Ohio’s soul in the process. But seven straight losses? By comparison, that almost makes this palatable:
No god that actually liked us would let Leslie Nielsen die on Thanksgiving weekend. That’s not funny. That’s just mean. Sure, Nielsen may not have done anything recently but his work with OJ in the Naked Gun movies made him a legend. To die at this point instead of at the very capable hand of Mr. Simpson just seems cruel.
This all leads us to the final and indisputable fact which proves without question that god is screwing with us. He purposely messed up an NFL game yesterday. Yeah, really. It would be easy to believe that Johnson just plain and simple dropped the ball. Just like it would be easy to believe that a 14-year old virgin gave birth to a kid a couple millennium ago. But the truth is, it’s just god screwing with us.
Anyway, get out there and live it up this week. Have fun, go crazy, don’t stop. And if something does go wrong, just remember that it’s probably god screwing with you.
And for most of us, Friday = Fun day!
But then there are some of us, like my loquacious and oft-curt colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, for whom Friday = yesterday was a bad day. Again.
Let me explain:
Hate me ‘cuz I don’t know pain like a Lions fan knows pain, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
P.S. Al loves Matt Millen.
Dear readers, I can hardly wait to jump in the car and spend four deadlocked hours sitting on the southbound on I-55 while night falls on my west-central Illinois family as they talk as much s*** about me as they can before I get there. Oh, if only every day could be so special!
We at RSBS don’t ever want to be trite; but hell, it’s Thanksgiving, so we gotta give thanks. Thanks to you (for reading). Thanks to my parents (for making me, even if it was in the backseat of a car at a run down Motel 6 outside of Disneyland). Thanks to the Cardinals (for making me think my team has a chance every year).
That stuff is easy.
But life is much more complex than that, and so too are the abstracts that must be recognized, appreciated and acknowledged.
For example, the picture at the top right of this article. Yes. That is Michael Jackson. And yes. He is chugging some nasty vodka while flanked by two midget groupies. See, he’s not as weird as you thought. Back in the early days, when he was just raising tigers and being best friends with monkeys and sleeping in souped-up tanning beds, he was pretty friggin’ chill.
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
On the political tip, where it takes quite a bit of searching to find anything worth my thanks, I am pleased that the new majority leaders are actual
human beings and not blood-sucking money-hungry lobbyist-lovin’ big-business-bailin’-out corporate-drone-piggin’ bible-belt-thumpin out-of-touch neanderthals Americans.
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
And, yes, I know we have a long way to go before pitchers and catchers report, but let me just say: I am very thankful that I am a whacked out baseball nut and not married to any of the other sports. Don’t get me wrong, I love football; but I don’t LOOOOOOOOVE football. It’s just not tangible. I respect what they do, but it’s a team sport divided by uncontrollable personalities. Elaborate celebrations in the end zone when your 2-7 team is down by 20 points in the 4th quarter? Taunting your opponent ‘cuz you FINALLY got a first down, after 13 consecutive failures? Spitting in a guy’s face? Please. I’d like to see Brandon Marshall or Vince Young or Albert Haynesworth talk crazy to Mike Scioscia.
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
For those of you counting, there’s only 146 more days til Spring Training 2011!
Have a very thankful and reflective holiday. And please, don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
And so in this Podcast…
…the fullest, rawest, most awe inspiring podcast yet, RSBS convenes as Jeff, Allen, Johanna and special guest Mark Piebenga from Second City all come together for one rip-roarin’ time! Among the topics of conversation (sponsored by Lifestyles and encouraged by Miller Lite) are strains to one’s right glute, burning one’s hand on the hot stove, hiding one’s pain with the NBA… and much, much more!
All to make you smiley face!
– – –
For more on Mark’s work on RSBS‘ Ninemen’s Morris series, check out this story then click on the Ninemen’s Morris tag at the bottom for more early 20th century hilarity!
– – –
Subscribe to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*
Subscribe via iTunes by clicking *HERE*
*Special thanks to our PodMaster Keith Carmack. You can check out Keith’s wicked podcast and his subsequent film projects at Undercard Films. The dude has mad skillz, so you might wanna pay attention. Do it! Now!
– – –
Recorded Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Look, don’t get me wrong, folks. As an adamant stickler for tradition and a lifelong, self-confessed purveyor of pomp, it is widely known that I don’t take to change too well, especially when it comes to my precious national pastime. Indeed, I take pride in knowing that the game I watch is the same game my dad watched, the same game his dad watched, and his dad before him.
In baseball, there is no cavernous divide between generations. No peach baskets. No leather helmets. No prerequisites of toothlessness. No. Not in baseball. The baseball game of the early 20th century is the baseball game of the early 21st century. And that, dear readers, is a beautiful thing.
But what isn’t beautiful is always being late to the party. The NFL, the NBA, heck, the NHL… all three leagues had their very own networks before MLB finally made the move for its own. David Stern has taken the NBA all over the world with wild success — and the NFL has somehow convinced us all that from Week 10 to Week 17, we just GOTTA have a game on Thursday night!
One could even say that baseball’s public eye mediocrity is perhaps rooted in its stuckupedness — a trait that I am guilty of championing.
Alas! A chance for redemption!
Did you know there’s a friggin’ Lingerie Football League!?!?
I just found out about it. But I’m a fan. Big time.
And since (as far as I can tell) it appears the NFL has nothing to do with the league, I see an opportunity for Major League Baseball to finally make its mark as a trailblazer in the alternative sports industry. Ah, yes… I can see it now… during the cold, wintry months… 9 beautiful women versus 9 beautiful women… positioning fields in comfortable, indoor stadiums… whilst in… their underwear (if you could see me you’d see me smiling right now).
Damn it, SELIG! Are you listening?!?! I’m trying to sell you a goldmine here! And have you seen the price of gold lately?
Hate me ‘cuz I’m addicted to the female form, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Both my co-blogger and I are fond of running. It’s a great way to stay in shape and clear your mind at the end of a long day or even longer week. But it has its dangers:
Running, despite it’s bloody nipples and shin splints, is generally safe. If you want to get really serious about injuries, just look at football, basketball and hockey. I winced this past Sunday as Austin Collie took a cheap shot to the head and felt a little sick as the play was reviewed multiple times while he was strapped down and carted off the field. That’s no joke.
In fact, it really seems that baseball has the least amount of catastrophic injuries when it comes to major sports. Sure, pitchers undergo an unenviable amount of wear and tear but when injuries arise, it’s usually the result of chronic, repetitive motion as opposed to some sort of instantaneous blowout like you see in football or hockey.
Obviously much of this lack of catastrophic injury comes from the fact that there is very little person to person contact in baseball. When players collide, it’s usually an accident. Or the Mets attempting to play the outfield. Football and other sports demand a level of violence that baseball just doesn’t approach.
Maybe this also explains baseball’s unfortunate drop in popularity. What used to be our national pastime has not only fallen behind NASCAR in viewership, it has also become a sport where we rarely compete for the top place. Sure, we’ll always play in the World Baseball Classic but that’s mainly because so few countries can even field teams. Clearly we can’t compete at the same level as the Japanese, the Dominicans or even our own territory, Puerto Rico.
Maybe it says more about us as a country, though, that we prefer sports ruled by mindlessness and brutishness to sports like baseball and running where the mental aspect is almost as important as being able to physically perform. Or maybe it just illustrates how we feel about bloody nipples.
Wow. Baseball is really over. I’m feeling a little lost here. Should I
turn to football, alcohol or the annual Victoria’s Secret holiday
special for comfort?
For serious though, anyone who knows me knows to be very, very cautious this time of year… for the sudden drop of the best baseball teams on the planet playing for a title to absolutely no baseball games at all can be beyond devastating.
I ain’t gonna tell on myself, but if you refer to the sheer number of world catastrophes that have taken place during the month of November over the last several years, you’ll understand exactly what I’m trying to say.
So. How do we cope?
Football helps. But not if you’re a Bears fan. So, yeah. I’m screwed there.
Hockey helps. No. That’s a lie. Hockey doesn’t help. At all.
My pal Johanna (from the RSBS podcasts) is trying to get me into the NBA… he’s been quizzing me on my basketball knowledge. My only problem is that the last time I paid any attention to the NBA, Charles Barkley and Shaquille O’Neal were in their primes (and half their current sizes!) so I’ve got a lot to catch up on. Apparently Dwight Howard and Juwan Howard are not the same person.
And beer. Yes. Beer will help. A lot. Especially if you mix beer and vodka and gin with Johnnie Walker… and a few bottles of Ambien. After that cocktail you won’t even remember to watch the Victoria Secret Holiday Special, let alone care about it.
And if everything goes according to the above plan, you can eliminate most of the doldrums tha traditionally take place between Thanksgiving and President’s Day. By then, Cliff Lee will be in pinstripes, Jayson Werth will be in pinstripes, and Carl Crawford will be in pinstripes!!!
So join me, Ben… join me, dear readers galore… and let us ride off into that fabled sunset known as off-season delirium. It won’t hurt. I promise.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
As is tradition here at RSBS, The Filibuster will now go on hiatus until pitchers and catchers report in the spring, leaving more room for the avant-garde ridiculousness you’ve come to expect from us over the years. Of course, come February we’ll announce its return; in the meantime, we would like to heartily thank all the strangers, friends, relatives, morons, geniuses and fellow bloggers who have sent in Filibuster questions during the 2010 season. Without y’all, it’d just be Al and I talkin’ to ourselves (BORING!)… so thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!!