THAT’S A WHOLE LOT!!!
So after Buster Posey’s devastating injury suffered during a home plate collision with Florida Marlin Scott Cousins Thursday night, I shouldn’t have been so surprised that Olney would come out with some stupidly fandangled approach to squash any potential collision-based injuries.
Ban home plate collisions? What are you talking about, Buster? It was a freak accident. Ban home plate collisions!?!
Why don’t we ban pitching inside too!?!
And we should ban breaking up the double play on a hard slide into second!?!
How about we ban walk-off celebrations and ban beer in the grandstands, JUST FOR FUN!?!
EFF THE WORLD! YOU’RE ON A ROLL, BUSTER!
No one likes to see people get hurt. No one. But guess what: it happens. People get hurt playing baseball all the time. Sometimes they get seriously hurt. It sucks. There’s no denying it.
But that still doesn’t make it okay to go off and make drastic rule changes to the game, just because you and your worldwide leader in smut want blog traffic.
Hate me ‘cuz it ain’t sugarcoated, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
PS. Things might be different had you not “broken” that story on Ryan Howard for Pujols a while back. You lost all respect from me — and many other knowledgeable baseball folk, I imagine — after that.
Rivalries make otherwise routine matchups a bit more interesting. They breed adrenaline. They invite ingenuity. They spark passion, no matter how dormant.
But, as we witnessed earlier this year in the case of San Francisco Giants fan Bryan Stow, baseball rivalries have also been known to get out of hand.
Admittedly, there was a time when I allowed my flippancy towards Chicago Cubs fans to reach a critical point. In the summer of 2007, fresh off a World Series crowning but at a time when my Cardinals weren’t playing too well, a few too many Old Styles found their way in my system and what started out as simple boasts of pride for my interlocking “STL” and redbirds-on-the-bat garb soon turned into a verbal shouting match with a gang of pinstriped kids from DePaul. Throughout the game, my taunting parried with their rage (they too weren’t quite sober) and it escalated when I found myself surrounded by them in a Wrigley field restroom.
Instead of shutting up, I just got louder.
And before I knew it, I was at the bottom of a pile of angry, angry feet.
I learned my lesson that day: sports aren’t any fun when you’re literally getting your @$$ beat.
So I don’t do that sort of thing anymore. I smile. I nod. I tip my cap to good plays and keep my nose buried in my scorecard (or beer).
And that’s how I’m going to enjoy my Redbirds coming to town on Tuesday.
Also, I’m taking my pal, Johanna Mahmud — Cubs fan extraordinaire. He’s scary looking… good for keeping the riff-raff at bay.
Hate me ‘cuz you can, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Back and to the left, back and to the left…
Good afternoon gentleman, ladies and Allen.
Wanna get turned on whilst young children (maybe your own) are in the room?? Someone does!!
If you just woke up from a coma and realized that some Navy Seals in Pakistan just found Jimmy Hoffa’s body, you may have missed some of the greatest video ever known to man (until we get to see some grainy footage of a lunatic gettin shot in the eye).
Braves pitching coach Roger McDowell made some absurd homophobic slurs at some Giants fans in the presence of children the other day… because that would never happen at a mostly white male sporting event.
Usually these types of remarks come from someone who’s probably closeted in his own way… and from what I’VE heard, Roger McDowell could really smoke the fastball back in the day!!! Right????
THE HORROR!!! But wait!!!
The world has now benefited from some wonderful video conferencing, herein such…
But what I really want to talk about is the legendary Gloria Allred.
I have a feeling about how her meeting with her new client went down involving said bat:
“Look, here’s how this is gonna go: if you allow me to take this case pro bono, the press conference will go something like this… I’ll cradle the ****… stroke the *****… work the ****… and swallow the *****… Get it over here buddy let’s do this…”
What is in my head right now as I watch this? The hornswaggling bamboozelment of this sap (client) will be legendary. In fact, someday these kids will grow up and realize how much of a ridiculous piece of crap their father is.
I wish I had that weird District 9 prawn alien laser gun bazooka to blow her up into a million lawyer parts.
— Johanna Mahmud
Do you remember what you were doing in the 90’s? Specific moments stick out, like the first time I saw the internet, an incident that also went down as the first time the internet ruined the outcome of a sporting event (’96 Olympics). Specific music, like Pearl Jam, Guns n’ Roses and Nirvana, provided the soundtrack. Tragic events also play a role, like when I realized that my tight-rolled jeans were no longer socially acceptable.
Honestly, I have no desire to relive most of these events. If I want to listen to a little GnR, I download them on iTunes. Tight-rolling has gone the way of beanie babies and grunge. And although the internet still manages to find ways to spoil things:
…it has also found ways to redeem itself.
This is why I ask the question, why would people choose to relive the 90’s? Because apparently it’s happening even as we speak:
Oregon isn’t all bad and I’m sure that many wonderful people live there. But why choose Portland? Go north and you’ve got Seattle and their Mariners. Go south and you have San Francisco and their world champion Giants. Portland? Trailblazers. Although if you’re still living in the 90’s, I guess that means you also have Clyde Drexler and a shot at the NBA Championship. Hope this doesn’t come as a spoiler guys, but you’re going to lose to both the Pistons and the Bulls. Damn internets!
So what are you guys looking forward to the most this season?
I don’t know what to do with 2011. First off, it’s a prime number. Ok, I’m not completely sure on that and I don’t really feel like doing the math to check but I feel pretty safe in saying that it’s prime. Prime numbers just generally give me the creeps so I’m feeling a little unsettled.
In other arenas, 2011 is shaping up to be kind of blah. Sure, Jeter will probably get his 3,000th hit and that’s pretty impressive. But, the best case scenario only moves him up into the top 20 all time, which, although an exemplary accomplishment, still leaves him well south of Pete Rose.
As far as overall baseball records go, Mariano Rivera could surpass Trevor Hoffman’s still warm saves record but if I can be perfectly blunt, who cares? Again, yes, it’s impressive but when you trot out of the bullpen two or three times a week to get a couple outs, you’re not exactly the heart and soul of the team. Closers are like field-goal kickers. People know who you are and you have an important role on the team but no one really cares until you blow one.
So what does that leave? There are no meaningful elections this year so that’s not an option. Strasburg is going to miss the season so the game’s newest and greatest draw isn’t even going to be on the field. Sure, I’m hoping the Tigers will make a good run this season but that’s just one team. So what is there to look forward to?
I guess I’m looking forward to baseball without the bulls–t. Sure, stories will come up and issues will be invented as the season moves on but at this point, it’s just 30 teams trying to make it to and win the World Series. Ok, 29 because I’m pretty sure we can go ahead and count out the Pirates. But the fact remains, at this point, a few days before the season begins, everyone has the same record and no one knows who might be this year’s 2006 Tigers, 2007 Rockies or 2010 Rangers. Who knows, they might even push it a step further and actually win the thing like the 2010 Giants.
So that’s what I’m looking forward to. No labor issues, no steroid scandals, no imperfectly-called perfect games. Just baseball. Throw in a little sunshine and some beer and I think we got ourselves a winner.
– – –
**Have a topic you want to see us Filibuster? Want a
free pimp for your blog? How ’bout just making Mr. Lung row, row, row his boat, gently down the stream?
Send us your Filibuster questions
by emailing email@example.com or by commenting below.
In a year as dynamic as US American voters are shortsighted, finding just the right words to succinctly summarize all the goings on of MMX isn’t really as hard as I thought it might be. Sure, ‘Merican culture still clings to the absurd Canadian import or two and the global economy continues its tailspin while our government continues its fight in two unwinnable wars, but not all is gloom and doom, my friends.
In fact, personally speaking, 2010 was quite fantastic! I quit smoking, I got in the best shape of my life thus far, and I got to hang with my fanciful and oft repugnant colleague (and subsequent dear friend), Mr. Allen Krause, not once, but TWICE! First was the June baseball rendezvous in DC where we participated in a very special Strasmas celebration, then came an equally exciting Michigan Christmas, where I spent the holiday weekend with Mr. Krause and his family.
All told, it was the best of times, it was the… no. It was just the best of times.
Hell, we even got treated to a non-powerhouse World Series, where the Giants defeat over the Rangers inspired small markets all over North America to think about one thing and one thing only: pitching, pitching, pitching. And, of course, no RSBS review of 2010 could go without mentioning the inception of our very own Podcast, one that continues to kick butt on a sometimes semi-weekly basis.
That’s right. Red State Blue State knows no bounds… and neither do the following top five Allen Krause penned gems of 2010:
2nd Honorable Mention:
We All Lose
Now and forever, September 11 will never be the same. I know that. You know that. Mr. Krause knows that. But through his strong dislike for all things pink in baseball and, of course, bigotry, Mr. Krause was able to both enlighten and entertain on this hallowed day. His message? Simple: “Hate kills.”
RSBS Presents: Chili
Personal note: If you want to coax Mr. Krause into doing… well, anything… tempt him with chili. Just know that it better be good chili if you want to be successful. Mr. Krause ain’t no slacker when it comes to this US American staple, which he proves with this eloquent presentation full of chili flavor. Plus, whenever a writer is able to use “scatalogy”, “concoction” and “awe-inspiring” in the same paragraph, he deserves a reward of some kind.
2nd Runner Up:
Understated to the End
Losing our heroes is never easy. And when Sparky Anderson died, my thoughts immediately went out to Tiger nation, and more specifically, Mr. Krause. Of course, I knew it was only a matter of time before a bit of literary magic would grace the pages of RSBS, and with his ode to ole Sparky finely tuned to an equally understated former president, Mr. Krause did not disappoint.
1st Runner Up:
Catastrophe in Multiple Forms
While compassionate might not be the first adjective (or the five hundred and first) adjective that comes to mind when I think of Mr. Krause, I can say that if he shows any, it is definitely genuine. Such is the case here, where his sentient empathy crosses paths with lots of bloody nipples and Austin Collie’s head.
And the Winner is…:
RSBS Presents: A Baseball Fan’s Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse
There are two types of people in this world: those who are ready for the baseball zombies, and those who ain’t. Read this and you will be more than ready. Skip it and your brains are as good as gone by the chomp-slathering undead jaws of Pete Incaviglia and Todd Van Poppel. ‘Cuz the zombies are real. They are coming. And they all fear Mr. Allen Krause.
Another year down, another horizon to chase. Big things are happening, and we’re glad that YOU, dear reader, are a part of it.
Stay tuned for Part II tomorrow. Until then, don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right!
Standing in the check-out line at my local grocer, I scanned the magazine rack hoping to find out if Khloe Kardashian had eaten herself to death or how drunk Jennifer Aniston got in Cabo while still thinking about Brad. Instead, I was subjected to an image I thought I’d blocked out 25 years ago:
Eldra “El” DeBarge.
On the cover of Jet.
Who’s Johnny… she said…
*cue the daydream montage*
I see Bert Blyleven record his 3,000th strikeout…
I see Bob Horner hit four homeruns in one game…
I see Mike Scott no-hit the Giants… the Red Sox come back to win the ALCS after being down 3 games to 1… Ray Knight skip like a schoolgirl on Mookie Wilson’s Bill Buckner nutmeggin’ dribbler…
…and… and, I… I see…
*snaps out of it*
Oh, Youppi… oh, dear, dear Youppi… no!!! It’s not FAIR! It’s not fair that El DeBarge gets a comeback and you don’t… not fair that in 2010 you’re relegated to Montreal hockey duty while El DeBarge gets nominated for a Grammy.
A GRAMMY FOR JEEBUS’ SAKE!!!
And you wonder.
You wonder why I don’t believe in god.
No loving god would subject the altruistic baseball fan to such chronic despair!!!
So hate me ‘cuz I I think El DeBarge topped out in ’86, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.