And here I thought this was supposed to be the slow point in the RSBS year. The elections are over (well, mostly) and baseball is still a couple months away from pitchers and catchers reporting. What could we possibly have to debate or comment on? Luckily, though, this is not your normal year. Thank god for shoe-throwing Iraqis, Kennedy-coiffed Illinois pols and baseball’s winter meetings.
With all of the problems facing the United States right now, it’s important that we ask the important questions. Like, is shoe chucking an attention getting scheme or a legitimate critique of American foreign policy? (Here’s a hint on that one. Anyone who actually understood the Middle East would not claim that the act was just about attention. Throwing your shoe is a mortal insult. If a shoe had been thrown at Zinedine Zidane, he would have head-butted the thrower.)
Or, with the city of New York involved in a free agency bubble that rivals the housing bubble and internet bubble combined, have the Mets become as evil as the Yankees or is their dauphin status chronic?
However, if we aren’t willing to answer these questions or concentrate on the imminent and necessary demise of the Big Three and the impending credit card crisis, there’s really only one other place we can go for solutions: the demented but brilliant mind of Andy Samberg.
Seriously, if that’s not a critique of US foreign policy, I don’t know what is.
Initial scouting report:
Good velocity. Decent movement. Has control issues.
Temper is sporadic but fixable.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
I’m sorry, but did the National Bureau of Economic Research just inform me and myriad dear readers, that indeed the United States of America’s economy is in a (daresay) recession?
I beg your pardon, but did our Dear Leader, in an interview with ABC’s Charlie Gibson, admit his own incompetency by saying “I think I was unprepared for war”?
As if the mass exodus of once-successful business owners to the overcrowded unemployment line in my Southside Chicago neighborhood wasn’t reason enough to believe. As if the tense gazes of disgust from world leaders and record low approval rating during Bush II wasn’t enough reason to believe. Well, folks, believe it; and believe that the spindoctors are just going to keep getting more and more convoluted as they assume we US Americans are as dumb as they are obvious.
Because apparently, the new status quo put forth by those in power has regressed to that of an unnecessary complication of issues that should otherwise be clear as day.
This has never been more true as we go into the third year of Mark McGwire Hall of Fame eligibility, where once again, I predict the baseball writers will find it in themselves to be a group of holier-than-thou judgmental jack^sses who consistently confuse clarity with integrity.
Did McGwire use performance enhancing drugs? Maybe. Probably. We don’t know for sure and we never will.
Did McGwire’s awkward Capitol Hill exchange further damage his image and cause us to question his character? Yes. Definitely.
Should it matter when considering him for the Hall of Fame?
Hands down, Mark McGwire should have been a first-time ballot Hall of Famer. His numbers, his performance, his legacy and the positive impact he had on the game alone should have put him in on the first try.
While I dare not minimize the damaging stain PEDs have left on the game of baseball as well as the youth of our nation, I still believe in the democratic principle of one being “innocent until proven guilty” and until someone proves that McGwire broke the rules, he deserves to be remembered as a Hall of Famer.
Jim Rice, Bert Blyleven, Andre Dawson… sure, waffle on those guys. They deserve to be waffled on a bit because they’re not stand-out no-brainer players. But McGwire? Give me a break. Give him a break.
And beware, for Barry Bonds will soon be in line for the same retrospection. Look, as much as I dislike the man as a human being, I cannot conceive a Hall of Fame without Barry Bonds’ plaque. Baseball writers, your job is not to teach lessons to suspected bad boys. Your job is to reward players for having Hall of Fame careers despite their antics — whatever and as displeasing as they may be. Remember, Ty Cobb, arguably one of the most disgustingly erratic, singly detrimental members of the entire human race, is rightfully in the Hall of Fame.
Get over yourselves, writers. You’re not judges. You’re not the police. You’re not God(s).
Do the right thing and put Mark McGwire in the Hall of Fame. And while you’re doing that, prepare for the barrage of suspect PED users, headlined by one Barry Bonds, who will soon be eligible for HOF consideration.
The world will be watching and I will be quick to slander.
So yeah, go ahead and hate me; I only ask that you don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
In just a short while, we US Americans will begin that hallowed tradition of spending quality time with family by gorging ourselves on a bounty of food, drinking excessive amounts of Johnnie Walker Black and falling asleep on the couch only to wake up with unidentifiable aches and pains in places never before felt.
Well, maybe that’s just me.
In any case, given the copious amounts of bull**** recently posted by my colleague, Mr. Krause, whose intellectual ineptitude forces him to fall into that age-old Blue State trap of logorrhea where valid questions are only answered with an arsenal of equally unrelated questions, I have found solace in you, Dear Readers, and your ability to see that — as usual — I am right.
In fact, since this time of year is all about giving thanks, I am going to rightfully refrain from causing any further damage to Mr. Krause’s ego by letting him be (just for today) and instead would like to take a moment to give my most wholehearted thanks.
Indeed, there are many things to be thankful for today. I’m thankful that the Cubs have gone 100 years without a World Series title. I am thankful that the Cardinals are actually considering filling some left-handed reliever roles (even if it is by courting a couple of scrubs). I am thankful that I live in the Second City — that we have two firery baseball icons who are willing to make fools of themselves by performing a ridiculous rap song for the good of Chevrolet; and I am thankful that senior citizens ride the CTA free, fat senior citizens ride two for the price of one, which is also free. I’m also thankful that Dubya is on his way out, that an Iowan turkey (ironically not Chuck Grassley this time) will be able to live a long, eaten-free life and that Minnesota has replaced Florida (for now) as the state where your vote might not really count.
But most of all, I am thankful for you, Dear Readers. For it is you that truly makes RSBS the special little happy place where baseball-politico egos, arguments and aspirations go to make sweet, sweet love. And for that, Mr. Krause and I couldn’t be more grateful.
We have given our staff the rest of the week off. Allen has left for that cavernous pit of despair otherwise known as Los Angeles (or Where Souls Go to Die) while I will be spending the rest of the week reflecting on my podunk roots with my quaint family in Springfield, IL — once home to Abraham Lincoln, Barack Obama and of course, Me.
Happy Thanksgiving to all and don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Equally so, Ignorance, thy name is Mr. Allen Krause.
“…the fact is, neither of them [Albert Pujols, Dustin Pedroia] deserved the MVP for this year.”
— Allen Krause, Misery, Thy Name is Detroit
Ordinarily, I prefer to eschew my impetus to pass judgment and/or speculate the grounds of one’s idiocy, but in this case, Mr. Krause, I’m afraid there is no explanation for your blasphemy other than to say you must be smoking the same stuff as our dear leader; and it’s certainly beginning to show.
Next you’ll be saying things like:
Or even worse:
Look, I and our dear readers all know that even though you reside in Washington, D.C., you’re still a Michigander at the core of your being and with that comes a certain inherited blind ignorance in the way of assessing athletic achievement. And we all realize that, aside from your Hockeytown Redwings, you don’t have much to cheer about these days. U of M looks like a pop-warner team. The Tigers are the baseball equivalent of our nation’s financial mess. The Lions are an absolute abomination, better fit for cleaning toilets in an Amtrak restroom than trying to execute the fundamentals of football.
But when you say that both Pujols and Pedroia were not rewarded for their efforts this season but rather for feats of the past, I have no choice but to postulate: what the $#%& is wrong with you?!?!
Pujols’ numbers were hands down the best of anyone this season. He is always an MVP candidate for the simple fact that he is always getting better and always carrying his team. He won the MVP in 2005. He should’ve won in 2004. This year, 2008, above any else, was certainly cause for him to win again because without Pujols in that lineup, the Cardinals would’ve probably been the 20 games under .500 team everyone thought they’d be at the start.
In the case of Pedroia, his 2008 achievements were far better than his 2007 achievements. He proved himself an invaluable leader throughout the season both with his bat and his glove, not to mention his guts and brawn.
So where the hell do you find it reasonable to compare these two paragons of baseball accomplishment to Denzel Washington and his role in Training Day, which, by the way, was also very well acted no matter what you think, Mr. Krause.
I’d suggest that you take this upcoming Thanksgiving holiday to give thanks that despite your inability to successfully formulate sensible arguments with actual information to back yo ^ss up you still have a cushy intellectual job that turns a blind eye to your inaccuracies, as grave as they are.
Oh yes, Al, you can hate me. That’s fine. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Bud Selig. One of the worst baseball commissioners or the worst? Discuss amongst yourselves. Only a man who has the hubris to continue in his position after the steroid scandal could possibly have given us Monday night’s bizarre reading of the rules. Hey, here’s an idea for you. If the weather is so crappy it’s going to be hard to get the game in and there’s a possibility of a suspension or a shortened game, DON’T PLAY THE F&%$ING GAME! Wait a day. What else is going on in the baseball world that makes it absolutely necessary to play the game that night? And if you have enough authority to circumvent the rules, why not go whole hog and unilaterally postpone the game?
This is the difference between George W. Bush and Bud Selig. They both think they’re “The Decider” but only one of them has the will to actually go through with it. People may not agree with W and his decisions but at least he made them while they still counted. Selig is a poor man’s W, a John McCain, if you will:
And that’s where we stand, dear readers. The World Series and this baseball season could be over this evening. And the election could be over by this time next week (barring any Florida or Ohio based shenanigans). But unlike Bud Selig, we can make a decision and that’s why we’ll still be here for you tomorrow, next week and for as long as it takes.
As if the ho-hum disinterest of the 2008 World Series wasn’t enough to slow us down, now we die-hards have to wait and see what happens with mother nature before our venerable King Bud passes down his judgment so that the game can ultimately go on. Having fully digested this oddity of baseball circumstance, the feeling I have now is eerily similar to that which I had on Election Night 2000 when a clear winner for the White House could not be determined with 100% accuracy. Instead, I was forced to wait… and wait…
…and then suffer — for eight years.
But in this case, such doom seems unlikely. In fact, with Hamels out and David Price in (maybe?) I’d say the advantage definitely goes to the Rays; which means there is hope that I will conclusively prove Mr. Krause wrong (yet again)!
I like that.
What I don’t like is public displays of idiocy: GW Bush, Amy Winehouse, MLB.com.
Yeah, I said it.
Because when I logged on this morning to get an update on the weather situation, the graphic they had blasting over the front page had a couple of big fat ugly typos on it:
Sure, they fixed it about an hour after I first saw it, but in this line of business, there is no excuse for misspelling words — even if it seems like people from Pittsburgh never pay attention to baseball. And unless the Roots are designing graphics for MLB.com, “Phildelphia” is not a real place.
We here at RSBS have a full staff of highly educated pompous grammar-wh0re proofreaders — and by “full” I mean Mr. Krause and I. But that seems to —
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WE INTERRUPT THIS POST TO ANNOUNCE THAT WE HOPE TO RESUME WRITING SAID POST AS SOON AS THE ELEMENTS ALLOW AND WE’D JUST LIKE TO ADD THAT WE DON’T KNOW WHEN THAT WILL BE EXACTLY BUT WE PROMISE THAT IT WILL ADD TO THE ANTI-CLIMACTIC NATURE CLEARLY EVIDENT IN BASEBALL THE LAST COUPLE OF DAYS SO YOU’LL AT LEAST GET WHAT YOU’VE BEEN GETTIN’
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Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.