Tagged: Hyperbole

¿Que Hora Es?

If there’s one problem that baseball management and the Republican party have in common, it’s in trying to relate to hispanics.  And whether it’s cultural differences, the language barrier or continued attempts to push everyone with a hispanic sounding last name out of the country, the problem won’t be going away anytime soon.

However, we here at RSBS prefer to be part of the solution so we have a suggestion for both the GOP and MLB front offices.  The answer is “education.”  If you don’t at least make an effort to understand the culture and the language, you’re going to find yourself on the wrong end of the bat nine times out of ten.  I’m not saying you need to learn how to merengue or be able to tell the difference between a Venezuelan and Mexican accent, but you should at least have some basic level of understanding.

Now, I realize that with the end of season approaching and the general election in full swing, neither Republicans nor baseball’s movers and shakers have much extra time on their hands.  Luckily, YouTube has once again come to the rescue.  Give it a try and see if you don’t notice your multicultural empathy meter running over within minutes:

[youtube http://youtu.be/4cKGyOE_jOI]

It couldn’t be any simpler.  All you need to know is, “¿Que hora es?”

-A

Something’s Rotten In the State of Texas

And no, I’m not referring to the Houston LOLstros, though they are pretty darn rotten, I admit.

The rottenness I’m talking about is the foul stench that emanates from a past-his-prime public relations disaster who seems to have eaten Tony Gwynn on his way to joining the Sugar Land Skeeters.  That’s right, as if taking a page right out of Jose Canseco’s book of insanity, Mr. Clemens, the fallen idol of my youth, is now preparing to embarrass himself with what I can only assume is a Favrian attempt to prolong the inevitable Hall of Fame first ballot denial.

If Roger can get on a Big League roster, he’ll get another five years before being considered.  And who knows, by then they might be banning people 50 games for NOT TAKING EFFING STEROIDS.

Good grief.

And happy Friday!

Jeff

Where Is Jaws When You Really Need Him?

It’s Shark Week.  But you knew that.  What you might not know is how dire the level of stupid is that permeates our planet.

Which makes me ask: WHERE IS JAWS WHEN YOU REALLY NEED HIM?!?!

Why not show up in the Red Sox clubhouse?  Talk about sharks in the water, my goodness.  Isn’t it funny how a couple of World Series titles make us forget just how endearing the Red Sox used to be?  Nowadays, The Nation seems more like an episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.  Incessant and annoying bickering from privileged entitled millionaires ad nauseum.  Before the season started, I was so excited Bobby Valentine was back in the manager’s seat because I knew he would bring drama to the league.  This is NOT the drama I was looking for.

Nor was I looking for the Vice President of US America to be just as stupid as I’ve always thought he might be.  Well, turns out he is.  Joe Biden’s mouth seems to be about as large as Jaws’, yes, it’s just too bad he uses his for talking instead of devouring prey.

And while I realize Jaws tends to reside in the warm coastal waters off the North Atlantic, would it be too much to ask for him to swim down, out and around on up to the San Francisco Bay?  There’s one fraudulent outfielder there who could use a good ass-chewin’.

Hate me ‘cuz I’m angry, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

The Filibuster

Usain Bolt is looking to try out with a British soccer team. What athlete that you’ve seen in the Olympics would you most like to see trying out for an American baseball team?

Ethan
Santa Clara, CA
_________________________

Olympians turned baseballers?  I like the way you think, Ethan.  And I welcome the possibilities!

I can’t help but think Michael Phelps would look good in Yankee pinstripes.  The man has 20 Olympic medals — hardware that would surely look good next to 27 World Series trophies.  And let’s face it, the dude has earned the right to be as cocky and off-putting as he is.  He might not have Derek Jeter’s golden little black book yet, but some time around the Captain and soon he too could be kissing mirrors of himself.

When it comes to actual physical strength though I might suggest Holley Mangold take up a spot in the American League as a DH.  She wouldn’t have to actually do much running or having anyrefined skills other than swinging for the fences; and accounting for her already buoyant build, I don’t think we would have to worry about any Giambian steroid scandals.

Of course, no baseball league is complete without its lovable losers.  And considering how much crying Jordyn Wieber did in the 30th Olympiad, I think she’d be a perfect fit for the Chicago Cubs.

But let’s not forget, when it comes to an Olympian I want on my baseball team, there is no one other than THE Usain Bolt.

Holy jerk chicken, that guy is a bonafide SUPERSTAR!!!

Have you EVER seen anything more exciting the last 4 years than watching that man run!?!?!  Unbelievable!  I’d want him in center field, catching everything in between the foul poles.  At the plate, I’d have him try to walk as much as possible, just to mess with the opposing pitchers’ mind before taking off to fly around the bases.  And look out if he actually hits a ball out of the infield, ‘cuz dude is gonna turn singles into doubles and doubles into inside-the-parkers!

Not only that, but Bolt is also insanely entertaining in the most endearing of ways — a happy-go-lucky clowner who can back it up with performance as opposed to the psychotic shenanigans of a WAY less talented Tony Plush.

Forget soccer, Mr. Bolt, please come wear the birds on the bat.

And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

Have a topic you want to see us Filibuster? Send us your Filibuster questions by emailing RSBSblog@gmail.com or by commenting below.

Remember When…

Remember when…

The Pirates were a perennial losing franchise?

Remember when…

Bob Costas’ pretentious Olympian superlatives weren’t pretentious because they were about baseball, something the man truly loves?

Remember when…

I mocked Sarah Palin’s mocking of Obama’s proposed “hopey-change” politics?

Remember when…

Everyone discounted the Cardinals’ playoff hopes with three weeks left in the season?

Remember when…

The GOP wasn’t an absolute joke?

Remember when…

Christopher Nolan’s Batman franchise was the greatest thing that ever happened in comic book film history? (WARNING: Major spoiler alert with that link)

Remember when…

NBC didn’t ruin every single sporting event it broadcasted?*

Remember when…

US American politicians really worked for the people?

Oh, wait.

Remember when…

Clint Hurdle was orange?

And remember when you didn’t hate me ‘cuz I was right?

Peace,

Jeff

*Not including the XFL, which was a brilliant endeavor, even if it was extremely stupid.

Baseball Needs a Drinkhall

Although I probably should be watching baseball, I find myself oddly enthralled by the Olympics.  Ichiro’s chops as a Yankee?  Nah, I think I’ll watch some women’s badminton instead.  Fister putting a brief stop to the Tiger’s road woes?  Hm, I guess I’m going to go for some ping-pong (table tennis, if you want to be stuffy about it).  Rivalry weekend in America?  Nope, women’s skeet shooting.

I’m not saying I’d want to watch these games all the time.  I love women’s gymnastics as much as the next guy but I can only take so much of it.  But at the same time, there’s something special about the Olympics.  For instance, yesterday I was watching a British dude named Paul Drinkhall advance to the third round in men’s table tennis.

First of all, his name is “Drinkhall.”  How awesome is that?  That’s like a German guy named “Biergarten.”  Or an American named “Applebees.”  Second, this dude has little or no muscle tone, pasty white skin, horrible shorts and an equally terrible haircut but he’s an Olympic athlete.  That, my friends, is badass.  Badass in the same way as David Wells and his Churchillian physique somehow destroying opposing batters.

I freely admit that a lot of it is the novelty.  It’s hard for the 162-game slog of baseball to compete with the instant gratification of a Moroccan/Uzbek flyweight boxing match.  And once the new “Dream Team” really get’s going, baseball is going to find it tough going.  I guess it’s kind of like the guy who has always sworn that he’d never leave his frumpy but faithful wife but somehow finds himself behind the wheel of a convertible with his 24-year old secretary.  Sure, it’s cheating but really, what were you supposed to do?  Odds like those don’t come up everyday.

So, I’d like to say that this was just a weekend thing and tomorrow I’ll be back to MLB.  But we all know I’m lying.  Can you blame me though?  I mean, seriously, synchronized diving!!!

-A

“I thought he was a weird wuss anyway…”

That’s right.  Davey Johnson speaks for me.

In this case, we (Davey and I) are talkin’ about my surly and oft dour colleague, Mr. Allen Krause.  Surely these words sting, almost as much as watching Mr. Krause’s beloved Tigers defeat my WORLD CHAMPION ST. LOUIS CARDINALS in their recent 3-game series.

Indeed, Verlander is a beast.  But the following inequality is true:

Westbrook + Lohse > Verlander

Unfortunately, the following is also true:

Santiago + Peralta + Jackson + Berry > Marte

Ugh.

I’m sending my representation to handle the press conference:

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff