We’ve all had those kind of relationships where we really like the person, we’re really comfortable with them and we have so many memories of the good times together that it’s nearly impossible to say goodbye. It’s not that you no longer like them, it’s just that it’s not there anymore. Well, that’s kind of what happened last week between the Tigers and Brandon Inge.
We’ve known that something was off with the relationship the last couple years. It just didn’t feel as fresh and fulfilling as it used to. Sure, we convinced ourselves that the old magic was still there, hiding someplace. And every once in awhile that spark would rekindle something and we’d see flashes of what used to be there. It’s like that magical vacation you take to try and find what used to be there and for a week or so, you rediscover it briefly. But, just like in real life, things soon return to normal and you slowly begin to accept what has to happen.
The thing is, it’s hard to leave a relationship like that, especially when you’ve had so many truly terrible relationships previously. Dontrelle Willis? Mike Maroth? Those two were like the alcoholic chick you picked up at the bar who decided to leave a toothbrush behind the first night and then just refused to leave. But Inge? He was more than a relationship. Even your parents liked him. He played multiple roles and he always seemed to step up and do what was asked of him. He was a metaphor for everything that had happened over the previous five seasons.
But whether the relationship is certifiably insane or has just run its course, the end result is the same. You gotta get out. I’m not saying that makes it any easier. Even though I know dropping Inge was the right choice, it’s not like I can just forget him. I’ll probably still check his facebook and occasionally look at the photos we took together. Luckily, it’s not like we’re left all alone. There’s a new crush who has caught my eye and he’s a real Prince.
*Dear readers, pardon me while I step away from being an unbiased observer and put on my wrathful fanboy hat*
You are a 6-win team thus far, and while yes, your last two wins (unfortunately, against my World Champion St. Louis Cardinals) were full of drama, let us not forget: you suck.
But you wouldn’t know that watching your celebrations the last two nights. Unbridled bedlam. Unwarranted one-upsmanship. Beating your chests then dogpiling like you won the goddamned World Series?
Please. You were the beneficiary of TWO blown calls. Also, you are a terrible team.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t celebrate a walk-off victory, because it is only natural to do so. But there is celebration and then there is what you’ve done two days in a row: act like blithering fools.
Consider a touch of class, or at least a nod to the
baseball gods umpires who handed you a victory on Tuesday night.
Hate me ‘cuz I speak it straight, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
If you have a stomach strong enough to stand the neverending barrage of political headline craptitude, then you might already know that the Mitt Romney camp is eager to point out that Barack Obama ate dog as a child. Obviously, this is pretty important stuff. As the Republicans know, you are what you eat (is Astroglide edible?), and no doubt, Obama’s youthful ingestion of doggie treats certainly makes him unfit for a job as demanding as the presidency.
Which got me thinking about my favorite baseballers and what they eat. Sure, some probably go for too much hot dog and not enough arugula salad, but let us examine to make sure. The interns have graciously prepared some slides.
McPizza. Right? Weighing 300 lbs. as a baseball player ain’t easy, but when you only pitch every once in a while and you eat crap like the above, then it’s easy as McPie.
Baby Ruth. Duh.
Nothing??!! Dude is about to disappear!
And finally (you probably knew this was coming)…
The known universe.
To be exact, this idea references a fascinatingly disturbing thought theorized by famed astrophysicist, Neil DeGrasse Tyson. One could look at it the way he explains — that an entire universe could be within each and every one of us. Or, you can think (like me), that dude doesn’t get that large unless he eats everything in the entire known universe.
Either way, don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Sunday was my first opportunity to get to the ballpark in 2012, so I grabbed a friend, put on some summery clothes and headed to Sox Park for Jackie Robinson Day!
I’ve seen some great baseball on Jackie Robinson Days past, all of which were pitchers duels (my drug of choice), but with a Rick Porcello v. Chris Sale matchup looming, I wasn’t expecting much. The pair would end up surprising me, but that wasn’t all:
- This was the FIRST April baseball game in Chicago I have ever attended where a hat, gloves and scarf were not needed. No joke. I was in a t-shirt. Sweating at times.
- Miggy can play D. I hung two stars on my scorecard for him, including a barehanded grab-and-throw that nailed a speedy Alexei Ramirez at first.
- I understand the importance of Jackie Robinson Day and all, but is it necessary that EVERY player and EVERY coach wears the same number 42? It is a scorecard junkie’s worst nightmare! Every time I looked up I had no idea who was doing what.
- And those ugly throwback ’72 Sunday home game red-pinstriped White Sox unis didn’t last past the 70s for a reason. They are HIDEOUS. Throw them out! Along with Alex Rios!
- It was a day game. Sure it was a bit overcast, but there was sunlight. Plenty of it. But that didn’t stop the White Sox personnel from turning ALL the stadium lights on like it was a night game! There was WAAAAY too much light. WASTED light! I know ‘Merica is a nation of excess, but good grief.
- Despite the new uniform, Prince Fielder is still fat.
Hate me ‘cuz I take tedious notes, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right!
Is the hype to be believed? Could the Nationals actually contend this year?
Could they actually contend? Hmm… does watching a pitcher’s duel strike me with uncontainable bonerjamz? HELL to the YES, my friend! There are 159 games left in the season, and the Nats could win ’em all!
Or not. Still, this is not your embarrassing Expo leftover Natinal squad of old; rather, this is a team with bona fide pitching, timely bats and a revered sage at the helm! Do you think Davey Johnson thinks they can contend? I’d bet my 1986 eight-ball wrapper collection he does.
And why not? Without Howard and Utley for a good stretch, the Phillies find themselves offensively challenged. The Braves, still salty from their epic fail of 2011, certainly don’t have all the answers. I’m not convinced the Marlins are really any better than they were before they decided to blind us with ugly and the Mets are the Mets (though don’t sleep on them either, as a .500 season is not entirely out of the question).
The truth is, the NL East isn’t as predictable as it used to be. And the addition of another wild card team makes it possible to hope a little longer.
But the number one reason why the Natinals have a legitimate shot at competing for a playoff spot this year is… The ONE.
Okay, wrong ONE. But believe me, to Stephen Strasburg, there is no spoon. Also taking the red pill this year are Gio Gonzalez, Jordan Zimmermann, Edwin Jackson, Ross Detwiler and (presumably) John Lannan. That’s one helluva starting rotation+.
When Bryce Harper eventually finds his way into the rabbit hole, there will be even MORE reason to respect the potential of the Washington Nationals (not to mention a tomfoolery fodder spike for Deadspin).
Would I put big money on the Nats now? Maybe not. Would I put money on them to be a cellar dweller? Absolutely not. This team could find its identity and they could do it as soon as now. They could be the ’11 D’backs or the ’08 Rays.
Better yet, they could be the 2012 Nationals. (see what I did there?)
Hate me ‘cuz I love Stephen Strasburg as if he were one of my own, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
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Just like a rainbow themed slap bracelet, this is gonna be loud, colorful and could quite possibly cause a ripple in your otherwise tame relationship.
The Iron Fist of King Bud’s Court
Troy Tulowitzki pisses off Ubaldo Jimenez. Jimenez subsequently beans Tulowitzki. Jimenez gets slammed with a 5-game suspension. And speaks:
“I can’t control what people say. People act like this is the first time that somebody got hit. It happens in the game. That’s part of the game. It’s always been part of the game.”
Ubaldo is right. We don’t know if it was on purpose. Beanballs happen all the time. We can assume it was intentional considering the circumstances, but we can’t be sure beyond a reasonable doubt. This is the beauty of the unwritten rules of baseball, a game where players police themselves and do what they gotta do to survive. But alas, there is no constitution in King Bud’s dictatorship. If these guys didn’t bank millions of dollars I’d expect an uprise.
If Only 4 Days Meant “Forever”
Pennsylvania Taliban leader, Rick Santorum, is taking 4 days off from his fledgeling (not to mention INSANE) republican primary campaign. Why? I dunno. Maybe he realizes a 4th grade life skills level isn’t enough to be in such a demanding position. Maybe he fears a widespread Santorum epidemic. Or maybe his invisible friend in the sky who hates women and gay people told him to. I don’t know. I only wish it were forever.
The Heat Is On!
Baseball is back to FULL THROTTLE, my friends, and that means no more dirt kickin’, no more gloomy day sobfests, no more Perfect Strangers marathons on sleepless nights (okay, maybe I can’t go that far, yet). But the truth is: baseball is back for a long, long time. So let’s live! To celebrate, Igive you the song I remember most from my youthful, endless summers at Busch II. Whenever I hear this song, I immediately picture an Ozzie to Tommy to Jack double-play.
When it comes to my favorite holidays there is, of course, April Fool’s Day, National Cleavage Day and My Bent and Oft Hoodwinked Colleague Gets PWNED by a Commenter Day.
But nothing — I repeat: NO-THING beats Opening Day.
To celebrate, I give you DRUNK Rick Sutcliffe:
Now, if we could just get a Play Tennis In Your Underwear Day.
Happy Opening Day and Let’s Go Cards!