Matt Cain this week threw what some people are saying was the best “perfect game” ever. Is it really possible to say that one perfect game is better than another and, if so, which one would you vote for?
I think so, but such a statement comes with the caveat that one would have a hard time quantifying it. Why is it the best? Because of Mr. Krause? Because of Mr. Lung? Because of the interns?
That’s just the very beginning of a long list of things that makes RSBS the G.O.A.T.
But can we quantify what exactly makes one perfecto better than another? Not really. But it’s fun trying. For example, Matt Cain’s 14 strikeouts tied the MLB record for strikeouts in a perfect game (Sandy Koufax, 1965), which clearly demonstrates superior command and dominance over the opposition. Cain also threw 19 first pitch strikes and never got himself in a 2-0 count. Meanwhile, his defense did some dazzling. Both the 6th and 7th innings featured unbelievable catches in the outfield that, had they not been made, would have sunk the perfect game effort. The last out, a hard ground ball to third base that put Joaquin Arias in a stutter step also provided one final gasping twist to the accomplishment. All of the above, plus Cain’s eery zen mound presence throughout it all, provide plenty of quantification for it being the “best” perfect game ever.
Still, it’s relative. And maybe we see it as the “best” right now because it’s fresh in our minds.
I recall Randy Johnson’s 2004 effort against the Braves as being one of the most dominate games I’ve ever seen too. The Big Unit struck out 13 in that game and was throwin’ nasty stuff all the while. David Cone didn’t see a 2-0 count in his 1999 perfecto against the late Expos, a game where he also had to sit out for a 33-minute rain delay, on Yogi Berra Day, with Don Larsen in the stands!
But, for me, the best perfect game I’ve ever seen came on a lazy Thursday afternoon in July 2009, when Mark Buehrle pitched himself into the record books, again. What made that game so special, for me, was that I was watching it at work and by the 8th inning, I was watching it with the UPS man, the FedEx man and yes, even the mail man. When Dewayne Wise made “the catch” we reveled in our mutual south sidedness and gave each other big, sweaty man-hugs.
That’s the sorta thing that only happens once in a lifetime, so I’ll be hanging my hat on the Buehrle perfecto for the forseeable future. But that’s just me.
You can hate me for that. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Have a topic you want to see us Filibuster? Send us your Filibuster questions by emailing RSBSblog@gmail.com or by commenting below.
Four years ago today, I wrote the first post in RSBS history. It was terrifyingly awful. What terrifies me even more is that at that time in 2008, I had incredibly high hopes for the Tigers’ upcoming season based on some high-profile acquisitions they had made. Four years later, I’m still haunted by that 2008 season and experiencing no small amount of deja vu (all over again).
If there’s one thing that gives me hope, though, it’s the fact that sometimes triumph is born from the ashes of despair and failure. That first post was awful but the throw-away line at the end ended up becoming Mr. Lung’s regular sign-off. And even though Dontrelle Willis didn’t work out for the Tigers, Miguel Cabrera has been a godsend. Paired with Prince Fielder, I can’t say as though there has been a more feared power duo in the AL since the days of the Bash Brothers.
Sometimes you have to let go of the past and just realize that it’s over. So, with that in mind, happy fourth birthday Mr. Lung. And a special thank you from both of us to the interns for their years of unpaid but essential work. But most of all, thank you to our loyal readers who keep coming back, in spite of RSBS‘ inauspicious beginnings. Hopefully in 366 days we’ll be blowing out another candle together.
Continuing with the end-of-year holiday tradition here at RSBS, it’s time to separate myself from my imaginary girlfriend (NSFW) and ask the interns to lock my office door so I can get down to the meaty reflection of what was the RSBS year 2011. Additionally, I must begin the sad, fiery purge of Albert Pujols memorabilia. For those of you who went to public schools, you know that maintaining a fire within a small, confined room may cause ill-fated side effects, so before I start to look like Bert the chimney sweep, let me get to it…
First of all, no year would be a good year without you, the dear RSBS reader. THANK YOU, for your readership. THANK YOU for your emails, your tweets, your comments, Facebook shares and FingerTagging! And THANK YOU for continuing to make writing about the baseball-politico world a treat for us every single day.
Like my riveting and oft rousing colleague, Mr. Krause, I too have been very impressed with our special correspondents. For me, nothing says sweet Miggy-I-Love-You quite like Mark Piebenga’s His Game Is Like Waves. It presented Miguel Cabrera in a new light — that of teacher, and, considering how much Mark has taught me about what life should be about, I continue to find its lesson fitting (and helpful!).
And though I often refer to Mr. Johanna Mahmud as “the man who introduced me to the glories of the Deftones” and “the guy who schooled me on the NBA and proved why I should be madly in love with Derek Rose”, I still have room to refer to him as “the guy who writes Setting the Mahmud“! Dude puts the “tit” in titillating with every piece. The last article he wrote was inspiring, if only because he found a way to get a naked Yu Darvish, an ugly sweater wearing
Johnny Matt Damon and a crying Paula Deen all in one place; but, like Al, I have to admit that there’s real brilliance in his Theo-fied Arthurisms. Still, I’m a sucker for equating dead people to the performances of Adam Dunn and Miguel Tejada. Good work, good sir.
Meanwhile, no year-end applause would be complete without a nod to my longtime friend and confidant, Mr. Allen Krause. Known for his cynical twists on the political establishment and undying love of all things Detroit Tigers, it has been a pleasure to write on his wing. Sometimes he’s so “on” that he finds literary genius in imagery. Indeed, that endearing Krausian wit is often highlighted by rational thought. Sometimes it points out the un-fact-checked obvious, other times it gets serious, with a real call for responsibility. And, just in case you think Mr. Krause’s Libertarian-bashing makes him a soulless, automated Obamatron, this reflective piece will convince you otherwise.
But when it comes to knockin’ ’em outta the interwebs park, I have to kowtow to the RSBS Presents series. The brainchild of Mr. Krause, RSBS Presents has enlightened us on the finer points of fandom and how to stay classy while reminding us that, ultimately, positivity has upside during times of turmoil. But the best of them all was learning how to score a Republican. And here I thought it involved finding Jesus and quoting Alex P. Keaton.
Happy Christmas, Merry Hanukkah and long live King Kwanzaa!
Do you see Halos everywhere you look?
Tired of trying to compute just how many zeroes Number 5 left you for?
I’m so with ya. In fact, I’ve been so blue the last 10 days that the RSBS interns decided to dig up something special to make me smile.
I don’t know about you, but I done fell outta my chair.
Today is the day we humbled bloggers at RSBS get to share with you, dear readers, the clue to what our Pass the Crown gift from Crown Royal may be! Remember, in this gift swap among the interwebs’ finest, one of our lucky readers will be the beneficiary of whatever RSBS receives! So far an iPad 2 has been revealed as well as a private party for up to 40 people hosted by Crown Royal in your home market and an Omaha Steaks All-American Combo.
The clue to our gift is…
So now we need your help. We have until 4 p.m. ET today (11/17) to let Crown Royal know if we are going to keep our bag and open our gift or if we’re gonna swipe one of those already revealed. Since one of you will be the beneficiary, we want to hear your voice! Comment, email us (RSBSblog@gmail.com) or holla back on Twitter (@RSBS). We’ll be tweeting about it with the #PassTheCrown hashtag.
Jeff, Allen, Johanna & the Interns
P.S. Like the embroidery work on that there CR bag? Then make sure to check out how to customize your own! They are available to adults (21+) on www.CrownRoyal.com for $9.95 and feature a max of 40 characters, making the perfect gift for the whiskey drinker in your life (if you’re like us, then you have a lot of those).
Inquiring minds of dear readers galore have been BEGGING to know, just who is this Herman Cain. Well, my friends, beg no more. The RSBS interns and I have been doing the necessary research, and we have come to the conclusion that Herman Cain is politics’ very own Kevin Millar.
That’s right. He’s a bumbling, fumbling hick dressed up proper who says stuff just to say stuff, even if it makes no sense.
Don’t believe me? Check it out for yourself:
Hate me ‘cuz I got the footage to back it up, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*The above also does not assume Millar might be associated with any sexual harassment… of human beings anyway.
Whether you’re a Rangers fan, a Cardinals fan, or just a good old puritan brand of baseball fan, there is no question that this World Series is so far proving to be one of the dramatically fulfilling variety. I mean, how many heart attacks is one expected to suffer through before this thing is over?!?! I would not be surprised if it goes the full seven.
But what does surprise me is that Derek Holland — good as he was in Game 4 — still holds his head high while wearing that small, malnourished varmint on his upper lip. I know his teammates razz him plenty; but seriously, how does that thing not make him hide his head in shame every night?
However he does it, the RSBS staff has taken notice. In fact, two of the more senior RSBS interns have approached me with the request to bring back the “Lady Killer”. For those of you dear readers unaware of this phenomenon, let me remind you with this picture taken during All-Star Weekend 2009:
It’s pointing at… the Lady Killer.
It’s often mistaken for a sex-life killer, but hell, if it works for Holland, maybe I should consider bringing it back.
Hate me ‘cuz you can, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
The Cubs announced the first Wrigleyville Block Party will be held Friday to Sunday on the west side of the ballpark during the Yankees series. The event is free and features bands, food and drink booths and “interactive” entertainment for families.
Folks, let me be blunt. Unless clogged streets of drunken youths and bands of impatient motorists with horn-happy hands represent the ideal, outside of hosting an actual baseball game, there is very little family-friendly about Wrigleyville. Remember, this the same Wrigleyville where I was assaulted by a blabbering drunk because I was… *gasp*… wearing a pink shirt.
So, curious as to what sort of block party events the Cubs front office planned for the neighborhood, the RSBS interns were sent out on an important reconnaissance mission, and this is what they found:
Pin the Tail on Rats Big as Pigs
In this fun event, lucky participants are encouraged to hunt down Wrigley rats. What they catch, they can keep. Extra points are rewarded for doing it while talking in an exaggerated Ozzie Guillen accent (“rats as beeeg as peeegs”).
The Racist Frozen T-Shirt Game
Pay $10 and you can compete against your peers to see who can put the frozen “Horry Kow” t-shirt the fastest. If anti-Asian ain’t your style, try the “Pujols Mows My Lawn” tee! Fun for the whole family!
Annoying Fan Photo Op
Fork over $25 and you can choose to have your picture taken with world famous Cubs fans Rod Blagojevich, Denise Richards or… Ronnie Woo Woo! Then again, you can also take that $25 and burn it; it’s essentially the same thing.
The Drink Overpriced Horse P!ss Booth
At this funfest, you can drink $7 Old Styles until you a) get sick b) go broke or c) start rooting for the Cardinals!
And finally… the most exciting event of them all…
The Write a Bad Contract Raffle
Participants empty their bank accounts and hand everything over to Jim Hendry, who will then do what he does best: waste money on bad baseball players.
It’s a good thing the Yankees are in town, otherwise Wrigleyville would be a complete mess.
Hate me ‘cuz I kick ’em when they’re down, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
After a mere two episodes that had the same effect as a handful of Ambien chased by a fifth of Knob Creek, Paul Reiser’s triumphant(?) return to network television lasted about as long as a Milton Bradley welcome party.
I guess this is undeniable truth that US America just isn’t mad about you, Mr. Reiser (*RIMSHOT*).
But don’t worry, Paul, there are plenty of folks out there who are WAY WORSE than you. And of course, the RSBS interns have been working furiously to bring you the shortlist. Shall we?
After signing a $43.5 million deal to be the ignition in an otherwise defunct offense, it only seems fitting that the fate of the Mariners took another giant step backwards as Mr. Figgins continues to be the only thing that smells worse than Pike’s Place fish market. Last year he topped off his .259 batting average with a debilitating case of bad attitude. This year, he seems to be on track for more of the same, only, Wakamatsu ain’t there to box the boy’s ears. Therefore, Chone is definitely worse than Paul Reiser.
Since he is the CEO of the McDonald’s Corporation, I think it’s important that we call out Jim Skinner and everything his company stands for: taking advantage of the masses’ inferior intellect. I don’t care what you do to the labeling, the packaging, etc., “food” that comes from McDonald’s is not f***ing good for you. In fact, it’s killing you… it’s killing you and the rest of US America. When I first swore off fast food (about 7 years ago) I was surprised at how my body reacted by feeling good most of the time. After a year of zero Big Macs, I decided to give it another try. I had a Big Mac, large fry and a Coke. An hour later, I threw up… from both ends. That was my body’s way of saying STOP THE INSANITY. I did and I’ve never felt better.
Also, people are using Jim’s restaurant as a place to throw down. Not cool. So Jim is definitely worse than Paul Reiser.
2010 Jason Bay
This lucky (and smart) Canadian managed to work out a $73 million five-year deal with the Mets after the 2009 season. He followed that trip to the bank by hitting 6 homeruns in 95 games, before he got hurt and missed the rest of the season.
He was bad. So bad that he is STILL worse than Paul Reiser.
NATO wants him dead. That doesn’t make him bad, that makes him SOOP-UH BAD… or, WORSE than Paul Reiser.
I really hate to pick on the Mets here, but, well, the Mets have done a lot of dumb things in recent years… like, y’know, pay Oliver Perez $12 million a year to throw baseballs like my athletically-challenged and oft persnickety colleague, Mr. Krause throws softballs.
Not very good.
Of course, Ollie’s situation comes in way WORSE than Paul Reiser’s, because Ollie is STILL getting $12 million from the Mets this year, even though he’s not on the team.
All of the above are bad. In fact, all of the above are really bad.
But they are also UNANIMOUSLY rich beyond my Joe Plumber @$$, so… the moral of the story, once again, is be bad. Get paid.
Congrats on making the team, Paul Reiser.
Hate me ‘cuz it’s legal, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Before you start jumping to conclusions, dear readers, let me just say that I don’t think Vice President Joe Biden’s aides were in the right for locking Orlando Sentinel reporter, Scott Powers, in the closet during a recent Alan Ginsburg-paid soiree to raise money for the 2012 election campaign. If Biden’s aides are as sexy and savvy as the RSBS interns, then they surely had a good reason for keeping Mr. Powers confined to a small space for such a long time.*
As a bonafide megafortified soused-out baseball fanatic, I can honestly say that I’d like to keep a few players in the closet for the entire 2011 season, so that I can concentrate on the games being played rather than the asinine soap-operatic subplots of the whiny and perpetually irritating.
Who shall we keep locked up this season you ask? Well, I’ll tell you:
This is a tough call because Nyjer’s antics often result in beanball wars and Jeff Lungian smackdowns — both staples of maintaining my healthy psyche. But, when a player constantly runs his mouth and ends up getting his teammates hurt, then I think it’s time to get out the jaw-wiring. Besides, Morgan’s a
Nat Brewer. No one will even notice he’s gone.
He’s an idiot. He’s a birther. He’s an Oriole. And all of those things make him… irrelevant. A perfect candidate to be closeted. For the season. All of it!
And finally, if we’re going to be throwing folks in the closet for the season, let us not leave out…
I know that being a Seattle Mariner inherently keeps Milton’s whining out of the headlines (few people care to read the perils of such a slogging team), but this dude isn’t just a baby. He isn’t just a clubhouse cancer. He’s also a wife-beater. Not only that, but the man is not a good baseball player. He had one decent year, got paid and then went back to being a snake.
To the closet they go!
Hate me ‘cuz I’m slingin’ mud, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*This is also how Mr. Krause’s parents shielded him from the temptations of adolescence.