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.
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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.