And so in this Podcast brought to you by Lifestyles…
Jeff and Johanna kick the season off by trying to name every Jewish baseballer ever known to man before PodMaster Keith let’s The 8:08 (from harried Undercast fame) into the studio… from there on out the wheels come off in one great big ball of awesomeness that includes Dodger takeovers, Hawkisms galore, goofy games that may or may not include a sexual innuendo (or fifty) and much, much more… all to make you excite!
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Recorded Wednesday, April 27, 2011
My morose and oft despondent colleague, Mr. Krause, recently addressed our mutual passion for the sport of long distance running, and in doing so, alluded to the fact that such passionate loyalty requires a certain tolerance for pain.
Indeed, running begets pain. But said pain often calluses the soul, prepares it for the ultimate fight — whether physical or mental — and breeds a certain unparalleled toughness that can guide one through any hardship. This I know.
Pain is a binding precursor to ecstasy. Without it, we wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit us in the face… which, would be ironic in this case, because — depending on what the object hitting us in the face is — that could possibly hurt.
But I digress.
Perhaps the following irony deficient examples will help better illustrate my point:
(aka Nipple Abrasions — minor yet aggravatingly debilitating)
Congratulations, Washington Nationals, on signing Alfonso Soriano 2.0! No, seriously, I really am happy for you. I mean, y’all have had some painfully troublesome moments in your six year history… y’know, like, sucking and all. Then Strasburg went down… Dunn got away… and now you dole out $18 million a year for SEVEN YEARS to your division rival’s 32 year-old third fiddle. Um… okay. The bad news is: you got screwed. The good news is: it’ll be over in seven years. By then you will be so learned, so deteriorated, so callused by anguish that every little victory will seem colossal. Maybe you’ll even smile. Maybe.
(aka Plantar Fasciitis — excruciatingly biting, often chronic)
Eight years of Dubya. A war in Afghanistan. A war in Iraq. The continued waste of an asinine war on drugs, on poverty, on progression in general. The complete upheaval of congress from one extreme to another, to another, then back to where it started again. We don’t have healthcare, we do have healthcare, we don’t have healthcare. We’ve no jobs. Our farmers are forced to grow crap crops to make corn syrup which is then injected into all your food so that you are prone to overeat, become obese, get diabetes and die. Yeah. That’s some real pain right there; makes Canada sound like the Playboy Mansion. Ms. Teen South Carolina, you with me?
The Pittsburgh Pirates
(aka Hitting the Wall or “Bonking” — worst case scenario your body loses the ability to function due to depleted glycogen stores)
Two words: Matt Diaz. Wow. Just… wow. Dear readers, when signing Matt Diaz is a big deal, you know your team is in trouble. In the Pirates’ case, they’ve been in trouble since 1992, they show zero signs of improvement, and life is just gonna get more and more painful for the handful of baseball fans left in Pittsburgh.
“Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”
My advice? Go Steelers!
Hate me ‘cuz I bring da pain, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Don’t worry, dear readers, RSBS is on it. Sure, the WikiLeaks crew seems to be focusing their efforts on outing wrongs and ending wars, but don’t forget: a lot of these folks are US Americans (I think?) and after they solve enough military crises and torture pandemics, they’re gonna turn their attention to what really matters:
Luckily, for you, we have the inside track. Of course, such sensitive information doesn’t come easily, and It is important to remember that many RSBS interns perished in order to bring you the truth.
Please. Be respectful of that.
And do with it what you will. After reading the following information, I advise you to lock all the doors, close all the windows and drink some beer. You’ll feel better.
– – – WIKILEAKS CONFIDENTIAL; MLB FACTION – – –
Derek Jeter is being courted by the Red Sox. And he is listening.
The Expos are not dead. They’re frozen in carbonite until the Quebecois can be fooled into thinking they’re watching hockey. Almost there.
Peter Gammons is Gepetto. For real.
The Pittsburgh Pirates’ 1979 uniform combos were designed by embedded Russian spies hoping to kill the American public with ugliness. They almost succeeded… if it weren’t for that damn Sister Sledge!!!
Contrary to popular belief, Desmond Jennings is NOT Carl Crawford. The Rays are making a mistake.
Jon Hamm loves the Cardinals. (Oh, that’s not a secret? Of course not… everyone should love the Cardinals!)
The Cubs remain in a perpetual state of misery… because they can. Cubs fans keep coming back. For more.
Prince Fielder is prone to eating himself if left alone for more than 15 minutes at a time.
Yorvit Torrealba’s name spelled backwards is Ablaerrot Tivory, which looks like a Prussian hybrid name. But it’s not. It’s Spanish. Backwards. Try it. You’ll see.
We know what Jayson Werth did last summer… and it wasn’t Chase Utley’s wife!!!
– – – END CONFIDENTIALITY – – –
Hate me ‘cuz I get the facts. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Wow. Baseball is really over. I’m feeling a little lost here. Should I
turn to football, alcohol or the annual Victoria’s Secret holiday
special for comfort?
For serious though, anyone who knows me knows to be very, very cautious this time of year… for the sudden drop of the best baseball teams on the planet playing for a title to absolutely no baseball games at all can be beyond devastating.
I ain’t gonna tell on myself, but if you refer to the sheer number of world catastrophes that have taken place during the month of November over the last several years, you’ll understand exactly what I’m trying to say.
So. How do we cope?
Football helps. But not if you’re a Bears fan. So, yeah. I’m screwed there.
Hockey helps. No. That’s a lie. Hockey doesn’t help. At all.
My pal Johanna (from the RSBS podcasts) is trying to get me into the NBA… he’s been quizzing me on my basketball knowledge. My only problem is that the last time I paid any attention to the NBA, Charles Barkley and Shaquille O’Neal were in their primes (and half their current sizes!) so I’ve got a lot to catch up on. Apparently Dwight Howard and Juwan Howard are not the same person.
And beer. Yes. Beer will help. A lot. Especially if you mix beer and vodka and gin with Johnnie Walker… and a few bottles of Ambien. After that cocktail you won’t even remember to watch the Victoria Secret Holiday Special, let alone care about it.
And if everything goes according to the above plan, you can eliminate most of the doldrums tha traditionally take place between Thanksgiving and President’s Day. By then, Cliff Lee will be in pinstripes, Jayson Werth will be in pinstripes, and Carl Crawford will be in pinstripes!!!
So join me, Ben… join me, dear readers galore… and let us ride off into that fabled sunset known as off-season delirium. It won’t hurt. I promise.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
As is tradition here at RSBS, The Filibuster will now go on hiatus until pitchers and catchers report in the spring, leaving more room for the avant-garde ridiculousness you’ve come to expect from us over the years. Of course, come February we’ll announce its return; in the meantime, we would like to heartily thank all the strangers, friends, relatives, morons, geniuses and fellow bloggers who have sent in Filibuster questions during the 2010 season. Without y’all, it’d just be Al and I talkin’ to ourselves (BORING!)… so thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!!
Yes, dear readers, I know that we still have at least 15 more months before Mayan legend is set to destroy the universe, but I’m afraid ruination and chaos might already be here, making 2012 moot.
Don’t believe me?
O’Donnell strategy: time’s limited;use it 2 connect w/local voters whom
you’ll be serving vs appeasing nat’l media seeking ur destruction
Yes, Christine! Seeking… your… destruction! Bwahhhhhhhhhh! Me want freedom to touch myself! Me want witchcraft-free Delaware! Me want answer to Teabagging claim of fiscal responsibility despite inability to pay back your college loans! Bwahhhhhh! How dare we demand such clarity! Bwahhhhhh!
Gotta be a sign of the apocalypse.
If not that, then how about the colossal union of two universally disliked MLB wormbags? That’s right, folks. Jayson Werth (and his beard) have teamed up with Scott Boras to form the sort of free agent chimera that will have everyone talking more zeroes ad nauseum this winter. Look, I get it. Dude wants to get paid. No problem with that. But for someone whom the public has already deemed a megafortified jerk, it seems like hiring the sleaziest of the bunch to fetch that money might not have been the best public relations move. Oh, and it also means he won’t be an Angel next season.
The Angels handcuffed into quelling big time free-agent magic? Gotta be a sign of the apocalypse.
Of course, nothing can predict the end of the world is near better than our US American justice system playing host to a caffeine insanity defense, in a murder trial! Sorry, your honor. Two Jolt colas and a bottle of Ride-the-Snake diet pills and I just couldn’t STOP MYSELF FROM MURDERING MY ENTIRE NEIGHBORHOOD!
It is no secret that I am a caffeine addled man myself. But I would never use that as an excuse to kill someone. Insult my going-nowhere Redbirds and maybe we can talk creative defense strategies, but to blame it on caffeine?
There’s no other explanation, folks. It’s gotta be another sign.
So go ahead and hate me ‘cuz time’s runnin’ out. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
You guys seem to have an opinion on most everything. So tell me, what
do you think about the Reds, the Rays and the oil spill in the Gulf of
Mexico? Any chance they’re related?
Us? Have an opinion? Ya don’t say! Shall we?
Subject: The Cincinnati Reds
Like oil spills, Republican victories and the birth of Mr. Krause, accidents do happen, people. Does a team led by a professional arm-killer who says “dude” way too often despite his old age have what it takes to stay in contention all year long? Probably. I mean, Dusty Baker has done it before. But just like before, this team too will eventually find a way to sink back down towards expectations. Let’s face it: the only reason the Reds are atop the Central Division right now is because the Cardinals are faltering… but they won’t for long.
Opinion: Overrated, destined to fail, not worth your time
Subject: The Tampa Bay Rays
Gee whiz! If ever there were a case for the evangelical loonies to get involved with Major League Baseball (not counting Josh “I love Jesus when he lets me do body shots” Hamilton) then this rise to the top for the Tampa Bay Rays is certainly it. Who knew that the only key to success for this once hapless franchise was to remove the word “devil” from their name? Any guesses for when the Yankees will try to follow suit by removing “New York” from theirs?
Opinion: Playoff Bound
Subject: BP Oil Spill
Like the Cincinnati Reds, Republican victories and the birth of Mr. Krause, accidents do happen, people. Oh… wait, did I already use that line? That must’ve been Johnnie Walker talking. Unfortunately, no amount of whisky will make this terrible accident and its disastrous effects go away anytime soon. Not since Chase Utley last removed his cap has the planet been exposed to such oil laden horrors; I expect clean-up efforts will require immense patience, determination and confidence… which, coincidentally, is also the recipe for surviving a summer in Philadelphia. Not everyone makes it out alive.
Opinion: This really sucks
Now… are they related you ask?
In as much as these events and situations are all taking place on the planet earth, in the month of May, two years before our imminent destruction predicted by the Mayans… yes, they are related.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t worry too much.
So don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
***SEND US YOUR FILIBUSTERS****
Something on your mind? Want to see Jeff and Al sweat (separately, not
together, eww)? Think you got a real stumper? Send us your Filibuster
question(s) by commenting or emailing them to us at
***A lock from Jayson Werth’s now shaven beard also welcome… Al is weird like that.
In an effort to avoid any bias in reporting the results of the recently completed World Series of Metaphors, RSBS decided to ask an impartial third party to announce the results of the contest and authors of the metaphors. Unfortunately, it was kind of short notice and the only person willing to help out was our old friend, Max. So, despite our better judgment, here goes.
Populism can eat my @$$. For that matter, so can democracy. You know what happens when you let democracy and populism run amok? Sarah Palin and Barack Obama. Speaking of which, you know what both of them can do? I’ll give you a hint: It has already been mentioned in this paragraph.
You know what else happens when democracy and populism run amok? Worthless excuses for contests like the one that happened right here on this blog. Look at those metaphors. At least there was an attempt to keep it a little highbrow with the biblical references and I thank Allen for that. But Jeff went straight for the gutter. Way too embarrassed to tell your friends about Ryan Howard? That doesn’t even make sense. He might be a fat girl but he’s popular. Wouldn’t that put him more in the Jennifer Hudson vein? I’d expect Jeff to make that connection anyway considering his practically pederastic love for underage Filipinas and everything else that American Idol entails. Way to play to the lowest common denominator there buddy.
As it stands, Jeff won the contest. Jayson Werth as the dirty uncle and this whole A-Rod as a pretty girl business won it for him. But really, doesn’t that just mean that we all lose? And just to be fair, I’m more than a little disappointed with Allen for sinking to the same level with his self comparison to Yankee fans. Did you forget that you hate the Yankees, pal? And as if that wasn’t bad enough, you still lost and now you have to write an essay praising Jeff. Well played, Judas. Hope you remembered to pick up your thirty pieces of silver on the way out.
Frankly, I’m not even sure what I’m doing here right now. I consider Jeff and Allen great friends but intellectual minnows, a point they proved impressively well with this “metaphor-off” or whatever poorly disguised euphemism they might have used for their h0mo-erotic excuse for a blog. I need to get home anyway. Populism and democracy are coming by in a little while to attend to some business.
-Maxwell “Max” P. Framington
In this epic best of three game battle of metaphors — mixed, extended, absolute and beyond — Jeff and Allen pair wits and leave it to YOU, the dear reader, to decide the champion.
The humbled loser will be forced to shower the winner with a carefully constructed essay of praise.
The Topic: Jayson Werth
Suggested by: xcicix from Bringing Diamond Back(s)
Jayson Werth steps into the box, a hyena scavenging for whatever scraps he can claim from his constantly shifting place in the pack. Something stolen here, something taken down all by himself there, the fear comes from never knowing what he might do. You wonder how something that looks so ridiculous could do so much damage but the crunch as he feasts on yet one more victim forces you to simply accept him for the beast that he is.
At your annual summer family reunion picnic, Jayson Werth is that fun-lovin’, cigar-smokin’, joke-crackin’ drunk uncle who never has a problem being the life of the party, on the spot, whenever he is asked. He is also that same uncle whom your mom and dad won’t ever let you be alone with — the one who disappears every time a cop drives by, the one who considers Jager Bombs to be one of the four major food groups.
Please vote! Tell your friends! Do your US American duty!
Fine. It’s okay. No, really.
It is your right to not be excited about this series because it involves bullies and brawlers, overpaid free agents and neanderthals, pinstripes and… er… pinstripes. But, as a baseball fan, it is hard for me to find a reason (other than everything else we here at RSBS have ever alluded to — ever) to not look forward to this World Series match-up between Philadelphia and New York.
I mean, we are getting the two best teams in Major League Baseball to play each other in the final series, are we not?
And let’s face it: when the crown of baseball fandom rests upon the head of someone with the mental (and carnal) acumen of this fella in the background…
… well, let’s just say that a whole new field of dreams is possible.
Is it Wednesday yet?
Hate me ‘cuz I jump on the buzz train, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.