And now, 1,597 posts.
Red State Blue State was born out of the fiery email exchanges between Messieurs Krause and Lung during the 2006 World Series — a World Series that saw Jeff’s Redbirds trounce Allen’s Tigers (although until his dying breath Mr. Krause will blame the pitching fielding errors over an inept offense for Detroit’s shortcoming — one that would not be their last, obviously).
Over the last five years, we have enjoyed all of the benefits of writing a hit MLBlog. Jeff got to interview Ken Griffey, Sr., Dave Winfield and his boyhood idol, Ozzie Smith. He also went to the 2009 All Star Game and reported on that experience. Hell, last year he even went to the World Series! — twice — and then popped champagne as his boys brought it all home. Allen, well, he drew particular pride from the fact that RSBS ended up getting banned by the censors in Saudi Arabia.
But it wasn’t just about the sports. Although RSBS started life as a baseball blog, the second and equally important pillar, was a shared enjoyment of the drama and often maddening inconsistencies with the American political system. We found a way to combine sports and politics with literary bindings, and from that we engaged in quite a few intellectual debates that strung our worlds together. The highlight of Jeff’s political revelations had to be his Libertarian coming out party — the one that Mr. Krause so dutifully lampooned.
For Allen, the Post-Partisan Playoff Preview presented an opportunity to truly combine postseason baseball and postseason politics into an orgy of prognostication. Sure, the only time he may have truly gotten it right was in 2008’s initial edition but he still made a valiant effort in the close but not quite there predictions of 2011 and 2010. Allen’s political evolution may have been less dramatic than Jeff’s as he stayed continuously true to his blue state roots but this led to a moment he’ll never forget, being there for the inauguration of Barack Obama.
However, probably our finest RSBS achievements have to do with a little ditty by David Archuletta and the underground hip-hop sensation, Jesus Hates the Cubs.
Today is a day different from all the rest. Today we publish our last post. It is not without sadness that we do this, but, like many others experience in life, the time has come for us to move on.
If you would like to follow Allen’s post-RSBS exploits, visit him at his new blog, The Nomadic Revue, where he will continue to provide political commentary as well as entertainment and restaurant reviews.
And if you would like to follow Jeff’s sensational running career (and all the creative introspection born from that), then check out The Run Factory.
More than anything, we want to thank YOU, dear reader. Thank you for joining us on our journey. Thank you for all your comments, all your emails, all your Twitter love.
Thank you all very, very much.
Jeff and Allen
First, Romney had his binders full of women:
Then, he added horses and bayonets:
Remind me again how this is still a race?
Admittedly, the Tigers could really use some horses and bayonets at this point if they want to be a little more competitive. But please, just keep all of them, and especially the bayonets, really far away from Jeff right now.
The names were different, yes, but the destruction was equally devastating. Maybe even more.
I’m talking about the EPIC FAIL that was the 2012 NLCS, compared to the one that first stopped by heart 16 years ago. Yes, in 1996 it was Todd Stottlemyre in the role of Lance Lynn, with Andy Benes as Chris Carpenter and Donavon Osborne as Kyle “I Ain’t A Big Game Pitcher” Lohse.
It was Ozzie’s last year, Tony’s first and the first time back to the World Series since 1987 and the uncomfortable early 90’s era Redbirds… or so I thought.
Up three games to one in the best of seven series against the Atlanta Braves, the jockstraps came off a team that simply couldn’t score any runs; and instead of spending the last days of October in complete ecstasy, the 17-year old me stayed locked away in a dark closet, reading Nietzsche by a flashlight, ultimately coming back to the same redundant question: WHAT… IS… THE POINT?
I still don’t know. What is the point? Why get so worked up over something so silly? I wish I knew. And, for RSBS‘ sake, I sure hope Mr. Krause doesn’t have to find out. Not this year. So yeah, um… go Tigers.
Also, Marco Scutaro is my Toby Flenderson.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
One of the things I’ve always appreciated about my buddy Jeff is his ability to admit when he’s wrong. And despite what he may say at the end of every post, there have been plenty of times that he has had to admit to errant predictions or inappropriate accusations.
That doesn’t make it any less refreshing when it happens, though. For instance, his recent mea culpa for getting the AL Central race so wrong came as a breath of fresh air. And if anyone should know about never counting a team out you would think that it would be the guy who supports the Cardinals, a teams whose 2006 season was the ultimate story of lucking into the playoffs and then getting hot at the right time.
Now, I’m a much more cautious person than Jeff. I’m not going to make any wild predictions about the Tigers winning the pennant, much less the World Series. However, the 2006 Cardinals (and the 2011 Cardinals, for that matter) proved that anything is possible and the Tigers definitely have a team that, if everything clicks, could do some damage.
Hey, what could be better than Jeff taking a bath? Or a shower, as it were.
The other day my good friend and colleague, Jeffery, publicly mocked me for not being tuned in to Anibal Sanchez’s at-the-time no-no. In his screed, Jeff notes how he sent me text, a text that compelled me to call him and find out what was going on. However, when you read a little more closely, you realize that this all happened on Saturday.
Now, I’m sure I don’t need to point this out to any of our RSBS readers but this past Saturday also happened to be a day chock-full of various other sporting events including some important early-season college football games. Being the sports enthusiast that I am and due to the Tigers’ increasingly erratic play, I made the decision to focus on college football.
What happened next is the very definition of what you are not supposed to do when a no-hitter is in the offing. Jeff texted me a vague, leading question which demanded a response. As I called and Jeff picked up the phone, Sanchez let loose the the pitch that would end the no-hit bid. Now, I ask you, members of the jury, who bears the blame for this unfortunate series of events? Is it Allen, the attentive friend, responding to his buddy’s inarticulate and unclear question? Or is it Jeff, the person who set these events in motion and instigated the fateful phone call?
The answer is clear my friends. And if Johnny Cochran were here with us today, this would be the point where we’d hear him say: “Texting is key, Jeff’s guilty.”
Jeff is off on a well-deserved break this week and we decided to give the filibuster a rest as well. We’ll be back next week with all the jeremiadical paroxysms you expect from the RSBS crew. In the meantime, to salve the pain of the missing filibuster, we present a recently discovered video of Jeff in the privacy of his own home:[youtube http://youtu.be/7CCn0l-r26I]
First off, I’d like to point out that I was pretty much dead on with my predictions in this past Sunday’s filibuster. Verlander started the game. Prince won the derby. Cabrera won the MVP (Melky, not Miguel but still…). And Mr. Lung, although he may not have done so in public, disagreed with me and was soundly spanked (much like a typical Saturday night in Mr. Lung’s love life).
Despite all the brilliance flowing from the pages of RSBS I’m sure that some people out there are trying to find fault with this performance, especially as a result of Verlander’s performance. Number one, shut up. Number two, this is exactly why the All-Star Game shouldn’t count towards anything of importance.
That being said, I’d like to go back to Verlander’s “debacle” and take a new look at it in light of recent scientific input. Yes, it’s probably fair to say that Verlander melted down but as the article points out, when the speed of the ball is approaching the ridiculous speeds at which Verlander throws, well, friction leads to uncontrollable fusion which leads to nuclear mayhem. We’re just lucky that only Verlander imploded and didn’t take the rest of the stadium with him.