And so in this Podcast brought to you by Lifestyles…
After a rough night of Pirate inspired debauchery, Jeff and Johanna clear the cobwebs (and police reports) to make room for special guest, Paul Lebowitz. It doesn’t take long for them to get riled up as they touch on the evil FOX chimera Joe McCarver, Clint Hurdle’s Pirates, the White Sox’s diamond impotence and much, much more!
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Recorded Saturday, July 16, 2011
In my house, the MLB All-Star Game is almost Christmas. It’s a time for being with friends and family, for stuffing your face with unhealthy food and coming up with a believable excuse for missing work in the morning while you nurse that helluh-bad hangover.
But to do it, ya gotta do it right. So here is a list of things the RSBS interns and I deem necessary for an enjoyable ASG experience:
Or wine, or gin, or vodka, or peach Faygo (if you’re Mr. Krause)… or whatever it is you shove down your gullet to help you forget Joe Buck is annoying, go for it.
Like I said, Joe Buck — the king of pretension — will have your ears bleeding by the 7th inning stretch if you don’t have a quick finger on the proper controls.
Until the World Series rolls around, the All-Star Game seems to be the one game the rest of the world actually pays some attention to (I know this ‘cuz my mom always texts me during the ASG, commenting on things happening during the game, as if I’ll be impressed). The problem is, the folks at FOX cater to that crowd and seem to feature a ton of feel-good filler before and during the game. Look, that’s cool and all, but I only care about the game, not about hometown heroes or how so-and-so grew up poor and blind and is now an All-Star who can see… sorry. I know that makes me sound like an a-hole, but the truth is: fluff has a time and a place, neither of which are during a game that supposedly COUNTS, which brings me to the next must-have…
A Sense of Humor
Now it counts! This time it counts! The All-Star Game counts! Yeah, okay, whatevs.
A Keen, Observing Eye
This part is tough, especially after about 10 peach Faygos… but the MLB All-Star Game is the one All-Star Game that is played true. It’s not a show of offense. Guys don’t ease up or fall back. They play just like they usually play: hard and to win. When I attended the 2009 ASG in St. Louis, I marveled at each player’s individual effort. Seeing a star-studded field of players who were obviously giving their best to win was a real treat and it’s something that only happens once a year, so PAY ATTENTION DAMMIT!
And, of course, don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
You know it. I know it. The US American people know it.
FOX hired Ozzie Guillen to be an analyst on their pre and post game shows for one reason and one reason only: to make sure you at least consider watching their otherwise boring pre and post game shows.
And if you were one of the three or so people who stayed tuned after last night’s rout to suffer through 15 minutes of Chris Rose and Eric Karros’ lisp, well, you’re just as glad as I am that Ozzie was there to break up the monotony.
Even though we have no clue what he said.
The uber-linguistic RSBS interns got to work transcribing, but even they aren’t sure.
Ozzie on the World Series atmosphere:
Dis is wazza gonna want for the ho season. Back in spring train, dis is wazza gonna tink abow forda ho year. To win a gang after gang after gang, izza gonna hafta looze too. But dassa wazza gonna happen. Enjoy it!!!
Ozzie on Juan Uribe’s playoff heroics:
Well, dazza wazza gonna happen. Dis guy, Uribe, he like a big cat dat like-uh eat something. He like-uh eat anyting. Really, he juzza gonna eat so you better let eem eat. He can hurchoo witta glub and witta bat een hees hanz.
And of course…
Ozzie on what the Rangers have to do to counter the Game 1 loss:
Furs of all, you gonna habba go back in dat clobehouse wit your head up high and make sure you not gonna habba stroke or whadebba ees not gonna kill you you lose one gang. Errybody losing a gang or eef you northsider you lose a lotta gang (hehehehe) but eet not gonna mattuh go home and tell yo wife you lubba den you relax or what you gonna do to sleep and go to clobehouse tomorrow and win dat gang and maybe another gang back in your own clobehouse. Dazza wazza gonna habba do.
FOX may lose points with Joe Buck and Tim McCarver. But, dear readers, Ozzie Guillen is an entertainment gold mine!
Hate me. Fine. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(special thanks to Johanna Mahmud, who contributed to this post)
Oh, man, these last few days living the life of a bonafide Yankee fan have been some sort of trip! Jeesh, the amount of work that goes into it… it’s just… staggering.
But overall, the sense of entitlement, inflated ego and blabbering-slandering mouth I’ve picked up have helped me transition.
Just to prove my ability, if you haven’t noticed, the Yankees still have 27 trophies. Still have iconic pinstripes. Still tout the achievements of the Babe.
we won Game 1 of the ALCS. Ha! Jesus may be on Josh Hamilton’s side,
but underneath that purple robe and thistle crown, Jesus flashes
pinstripes. Believe that!
Of course, not everything about being a
Yankee fan is easy… which is why I want to share with you my biggest
test yet: enduring Suzyn Waldman.
Jeff as a Yankees Fan, DAY 5:
Yankee posse overloads me with a heavy ear workout, forcing me to
listen to the worst broadcasters ever known: Chip Caray, Hawk Harrelson,
Joe Buck. My coaches insist this is necessary. I have to build up my
tolerance. Because I won’t have the option of turning off the radio,
even though I will most certainly want to.
ears, sore as can be, can’t take another minute of awful announcing…
so I am forced to endure a thousand papercuts on each lobe instead.
lunch time. I’m starving. And instead of a good healthy meal full of
the necessary proteins and vitamins I will need before game time, I am
presented a platter of fatty, fried foods. “What’s this?” I ask.
“Standard pre-Yankee game meal, Jeff” says the chef. “We gotta get you
full of s*** so you fit in tonight.”
I take a nap. I have a dream. I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former Yankees and
the sons of former Red Sox will be able to sit down together at a
table of brotherhood and —– what the — damn, that was a stupid dream.
Game time. I f****** HATE the Rangers. Go Yankees!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Suzyn Waldman’s voice… it’s… at
game time it’s even worse than… no… three more hours of… I gotta
listen to this crap for three more —
Are we winning? Are we losing? I can’t stop my ears from bleeding. Damn you, Suzyn Waldman. Damn you!!!
It’s all over now. It’s been over. We won. But wow… it was not
easy. I never thought I’d say this, because I find him to be a perfect
example of everything that’s wrong with modern day broadcasting, but
thank the baseball gods for John Sterling…
Now, does anyone know a good ears, nose and throat guy?
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To be continued…
And so in this Podcast…
Jeff and his Cub-lovin’ pal Johanna Mahmud put their heads together to find out what’s wrong with Joe Buck’s face… they also talk about a slew of other important stuff, including (but not limited to) Andre Dawson being a bad@ss, why everyone hates Cleveland, Pete Hill of the Negro Leagues, Matt Capps’ ginormous noggin, the Lou
Piniella Mailbag and much,
much more… all to make you laughy time!
P.S. Language definitely rated R on this one. We let ourselves go a bit… but it’s a lot of fun (trust us).
to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*
via iTunes by clicking *HERE*
thanks to Keith Carmack — our engineer, director, editor and
all-around sound guru. His Undercast
podcast is a must-listen (listen to it!). It’s available on iTunes and
is posted regularly at Undercard
Recorded Saturday, July 24, 2010
What could be more spooky than changing locations for a pivotal game 3 on Halloween night? The answer: not much. I think I’d even rather face the terror of national health care than show up wearing Yankees gear in Philadelphia tonight. No matter which side of the debate you find yourself on, the fright of getting dropped from your health insurance because of a pre-existing condition or sending Nana in front of a “death panel” because her health is no longer viable sure beats the horror of beer and hot dog wielding phanatics.
However, no matter how insane Phillies fans may be, I am hard pressed to believe there is anything more scream inducing than listening to Joe “I don’t even pay attention to baseball anymore” Buck doing the play by play. Although they could have made it even worse by bringing TBS and the corneal abrasion that is Craig Sager in on the act. Even Michael Jackson couldn’t make that outfit look good.
What would be really nice is if just for one night they would bring in a voice that could give the World Series the gravitas it deserves. And since it’s Halloween I think you all know where I’m going with this. Exactly. We should raise Vincent Price from the grave and let him do it. Hey, it worked for Thriller:
***IMPORTANT PROGRAMING NOTE***
Nevermind all that pre-NLCS/ALCS buzz dancing around the internets and such as, the Iraq! Soon we will all have more than our wanted fill of Joe Buck self-righteous proclamations and ear-numbing Chip Carary-isms. For now, let us focus on the larger, more looming and lurid task of finding the Cleveland Indians a new manager. Shall we?
Yep. John Farrell is no longer in the mix. They can’t afford Bobby Valentine. And unfortunately, dear readers, Lou Brown has gone back to selling tires… forever.
That’s why I, along with the fastidious help of our always reliable RSBS interns, have prepared a list of potential managerial candidates for Indians GM Mark Shapiro, whom we all know is too busy lamenting the contract of one Travis “I Ain’t Got It No More” Hafner and the cruel reality of a midge-less postseason.
Mark, here is the shortlist of suggested targets:
Sure, the Big Tuna ain’t no baseball guy; we know that. But he was born to win (and eat… a lot). Besides, just think of what hiring this former Cowboy coach could do for the long neglected and oft polarized relationship between Cowboys and Indians. Mark, it is time to heal these wounds.
Since being shunned and axed by his University of Illinois home (where he was a staple presence for 81 years), the Great Chief doesn’t really have much to do but stay in and get drunk all day. Hey, you can get drunk at the ballpark too, Chief! Plus, having such a standard bearer of Native American tradition might help the Indians solve that whole racist image thing they’ve had goin’ on for… y’know… ever.
Oh, wait. He’s dead. Never mind.
He’s dead too? Sorry.
Whoops. My bad. Okay. No more dead guys of French descent.
Well, then that leaves me with just one more super managerial candidate for Mr. Shapiro and that person is:
Look, if you’re gonna build a bridge to nowhere, ya might as well build it on the Cuyahoga River.
Hate me ‘cuz I’m on point, all the time, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.