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!
Every December we like to take a look back at what happened during the year in RSBS. And with Christmas upon us and the annual RSBS holiday break about to take place, it’s that time of year again. Granted, there’s no way we could do this without all the hard work put in by the interns so I want to take this opportunity to personally thank them and ask them to keep up all the good work next year.
Now, before I get to the part you’re all waiting for, I want to take a moment to recognize a couple other people without whom this blog would be a much sadder place. The regulars probably know him best from his appearances on the podcast but for me, his occasional pieces really put into words what I wish I could express. In particular, this year I appreciated Mark Piebanga’s midseason post about Don Kelly. For me, it crystallized who the Tigers were at that point in the season.
Similarly, the brilliant ranting and raving of Johanna Mahmud always bring a mid-week smile to my face. Whether he’s once again lamenting the shortcomings of the Cubs via musical theatre allusions or cautiously hoping for change with the arrival of Theo Epstein, Jo hits the nail on the head as often as not in a way only he can. However, the edition of Setting the Mahmud that really did it for me was his takedown of the Red Sox in the key of Arthur. Nothing says b*tchslap quite like setting your role model loose on the AL underperformer of the year.
For the main event, though, I thought long and hard about the season my co-author had. I watched with amusement his two-part Libertarian “coming out” as he confessed his love for the still-feisty Ron Paul. I also applauded along with everyone else as Jeff completed his first marathon, and this from a guy who, two years ago, was out of breath after running a block.
But the real marathon was the baseball season and if you don’t believe me, just go back through the record. It started in April with Franklin’s blown saves and four months later, Jeff had all but given up on the Cards (and totally given up on the Rays). Just a few short weeks later, though, his dreams came true while attending his first World Series game and a few days later, that dream reached its apex as the Cardinals won the World Series. But as happy as he may have been in that moment, and all joking aside, I don’t think any of us could possibly understand how hard the Albert Pujols news hit him. Baseball, just like that marathon, has its extreme highs and lows. In 2011 we watched Jeff live them both.
Don’t forget our awesome Oakley Blender sunglasses give-away, made possible by our friends at Crown Royal! If you would like to win these sweet shades, all you gotta do is send us a picture showing why you are RSBS’ biggest fan. Email it to us at RSBSblog@gmail.com. The winner will be announced this Saturday, December 24th.
“Hello little man, boy, I heard a lot about you.”
The news is in the for MLB, and well, there is no news.
But Paula Deen got hit in tha damn head with a ham!!!
Wish I threw it.
But there is a ham fighter (and occasional nude male model) on the loose. The Rangers couldn’t keep C.J. Wilson but they sure ponied up to possibly sign Yu Darvish. After the Los Angels signed Alberta de la Pujols, Texas had to do something and they definitely went BIG.
I don’t speak Farsi or Japanesy-Chinesey like Jeffy, but I’ve been all over this kid for a couple years and am eager to see him pitch in the Bigs. I finally have a Middle Eastern brother to watch!
Decision making while tired has happened many times whilst signing Asian ballplayers has been bad, (see Fukudome, Kosuke or K, Dice) but I think this cat has it going on. He’s extremely consistent statistically, has a powerful arm and my manometer is blasting! I will make a pilgrimage to Arlington to see him, which means I’ll probably have a woman shooting at me eventually. Everybody’s packing down there!
Anyway, this was early Xmas for me, (even though the Prince isn’t a Cub yet) so I got my reindeer sweater and I’m blastin this bomb.
“Jesus, that’s wet.”
Have a great whatever you do!
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Things to Do in Miami When You’re Dead
Just one week ago I wrote about all the good the Marlins are doing. It’s been an interesting week since then. I baked. I strung lights. I went sledding in my neighbor’s bathtub (she may or may not know this). I made a gingerbread house. I have Christmas fever!! And it’s Big Cat week!! But wait, there more!
I’m also slightly sore from the waist down since my man Aramis Ramirez is leaving the Cubs, but I’m not in the same stratosphere compared to what Jeffy is going through with Alberto de la Pujols. But that’s not why I called.
See, my father lives in the Miami metro area. He slipped me a story that’s been going on down there, one that hasn’t been reported too much here and it details the mess the Miami Marlins have created with the locals involving their new stadium. Check it out from the Herald.
And *this one* too!
Apparently all isn’t so sunny in Dade County regarding the tax payers who paid for the stadium. And the Marlins are BANKING ON FILLING THE HOUSE. Way to piss everyone off before DAY FREAKING ONE.
Will owners ever learn? They can tell you they put on pants the same way you do, with the whole putting one leg in at a time, but they probably just lay on shag carpets and have the butler put them on for them. I know this because my iguana, Dudley, does this for me every morning (despite his violent protests).
The Marlins couldn’t come close to half capacity, even winning it all twice. Now this?
Again Vice City proves just how douchey a place it really is. Other than visiting my father and my two stripper friends Leviticus and Deuteronomy, you can keep it. I have enough Crockett and Tubbs in my life. Just when I thought the new look Marlins were doing things the right way they go and screw the locals.
But I gave Dad some advice for when they tax him again: “The problems of the world won’t be solved by love alone. You need the opposite of love too… and by ‘opposite’ I mean Scientology.”
And… “Life is like a mustard burp, momentarily tangy and then forgotten in the air.”
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And so in this Podcast brought to you by Lifestyles…
Albert. Frakking. Pujols. Could this episode really be about anything else? Give it a listen, close your eyes and imagine Jeff really is strangling Johanna. No. Seriously. Do that. Please?
Also, remember to send us a picture (to firstname.lastname@example.org) showing why you’re RSBS‘ biggest fan so YOU can win some sweet Oakley Bender sunglasses from our good friends at Crown Royal. Pass the crown, yo!
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Recorded Saturday, December 10, 2011
“Gee, I wish we had one of them doomsday machines.”
There are three things I can never remember: the first is people’s names. The second is… is…
Anyway, I know I love me some hot stove! I’m making my yearly pantsless expedition to the wonderful world of MLB offseason rumors and conjecture! I’m even careening into mailboxes on my bike because of the madness!! I have puppies and chimps in my kitchen and we put on plays about how free agent negotiations “go down”. It’s like a Japanese game show. You never know who’s going to get eaten!
So far Miami is the big mover/shaker, but who will be next?
For years they’ve employed unreal drafting strategies, worked on the cheap, biding their time while the super powers outspend each other. But now… THE SUM OF ALL FEARS.
Russia, China and America (Yankees, Red Sox, Cubs) have initiated the snap count for a Red Alert nuclear attack but ended up killing themselves fighting each other whilst brilliant strategery is quietly coming together in south Florida. They have a new stadium, new digs, new manager, new closer and now Jojo Reyes. Will Reyes and Pujols share casserole recipes? REMEMBER: don’t share with Hanley! He’s already good on the whole putting on muscle mass thing.
But as much as the Marlins (and possibly the Cubs?) are pushing for Albert, I think he’s staying home in the Lou. By the way, I’d rather go toe to toe with a mountain lion mother protecting her cubs then go through another Aldopho Soriano situation if the Cubs sign Pujols for nine years and he looks like he’s 48 after just two of them. And brother Jeffy will be singing this for days when that happens…
If my beloved Cubs can swing a reasonable deal for Prince Fielder though, I’m beyond down. I’ll do anything — shine shoes, wait tables, blow… glass.
But in the case that neither Senor Jeffy or I get our wishes, you will probably read someday of an infamous double Groundhog Day beheading.
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“This is what happens when you leave home. You meet… people.”
Men, are you moody? Are you out of shape? Do your testicles feel weird? Of course they do. The Astros are leaving the National League and you miss them already.
Ladies, how are you doing? Are you okay? Is that new Lifestyles vibration machine doing enough to distract you from the tragedy of losing the Astros to the evils of the American League?
I understand. The Astros are packing their bags and their Shetland ponies are moving to the coast of west. From the National League to Africa to Turkey all the way to the American League. Don’t they know they’re moving from the farmhouse to the militia camp? They’re going on a pilgrimage, I guess. But, what I really want to know is…
Who’s gonna clean up all this crap when they leave?
This is a great chance for them to leave cornpone Texas all together and get a new start. Why stay in the Orange Juice Box, with that train and that moat? They might as well have a gator pit in left field complete with a Cloverfield monster. And what’s that weird uphill thing they got in centerfield? And what exactly are the Crawford Boxes? And those odd horsey fans who follow caballo Carlos Lee everywhere he goes… are the buzzy bees coming too? And who’s gonna take over the used book sale Drayton McLane held every year to raise money to bring back Roger Clemens?
Meanwhile, on a much sadder note, because of this whole league switch it looks like I’ll have to sell my timeshare in Houston. I’ll definitely miss the hot southern belles who I would lie to my friends about sleeping with when I was actually spending the weekend watching the Cubs.
Good luck, Asteroids. Good night, my friends. It’s off to the west for thee…
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