Things seem a little topsy-turvy so far in the MLB playoffs. We still
have a long ways to go but I’m feeling a little confused as to who is
doing what and why. It helped me a little when I read Allen’s playoff
preview but I still find myself wondering who will actually come out on
top. So, what do you think Jeff? And considering your Cardinals aren’t
looking too good, I want to hear the truth, not your hopes.
Okay, Cheryl. It’s the truth you want, is it? You want the truth? Ha!
Neither can I.
That’s why I’ve been conducting a little research into one of my favorite adult beverages: Kalamazoo’s very own Bell’s Oberon beer. And this is what I’ve discovered:
Created by Bar Stools
Either that or getting swept in the National League Division Series.
As I sip on this here 16th bottle, let me disclose *burp*… the er… um… *hiccup*… thissdsk is whaat I knoooow.
- Yankees… good
- Angels goooooooooooooder…
- Dodgers *hiccup*, er… I djslamurss… Padilla is uuuuuugly!!!
- Rockies… brrrrr… remember Dante Bichette?
So there… you *burp*, have it, Chhhhhheryl. Maybe it’s not as *hiccup* articulified and edumacated as Mr. *burp* Krause’s baseball-politico sex romp of an essay (ha! I allllmost wrote “Ese!” like “Hola vato! Que hay de nuevo!?”)…
… but… er… it’ll do. I’ll sleep this off and be back to my normal, blathering, pedantic ssssself tomorrow.
Hate me ‘cuz I’m schnnnnnockered, Cheryl, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m not Vicente “I AM FLOPSWEAT” Padilla.
Fear not, my dear and trusted readers, for I also feel the sentiment of pain and worry caused by Mr. Krause’s latest right-field reclamation. While it is common for seedy men in prominent positions of power to manipulate their stances on a particular subject in order to woo the masses, this one goes far and beyond being just a simple cause for alarm.
One minute Mr. Krause is doling out his undying hatred for the “evil” Yankees; the next he’s praising New York’s golden boy, Derek Jeter (nice work on catching Lou Gehrig, by the way). And the worst part about it? He substantiates his softness by claiming the “Kalamazoo” connection.
To get to the heart of this conspiracy, the RSBS interns and I have toiled hard to unlock the mystery of Mr. Krause’s secrecy. So just go with me here…
Kalamazoo. While this is the city where Mr. Krause and I first met and became friends, this is also close to the home of a minor league baseball team: the West Michigan Whitecaps, affiliate of the Detroit Tigers.
Tigers. This is the team Mr. Krause supposedly loves. This is the team that was defeated by the St. Louis Cardinals in the 2006 World Series. This is the team synonymous with backwoods alcoholic racists. This is the team that lost 119 games in 2003.
119. If you add up the individual digits of this atrocious number, you will get 11. The word “eleven” has six letters in it, three of them “e”s, eerily akin to the word “seethe”!
Seethe. If anyone has the ability to foam at the mouth from agitation, it is Mr. Krause. Some would even call him a shape-shifter — like he showed us in his last video, which proved he has a special place in his heart for Colby Rasmus (and cross-dressing).
Colby Rasmus/Cross-Dressing. Only in Mr. Krause’s world does this combination sound like a great way to spend a Friday night. And Al loves Fridays.
Fridays. If you are a woman and you go on a date with Mr. Krause, this is where you will go. This is Al’s place to spend big. Pay special attention to his overbearing recommendations of anything and everything from the “Jack Daniel’s Grill” menu. Al loves him some Jack Daniel’s.
Jack Daniel’s. This is the only key you need to unlock Mr. Krause’s mind.
Mr. Krause’s Mind. Der-ek Je-ter *clap-clap-clap-clap-clap*… Der-ek Je-ter *clap-clap-clap-clap-clap*… Der-ek Je-ter *clap-clap-clap-clap-clap*
Yes, folks, that is what Al was trying to say.
He loves Derek Jeter.
And if Ozzie Guillen can kiss a dude then I have absolutely no problem with Al lovin’ on Jeet. Just come out and say it; and don’t blame it on geography.
Hate me ‘cuz I pull back the layers, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Sometimes when I get really worked up, you probably forget that I am not just a simple, hateful man. There are many things I appreciate. This is not true about Notre Dame since there is absolutely nothing redeeming about that school and I consider Rudy to be nothing more than Catholic propaganda. But, despite a dogmatic insistence on my hatred of the Yankees, let us consider them for a second.
Growing up in a small town outside of Kalamazoo, MI, I admired Derek Jeter. This wasn’t true of my whole family. My brothers routinely referred to him as “Fila-boy” because for some reason he had an endorsement deal with that shoe company and always wore them. I think their dislike of him has something to do with the leftover animosity those of us who come from German descent have for the Italians totally screwing the pooch in WWII. Seriously guys, you couldn’t even hold on to North Africa? But, even though he was the golden boy and could seem to do no wrong and even though my brothers hated him, I always had a special place in my heart for Jeter.
I don’t know, maybe it’s just me but he always seemed to hustle a little more than the other guys, to work a little harder to prove that he belonged there. Even though he was a Yankee, he didn’t have that same air of entitlement that guys like A-Rod seemed to possess. And maybe that’s just me projecting but when you’re coming from the same area in the middle of nowhere in Michigan, it’s nice to see someone who made it out.
So, I still stand by my guns and there is no way I will ever cheer for the Yankees (unless one of those guns happens to be pressed up against the side of my head). But Derek Jeter? The guy’s a class act. Kalamazoo Central class of 1992, in fact. See, I’m not all bad.
Yeah, sure. Sounds good.
Believe me. I love my alma mater, Kalamazoo College. Kzoo gave me real world experience. Kzoo gave me friendships that have survived over a decade now. Kzoo taught me Chinese, which is the sole skill that ensures I will eat from day to day. Verily, because of Kalamazoo College, I can gorge and not worry about where my next meal or Old Style is coming from.
Apparently those attributes come at a loss. Apparently my donations aren’t enough, my participation in “the world is my campus” campaign has not reached enough galaxies. Apparently the good folks at Kalamzoo College don’t read Red State Blue State.
But they should.
They should know. How could they not know? The whole baseball world knows, and since the whole baseball world is perfectly representative of US American life as a whole, one could reasonably assume that Kalamazoo College would have their s**t together.
Obviously not, because they sent me a request to support the Cubbies:
Is it not a careless act to assume that a Kalamazoo College graduate living in Chicago is a Cubs fan? Is it not presumptuous to automatically characterize a Kalamazoo College graduate living in Chicago as a Cubs fan? Is it not counterintuitive to the Kalamazoo College creed of “diversity, diversity, diversity” to label me — a Kalamazoo College graduate — as a Cubs fan, simply because I live in Chicago?
Apparently Kzoo — my dear alma mater — has been victimized by the very seedy stereotyping it strives to eschew.
Look, I get it. Kalamazoo College ain’t cheap and its typically affluent graduates who move to Chicago tend to move into neighborhoods known for their gentrification and ideal aspirations of the ‘good life’. Lincoln Park, Gold Coast, Wrigleyville… sure, these are cool, fun neighborhoods where one may oft find me actually enjoying the views; they’re also cool, fun neighborhoods where I don’t live, for I prefer the working-class US American-esque mix of Irish, Italian, Chinese, Mexican and African-American neighborhoods on the Southside.
Again, I get it. It’s cool to be a Cubs fan. Though I’m not completely sure how this phenomenon developed over a hundred years of tumultuous baseball, I am quite certain that it at least stems from the ballpark’s proximity to meat-market bars full of trust fund college kids; and said trust fund college kids’ ongoing tradition of getting completely obliterated before, during and after the game has somehow led Chicago newbies to embrace the imagery of being a perennial loser. It’s a party! Who cares who wins or loses, right? Getcho drink on!
Do I sound jaded? You bet your ^ss I am. Perhaps this is because I have been assaulted by these raucous rowdies on more than one occasion: once in a Wrigley Field restroom, surrounded by meat-heads who did not find my 2006 World Series title patched Yadier Molina jersey acceptable attire for a Cubs/Cardinals game; and once for wearing a pink shirt on my way to a gig near the ballpark (I look good in a pink shirt). Of course, I am not counting the time I had to walk down Sheffield wearing a blazer (after a game) to meet a friend on the way to the opera because in that instance, the drunken idiot merely threw his beer on me and shouted “don’t you f***ing come around here (*burp*) dressed… like… that (*puke*)” and I suffered no bruises nor physical injuries — just a brewing dislike for allowing open containers and bumbling idiots on the street.
So yeah. I’m jaded. No way around it. And until I see Wrigleyville clean up its act, I will continue to be. Believe me dear readers, I know that not all Cub fans are like my “biggest fan” and not all Cub fans are like the socially sterile individuals mentioned above. Believe me, I know a lot of wonderful, intelligent, successful people who just happen to love the Cubs. That’s great and they’re wonderful people and I cherish them for that.
But I am sincerely bothered by Chicago outsiders assuming that baseball in Chicago only exists in Wrigleyville, that anything and everything south of Madison Street is equivalent to that found in a war-torn third world country, that if you’re educated and have a decent job there’s no way you can live on the Southside nor support the White Sox.
Well, I’m sick of it. The Southside is just as much a part of this city’s baseball culture and metropolitan grandeur as the good folks up north, and if you want to hate me, go ahead, but don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
And I’m not alone. I just happen to be backed up by a modern day messiah who assures me that, Yes, I can.
Let us make the air resound,
let our hearts with joy abound…
How’s that for diversity, Kalamazoo?