Whose side are you on? Team Dusty or Team Derek?
Rool: [to the tavern cat ) You are so beautiful! Your eyes! Your whiskers! I have to kiss you!
My behavioral standards have long kept me from attending the Cub’s Convention. Sorry. Sometimes you gotta rob a cop, pee on Ronny Woo Woo and knock out Sam Zell! BUT, I still have my SPIES so I know…
Kerry Wood and his pocket missile are back!
I’d like to see how the sausage is made, Mr. Epstein.
I suspect Wood will probably be gone at the trading deadline to a real contender, but dumb Cubdom is happy for the moment. Yes, Theo let me down a little by letting the children have their hero back. But oh well.
OK KIDS LET’S HAVE A PIZZA PAHHHTYYY!!!!
What is this? Contenders might be looking for someone just like him if he can still bring the goods in the 6th, 7th, 8th innings.
I understand that Woody wants to be the next Mr. Cub but why not end your career with a winner? He’ll get what he wants when he comes back at the end. It’s his choice, I guess.
Follow Johanna on Twitter!
I think I had a pretty typical reaction to the news of Any Winehouse’s death: “I wish I could say I’m surprised. Seriously, what a waste of talent.” What’s even more sad is that Winehouse wasn’t the first and certainly won’t be the last person of whom we can say that. Even in baseball, we run into similar stories. They may not have wound up in a City of London body bag but they flamed out just as badly.
The first two guys that inevitably come up are Mark Prior and Kerry Wood. Watching those two pitch in 2003, the entire NL and a good portion of the AL had to have been crapping themselves. Sure, that was still the era of the long ball but you could see the future of baseball in the Cubs’ duo. And then they disappeared. Maybe Baker overused them. Maybe they were always destined for injury because of how hard they threw. Maybe it was just the baseball gods doing what they do with the Cubs once again. Whatever it was, Prior and Wood wound up being legendary more for what they could have done than for what they did.
But if you really want to talk about baseball’s Winehouse, how about Daryl Strawberry? Yes, I know he played almost two decades but he lost so much to health and drug problems considering the tools he had. It’s especially sad because we can imagine what he could have done. It’s the same thing as Winehouse. It’s not that she wasn’t impressive and it’s not that she didn’t do anything. It’s that she, like Strawberry, could have done so much more.
Dickensian Asylum, One Good Player, Bad Paper. Little to Make Me Excite.
The Cubs, for me, are pushing the human existence backwards and making hearts sad.
Another season is already bogging me down.
I was watching the Rockies kill/drub/maim the Cubs on Sunday (the same expansion team that has already been to a World Series, and, like the Marlins teams that have won two so far, also have exciting young talent despite playing in a small market) I couldn’t change the channel back to the NBA playoffs fast enough.
My beloved Bulls and D. Rose are the only things keeping me breathing.
With the Cubs, it’s not so much the bad baseball and the lack of power, but mostly just the fact that they’re boring and unsatisfying. I think I’d rather watch a touring band of angry flying Arabs and Mexicans on ice. Then you’d have something! Or just So Taguchi.
Starlin Castro might be the best player in Chicago, and some hope exists for that fact alone, but with all the bad contracts and old players getting older, I must face the music now: the Cubs can’t compete for baseball immortality by winning the World Series for at least another 2-4 YEARS. I guess that’s not the end of the world given the century mark came and went.
But, it still blows.
I had a birthday recently and time moves faster now. When I was 15 I thought I’d never be 25, but that happened. Then I knew I had forever til 30. Then… that happened.
The Cubs last had a real chance of winning it all three years ago. Swept by the Dodgers and feeling and hurting and poopooing and getting raped way too much like when they were swept the year before. Look, this isn’t 1500 words about how much pain I’ve endured in my life being a Cubs fan. This is about “I know they’re not great and won’t be for a while but please let them just. be. fun……”
They play station-to-station baseball, have very little power and carry a distinct lack of personality (the personality I get from Carlos Zambrano I don’t need so much). So in essence, they’re a slow team that can’t hit bombs and are extremely boring. On a daily basis. GUHHH…… HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE??
The one thing to rely on (we thought) was decent starting pitching. Currently the Cubs have the least amount of quality starts in baseball.
For the love of god, if you’re going to suck, at least be fun! I mean be like fun bad!!?? Like when the Bears are bad you’ll at least have a good time watching Devin Hester returning kicks or Jay Cutler throwing it all over the field or Lovie Smith waking up once in a while to say something to our lesbian-looking offensive coordinator Michael Martz in a roller coaster train wreck loss. That can be fun!
The Cubs were terrible ten years ago but Sammy Sosa at least was exalting the baseball gods with soaring rips into the bleachers completely unaided by anabolic substances of any kind. Seriously. This is true. He told me. When Kerry wood pitched, grown men wept, women went into early labor, George Bush liked black people, and I thought Creed had potential as a legitimate artistic talent. Dusty Baker gave verbose speeches of the utmost linguistic integrity, dripping with so much backwoods gibberish that I hung on his every word and swooned with how a man so simple could speak so eloquently…
“It’s called hitting, and it ain’t called walking. Do you ever see the top 10 walking? You see top 10 batting average. A lot of those top 10 do walk.”
“When you first come up, you want to get some hits”
“Peoples have been trying to bring me down. That’s OK, that’s how it is. Actually, that makes me stronger. It’s OK. What are you going to say when I kick somebody’s butt?”
When I first moved to Chicago, going to Wrigley was a cathartic experience. Finally, I could go to games whenever I wanted, which was something I remember dreaming of when I was just a pup watching with Grandpa every Saturday on WGN with Stone and Harry. After watching the game with Grandpa, I would immediately run outside to field tennis balls off the concrete stairs, pretending I was Shawon Dunston.
I don’t have great memories of Wrigley anymore. Just heartache and a wanton desire for greatness. The fond memories I have of the Cubs are really just afternoons hangin with Grandpa. That’s what I miss.
Now it’s just pain.
And again, I’d see a priest but I’m still good looking enough that he might try to do odd things to me.
The Cubs may lose this season but for the love of god…. give me excite!!
And so in this Podcast brought to you by Lifestyles…
Jeff and Johanna break out the hot stove holiday eggnog (topped off with a couple gallons of that special Kentucky blend, of course) and discuss all things important to the baseball-politico world, including but not limited to: adult circumcision, the 1960 World Series, the Phillies’ impending rape of the National League, peeing on your hands a la Moises Alou to get a better grip and much, much more… all to make you forget with a smile the horrors of your latest office party!
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Subscribe to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*
Subscribe via iTunes by clicking *HERE*
*Special thanks to our PodMaster Keith Carmack. You can experience Keith’s wicked podcast and subsequent film projects at Undercard Films. The man is talented, people. You don’t want to miss out, so go check it!
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Recorded Saturday, December 18, 2010
For me, the biggest difference between being 21 years old and 31 years old, is that at 31 years old I realize I don’t know everything there is to know about the world… most things, yes. Everything? Not a chance.
So that’s why I get so giggly when I learn something new. Always be learning… that’s my motto. And believe me, folks, last week was full of virgin information.
The Pirates Have Run Out of Future Stars to Trade Away
Yeah, yeah, you can make a strong case for Andrew McCutchen being that guy, but the Pirates have long said he’s a keeper. I’m talkin’ about the Aramis Ramirezes… the Nate McClouths… the Freddy Sanchezes. Okay, maybe not the Freddy Sanchezes. But you get what I’m sayin’.
Sarah Palin Thinks She Knows What Having “Cojones” Is All About
I can tell ya this much: those with cojones don’t quit their jobs as governor mid-term. And they never use the phrase “hopey-changey”. And they tend to not make up words, then compare themselves to Shakespeare. Believe that.
The Yankees Have a Death Wish
How else does one explain their trading for Kerry Wood? Look, I know Joba’s been bad and all… but Kerry Wood? Seriously? The Boss is rolling over, y’all.
A Chelsea Clinton Wedding Does Not A Camelot Make
Look, I know Bill Clinton is cool and all. Hell, some might even say he’s… sexy. But at the same time, no one would ever use the word ‘sexy’ to describe Hillary. And Chelsea? Exactly. Let’s just agree that this whole Clinton shindig was more proof that what US America really longs for is ultimate regression: give us back our king; make us slaves to royal inbreeds; let the pope wreck the world with his medieval wordview. I, frankly, will not be a part of it. I will finish my spaceship and move to Betelgeuse, where I belong. But I’m taking my collection of scorecards with me.
And, of course… I also learned that…
It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye… To Ryan Ludwick
Admittedly, Luddy ain’t no Albert. He ain’t no Yadi. He ain’t no Waino. But he is Luddy… and over the last few years we’ve really learned to appreciate his bat, his patience, his gamesmanship. And we’re gonna miss that. Ludwick has always been one of those quiet warriors — a stoic gamer who never shies from giving his best effort, even when that means playing through pain. But the Cardinals needed pitching. And with the outfield logjam set up by the excellent play of John Jay, there wasn’t room for Ludwick anyway. The Padres are gettin’ a boost. We’re gettin’ the arm we need. And everyone ought to be happy (except for the Indians who currently reside in baseball hell).
We’re gonna miss ya, Ryan.
Don’t hate me.
‘Cuz I’m right.
(Special thanks to C for the top photo)
And so in this Podcast…
Jeff and Johanna welcome a paragon of baseball intelligentsia, Mr. Paul Lebowitz — the one and only Prince of New York! If you aren’t already reading the Prince’s daily column *here* or *here* then you probably should get on that. Like, right away. Or else. And if that ain’t enough, you can certainly follow him on Twitter too. To be honest, the man is too ruthless and too unfettered for you to not be paying attention to him… so the RSBS crew made sure to get him at his best. Among the titillating
topics of discussion: Jason Bay’s UZR, men left on base (LOB), Keith Hernandez’s hunches, BRAINS!!!!… the Lou Piniella Mailbag and much, much more!
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 the bomb shizzy, by the way. It’s available on iTunes and is posted regularly at Undercard Films.
**Image by Annette T. (Thanks, Annette!) Check out her sweet@ss blog!
Recorded Saturday , June 12, 2010
I would pay Albert Pujols the moon. I would pay Derek Jeter the sun. Roy Halladay my left — AHEM. Okay, you know what I mean. These aren’t Chicago Transit Authority workers who sit around in bunches and watch one guy change one light bulb while they all count how many more days til that fat pension check kicks in. Pujols, Jeter, Halladay… men like that… their services are incalculable.
On the contrary, inflation and greed have changed the dynamics of the world economy so much that I find it frighteningly appalling that certain people in certain positions are able to pull down the amount of scratch they do. Considering how so many US Americans (me) are just skating by, watching ye olde savings account disappear quicker than an Oriole lead in the 9th, I think it’s time we call some of these folks out.
Don’t get me wrong. I ain’t no hater. But soon you’ll agree… overcompensation can be a nagging pain for those of us on the opposite end of the money tree.
Sure, in the baseball world, $7 million a year is quite the bargain, especially for a perennial MVP candidate who can single-handedly carry a team for weeks at a time. Or is it? In the case of Hanley Ramirez, it’s probably less about overcompensation and more about breaking child labor laws. Yeah, you heard me right. ‘Cuz only whiny kids and spoiled brat beotches find themselves exempt from exerting maximum effort on the diamond. And at $7 million a year or $70 a year, when ya play baseball for a living, I expect you to hustle. Always.
Did you know that the strikingly beautiful oldest daughter of former Alaska governor and ultimate purveyor of Backwardism has signed a deal with a speakers bureau to make between $15,000 and $30,000 per speech. Uh… m’kay. So… uh… what’s she gonna speak about? Let’s see, what would make anything Bristol Palin has to say important to me (or anyone)? She’s the daughter of a famous politician. So what? I’m the son of an awesome MRI technologist. She got knocked up while in high school. So what? I was smart enough to wrap it up. Uh… she’s attractive. So what? Hello!?!? Where the hell is my $30K per speech contract?
Remember this guy?!? If you hear that Twilight Zone music sifting through your head, you are not alone, dear readers. I was able to catch the end (and most, er… exciting?) part of that Royals/Indians matchup last night… y’know, the one where Kerry Wood came in throwing 97 mph gas that the Royals — yes, the ROYALS — blasted all over the park. I don’t know about you, but if I’m paying someone $10.5 million a year — someone who always seems to be or is about to be injured — I would ask him to at least be as good as his replacement. Throw in the eminent departure of the most highly publicized free agent in the history of sports and yeah, I’d say it’s time to light that Cuyahoga on fire again, Cleveland. Yep. Let go and let that baby burn.
Hate me ‘cuz your girlfriend digs me, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
When I quit smoking, I took up the habit of chewing on toothpicks — to keep my orally stimulated addiction in check. The worst part about it? People often say: “Hey, Jeff, fiddlin’ with ‘dem toothpicks… you remind me of Dusty Baker.”
Being compared to Baker may make my skin curdle with infectious disgust, but I suppose that’s still better than blackening my lungs and dying young of emphysema.
Or is it?
Dear readers, believe me, I do respect Dusty Baker as a human being. I mean, look at him, he breathes on his own, his heart pumps without having to think about it… all very impressive indeed; but as a baseball connoisseur, there’s no way in Jesus-hates-the-Cubs-Hell I want him managing my baseball team. Often blamed for the mass destruction of young, promising arms with infinite potential (see Mark Prior, Kerry Wood, Homer Bailey), Dusty Baker also lacks the one thing that makes good managers great and great managers Tony LaRussa… and that thing is: common sense.
In the 7th inning of last evening’s contest between the Cardinals and Reds, a game that at that point was still wide open, Dusty Baker brought in his nearly-virginal relief pitcher, young righty Logan Ondrusek, to face Brendan Ryan. With Albert Pujols on deck, Ondrusek quickly walked Ryan, unable to find the strike zone like Mr. Krause is unable to find a meaningful relationship with a woman (though, to his credit, he does surprisingly well with primates). Instead of yanking Ondrusek like he probably should have, Dusty left the kid — in only his second Major League appearance — in the game to face one of the greatest hitters of all time.
Albert rocked him.
So did Matt Holliday.
Welcome to the Big Leagues, kid! If your arm didn’t hurt before you became a Redleg, believe me when I say you won’t even be able to shake hands after Dusty’s done with ya!
Hate me ‘cuz I put it out there, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
The world premier… of an RSBS original…
Produced, shot and edited by Theo Roll.
Directed by Jeffery Lung.
Starring James Tierney as Jesus.
Performed by Mauf Tauk.
Mauf Tauk is Jeff and Theo.
**Pass it on, folks. Let’s get the word out. Please send this link to everyone you know. We make this thing go viral and more RSBS baseball-related hilarity will certainly flourish.**
*Note: Kirk Gibson won the MVP in ’88, but it doesn’t rhyme and we’re cool like dat so get over it.