And so in this Podcast brought to you by Lifestyles…
The RSBS crew celebrates its 30th episode by taking a stroll down podcast memory lane, remembering things that busted our (and hopefully your) guts. AIDS salad and Ron Santo’s memory get rehashed while new memories (like gay ponies v. horsicorns, an iguana named Dudley and how you can cure your foot problems) are created! Jump on board the RSBS crazy train! No stops til you question how you spend your free time!
Don’t forget to getcho Crown Royal and enjoy some happy time!
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Recorded Saturday, November 26, 2011
It’s tough being a performer of any kind in Philadelphia. If you succeed, adoration ensues. When you fail, the fans never forget. This is especially true in Philly sports where the recipe for fandom combines a special cocktail of drunkeness, fanaticism and sadism. But of all Philly performers, is anyone more at risk than the Philly Phanatic?
This man not only serves as a face of the franchise, he also puts himself in harms way on a daily basis. How many times has he been punched, had someone throw up on him or just generally been groped and manhandled? Willingly wading into the sea of Philly fans for 81 regular season home games demonstrates a level of risk-acceptance the general population could never hope to appreciate.
Maybe that’s why it’s ironic that the Phanatic suffered his most recent injury off the end of a minor league bat rather than at the hands of one of the team’s notoriously drunken rabble-rousers.
To all the mascots out there, we salute your willingness to put yourself in the line of fire day in and day out. But Mr. Phanatic, your dedication sets you apart. Be careful out there.
Subject: Johanna Mahmud
Occupation: Trombonist, Rockstar, RSBS Writer/Collaborator
Last seen doing odd things to Bernie Brewer, Mr. Mahmud is rumored to be considering a legal separation from his beloved Cubbies. In fact, the Cubs faithful fear they may have lost one of their more ornery contemporaries to the luxuries of… not being a Cubs fan.
“Look at these people,” he said, staring at a sea of Brewers fans, “these people… they’re… happy.”
If you have any information as to the whereabouts of Mr. Mahmud, please inform RSBS officials, or, at the very least, kindly notify Ronnie Woo Woo, who desperately wants his sequined Sandberg Cubbie thong back.
For those of us caught up in the modern technocratic lifestyle, establishing a clear line between friend and foe makes life a bit simpler (albeit unpleasant at times). When prompted for an opinion, we often don’t have time to think; we must know, must be ready to jump on a topic and run. And this is where established distinctions are helpful (even if detrimental to peace — sorry!).
It’s 2011 and enemies abound. In the NBA, LeBron is the antithesis of good. In politics, we have Sarah Palin. In humanity, it’s Charlie Sheen.
But what do we do when our “enemies” aren’t that bad at all?
Over the weekend, the St. Louis Cardinals got swept by the Milwaukee Brewers, a feat that not only caused a bit of embarrassment for me and my fellow bird fanatics, but also knocked the Cardinals out of first place all together. Am I angry? Do I want to hold my breath and take a hammer to my digits? Am I going to hurt someone?
No, of course not. It’s June and the NL Central race has barely begun. But I must say, even if it does come down to St. Louis and Milwaukee in October, I will have a hard time hating on the Brewers like I do the sCrUBBIES.
On Saturday, I went to Miller Park for the very first time and I have to say: it’s a beautiful place full of beautiful people genuinely enjoying our beautiful sport. Have you ever seen a sea of tailgaters for a baseball game?!? I mean, everyone was so… nice! And the park experience was so… pleasant… and the atmosphere was so… positive!
Prior to this excursion, my understanding of the Brewers organization could be summed up in three sentences: Beat you in ’82. Bud Selig was a better owner than a commish. And Prince Fielder is HONGRY.
But really, after taking in the Miller Park experience I have to update my mental Rolodex. It’s not every day you visit a rival ballpark and are welcomed with a smile and a handshake. And as often as I’ve donned my ’06 WS patched Yadier Molina jersey into enemy territory, only at Miller Park was I stopped and commended on my team’s run of that year. And did I mention the cheese curds!?
Oh what heaven!!!
Don’t worry, dear readers, I ain’t gettin’ soft. I’ll box a Brewer if I gotta; but in a world where negativity rules the infoway, I find it refreshing to give credit to those who are pretty cool folks.
That being said, I hope the Brewers lose every one of their games from here until the end of the season.
Hate me ‘cuz you can, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
It’s interleague weekend, y’all. According to King Bud, this is when I’m supposed to get excited about made-up rivalries with catchy names like the I-70 Series, the Ohio Cup and the Battle of the Beltway.
Battle of the Beltway?!?!? STOP IT! JUST STOP IT!
Don’t you know that every time you hark on some fantasy-driven nostaliga concerning the Washington Nationals, my Expos-missin’ heart suffers more unquantifiable pain?!?
That damn Molière was right: “You only die once, and it’s for such a long time.”
But let us not forget, dear readers. Instead, let us continue to pour out our liquor, to writhe in sweet Youppi memories, to saver Denny Martinez pitching a perfect game in baby blue pajamas.
Selig and the owners finally had enough of McCourt and took action, but
what about the franchises that are still technically solvent but just
suck? Why hasn’t the commish done something about the Pirates?
why shouldn’t they? In all of professional sports, one would have quite a
difficult time finding a more moribund team than the lowly Buccos.
While all of the big four US American sports thrive by having a healthy,
parity-laden cycle of teams going from the top of the ranks to the
bottom and everywhere in between, the Pittsburgh Pirates have been stuck
at bad. For 18, long, terrible, horrible, awful, green-pea-spew inducing years.
In a row.
So, indeed, Mr. Dan, you bring up an excellent question: How is it that MLB sees no issue intervening with financially strapped clubs like the current Dodgers or the late Expos de Montréal (pouring out some liquor for my boy, Youppi yo!) but meanwhile sits back and says nothing as the Pirates organization embarrasses itself year after year after year, alienating the five or so fans left in western Pennsylvania in doing so?
That’s easy, Dan. One word:
The Pirates may have more issues than Lindsay Lohan on $5 Jaegerbomb night, but, when all is done, the Pirates still MAKE MONEY.
Haven’t you noticed? To the suits picking each other’s noses up in the luxury boxes, it’s not about winning. It’s not about getting better. It’s not about keeping score or the waft of freshly roasted peanuts or the soothing effects of finely cut green grass on the old eyeballs.
It’s about making bank.
And as long as they line their pockets with plenty of paper, MLB ain’t gonna say jack.
Like my loquacious and oft contorted colleague, Mr. Krause recently pointed out, sometimes MLB gets it right. King Bud could not sit back and let one of the league’s most storied franchises fail because of atrocious financial mismanagement. And other times, MLB gets it way wrong… like they did in intervening with the Florida Marlins (a very successful organization in regards to winning) and the way they chose to spend profit sharing funds trickling down from the top*.
But one thing is certain: MLB is a business. MLB is about being a profitable business. As much as romanticized baseball super-nerd-dorks like Mr. Krause and I would like to believe that a certain utopian joy for the game and its purity is at the core of Major League Baseball’s business philosophy, the truth is: it ain’t.
If it were, the Expos would still be alive. The Dodgers would have never left Brooklyn. And someone would have intervened in the gargantuan atrocity also known as the Pirates’ front office.
Hate me. Fine. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*For an excellent read on just how wrong MLB was in their handling of the Marlins, check out this article from the Prince of New York.
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Standing in the check-out line at my local grocer, I scanned the magazine rack hoping to find out if Khloe Kardashian had eaten herself to death or how drunk Jennifer Aniston got in Cabo while still thinking about Brad. Instead, I was subjected to an image I thought I’d blocked out 25 years ago:
Eldra “El” DeBarge.
On the cover of Jet.
Who’s Johnny… she said…
*cue the daydream montage*
I see Bert Blyleven record his 3,000th strikeout…
I see Bob Horner hit four homeruns in one game…
I see Mike Scott no-hit the Giants… the Red Sox come back to win the ALCS after being down 3 games to 1… Ray Knight skip like a schoolgirl on Mookie Wilson’s Bill Buckner nutmeggin’ dribbler…
…and… and, I… I see…
*snaps out of it*
Oh, Youppi… oh, dear, dear Youppi… no!!! It’s not FAIR! It’s not fair that El DeBarge gets a comeback and you don’t… not fair that in 2010 you’re relegated to Montreal hockey duty while El DeBarge gets nominated for a Grammy.
A GRAMMY FOR JEEBUS’ SAKE!!!
And you wonder.
You wonder why I don’t believe in god.
No loving god would subject the altruistic baseball fan to such chronic despair!!!
So hate me ‘cuz I I think El DeBarge topped out in ’86, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.