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 interwebs are a buzz about RSBS‘ propensity for picking on what seems like only a select few players/teams, for striking at those more prone to ridicule, the bottom of the baseball barrel. We’re talking about the Kyle Farnsworths, Brad Lidges, Milton Bradleys. We’re talking about the Chicago Cubs, Pittsburgh Pirates, Kansas City Royals.
We’re talking about easy marks. All of them. They are weak, addled, flawed.
But let it be know that dear readers galore have spoken; and we at RSBS are not ones to disappoint. So here ya go, folks… a quick slanderous slaying of all 30 Major League Teams… in one minute or less (or more, depending on your reading level):
Hey, Yankees, is that Mo’nique or C.C. Sabathia?…
Boston Red Sox? More like Boston Sucks Cox!…
Dear Rays, I can’t wait until you disappoint all your new fans by letting Carl Crawford go…
Blue Jays, if you were gonna let an Italian destroy your franchise, why not give one of the Gottis a shot?…
I didn’t know the Oriole way included a sharp decline in season ticket sales…
Sorry, Twins, but you’ll never be as good as Kent Hrbek farting in George Brett’s face…
Hey Tigers, remember when people used to live in your city?…
Attending a White Sox game is a lot like attending a vocational school open house…
I think we can all agree that Charlie Sheen could make the 2010 Indians squad…
The Kansas City Royals… did I mention Kyle Farnsworth?…
Oh, sure, I love the California Los Angeles Angels of Los Aneheim California Angeles Los L.A….
The Texas Rangers: Where born again drug addicts find Jesus while not making it to the playoffs…AGAIN…
Wow, Mariners, your most famous player outside of Griffey and Ichiro is… Harold Reynolds? Seriously? Ouch…
A’s… it stands for “moneyball doesn’t work so it’s best we go back to employing known juicers”…
Dear Phillies, if the Phanatic isn’t a phag, I don’t know what mascot is…
Sorry, Marlins… if you’re not cocaine or the Dolphins, Miami doesn’t even know you’re there…
Atlanta Braves…14 straight playoff appearances and how many World Series titles?…
Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Met will now be played by a corpse…
Hey, Nationals, two words for ya: Dunn’s ^ss!…
The Cardinals? The Cardinals!?! You’re… you’re… aweso– you’re… (Sorry, I can’t do it; I tried)…
For insults directed towards the Cubs, please see the 2+ years of RSBS archives
Hey, Brewers, is that Mo’nique or Prince Fielder?…
Just wait, Reds fans, two more years of Dusty Baker, and you won’t even have a pitching staff!…
Houston, we have a problem… and it’s called the Astros…
Yeah, picking on the Pirates is a lot like picking on the quadriplegic fat blind kid whose parents got divorced and forgot they even had a kid…
The Dodgers‘ m.o. is: show up late, leave early, hope no one notices the messy divorce…
Ok, Rockies, Dante Bichette called, he wants his inflated numbers back…
Hey, Giants, is that Mo’nique or — nope, that’s Pablo Sandoval. He’s just fat…
Padres? Friars? Perhaps Molested Altar Boys would be more suiting, considering the amount of back-bending abuse they’ve taken from Sandy Alderson…
The Arizona Diamondbacks? More like the Arizona Diamondhacks!
My vitriolic verbal leg sweeping knows no limit.
So don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
P.S. The Cardinals? Fine. If I must. Here. Have fun with *THIS*.
*also thank you, Matt
As Jeff pointed out yesterday, the signing of Matt Holliday does not mean that the Cardinals have lost sight of Pujols and his impending contract year. If anything, it shows that they are clearing the air and setting up a supporting cast so they can make sure he stays put. However, I’d like to see something else happen.
See, at this moment in time the Tigers are also clearing out contracts. Granderson and Polanco are gone and despite the money they have tied up in some pretty mediocre pitching, the Tigers will have some wiggle room in 2011.
How perfect would it be if on the five year anniversary of the Cardinals beating the Tigers in the World Series, the Tigers could return the favor in pulling off the coup of the (admittedly brand new) decade by landing Pujols?
Now, I’m not saying it’s probable. I’m not even really saying it’s possible. I just think the idea of Pujols with an old English “D” on his chest is magical. And the thought of Jeff’s lurid fantasies about Albert also involving a navy blue hat with a big white “D” on it makes me smile.
Stop. Breathe. Focus.
Now, let’s look at this Matt Holliday signing for what it actually is: John Mozeliak & Co. finally growing a pair and making the St. Louis Cardinals perennial contenders for years to come.
And if you think they made this offer to Holliday without considering the task of signing Albert Pujols after 2011, then you need to be committed… or move to Wrigleyville.
Either way, Holliday is a Cardinal. And Pujols is a Cardinal.
So no more talk about a potential move by one of the big money teams to snatch up Albert and take him away from us in his upcoming free agency. It ain’t gonna happen. He ain’t nobody’s girlfriend but ours.
And I mean “girlfriend” with the utmost respect.
‘Cuz sometimes really bad things happen to girlfriends:
(Image courtesy of Skull Swap)
A long time ago, in a popped culture far, far away (let’s call it the late ’90s), there was a “talented” young fella by the name of Ma$e tearing up the hip-hop scene with sub-par sleight of hand wit and a mouthful of mushy homonyms.
You may remember him (probably not) for bringing us this gem:
Broken glass everywhere
if it ain’t about the money, Puff, I just don’t care
I’m that Goodfella fly guy, sometimes wiseguys
Spend time in H-A-W-A-I-I
(Mase can you please stop smoking lah lah?)
Puff why try? I’m a thug, I’ma die high
I be out in Jersey, puffin Hershey
Brothers ain’t worthy to rock my derby
Though I’m never drugged, I’m the venom in the club
And now he’s just venom in our memory banks. But why? Let’s take a look:
Ma$e’s main talent was convincing people that he had talent. I believed it. Sean Combs believed it. The general public believed it. In fact, there was a time when you couldn’t go anywhere without hearing a Ma$e tune. Had he the vision to keep that reality in perspective, to join powers with the then still venerable Puff Daddy, we might be talking about Ma$e as a musical superpower right now!
But we’re not.
Because Ma$e went to Ma$e’s head and at his highest of high points, Ma$e left the one label that could make him an internationally hyped megastar. No one would take him on. He floundered. Then he disappeared all together. He decided to do something different…
…by becoming a preacher?
Yep. At least, that’s the story we got.
A few years (and lots of bounced checks) later, Ma$e came crying back to the rap game… hands open, knees scarred, willing to accept any deal he could get… anything… he was signed by SRC Records.
But the problem with SRC Records was this: they couldn’t release his music because Ma$e was still contractually obligated to — yep, you guessed it — Sean “Puff Daddy/P-Diddy” Combs.
The moral of the story?
Ma$e is an idiot.
Matt Holliday, you’re not far behind.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Since writing this, Matt Holliday has agreed to a 7 year deal with
the Cardinals for $120 million. That’s mo’ money, mo’ problems… but
probably worth it. Good for you, Matt!
By now everyone knows that the Office of the Commissioner of Major League Baseball will get a fresh face in 2012 (conveniently, that is the year we’re all gonna die anyway). But just in case those thousand year old destruction theories are not accurate, let us start to think about who might be able to save baseball from another passive, tyrannical reign after King Bud Selig has gone fishing. Because as my oft cantankerous colleague, Mr. Krause, points out, King Bud dropped the ball.
To me, there are only three viable candidates. They are presented here (above right). In bronze. I think.
Two of them are dead and one of them is forever young (albeit in 2-D).
Verily, they would all be adequate replacements at the top of the grandest game on earth.
– – –
Vladimir Ilyich Lenin
Bolshevik Leader, Marxist, Revolutionary, Head of State
What’s wrong, Matt Holliday? Five years guaranteed at $16 million ain’t enough? Fine then. Mr. Holliday, you’ll be making the same salary as Wilson Betemit… if Wilson even has a job. Luxury tax? There ain’t no luxury tax. Proposed salary cap? Yeah, propose this: everybody makes the same amount of money. No matter what. You don’t like it? Then die. Die. Just die!
– – –
Talking Rodent, Steamboat Captain, World Icon, Clubhouse Leader
Woo-hoo! Baseball! Woo-hoo! Baseball! Woo-hoo! Pine tar!
– – –
What shall it profit a man if he gains the homerun record but loses his soul to ‘roids? For everyone who refrains from untucking his shirt after winning a game (talkin’ to you, Brewers) himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted. I say, I’ve fed his sheep. Now I’ll tend to them, … tend to my sheep.
– – –
Tend… these… sheep. Somebody. King Bud didn’t do a great job at tending his sheep. Somebody. Somebody just tend these goddamn sheep!
And while you’re at it, don’t hate me.
‘Cuz I’m right.
(Top image courtesy of Transgressor)
The RSBS interns are off playing with their tax-payer purchased stocking stuffers (hookers presumably), the hot stove has cooled to a Holliday simmer (would ya just make up your friggin’ mind) and sleigh bells are ring-ring-jinglin’ like the fat pockets of China’s national treasury…
So, my uber-nefarious colleague Mr. Krause and I would like to wish you and your loved ones a very happy holiday — whatever that means to you.
To me, it means once again pondering that age old question: Is the universe expanding? Or contracting?
Okay, so that’s two questions.
In any case, it’s beer thirty… for at least 48 hours in a row, so Al and I are gonna carpe diem by taking a couple days off. Hopefully when we get back we’ll both have some great holiday stories to share that don’t involve waking up with no shoes under an overpass five miles off the Vegas strip with 35 cents in my pocket, a raging headache, blurred vision and a My Little Pony tattoo on my inner thigh.
Jeff & Allen