None of that is important.
Because when you drive drunk and end up killing yourself or somebody else or soembodies else, then how important can baseball really be?
Highly touted Cardinal prospect third baseman, David Freese, was arrested on DWI charges in St. Louis Saturday, adding his name to the growing list of Redbirds who can’t figure out how to call a goddamn cab when having had a few too many.
Tony LaRussa. Josh Hancock (he died by the way because he was driving drunk). Scott Spiezio.
And those are just the ones who’ve been caught.
I haven’t seen anything in print, but I have friends in the St. Louis service industry who assure me many a Cardinal has been seen getting into the driver’s seat of a car while drunk. Some of those guys aren’t with the team anymore, some of them are.
Bill DeWitt, are you listening?
This is not me getting on a high horse. I have made mistakes. I have made a lot of mistakes. My mistakes have hurt people. I make it a point not to make such mistakes anymore and I make it a point not to hurt other people anymore too. This is called learning. This is called life.
And no matter how you argue, there is absolutely no excuse for driving drunk. Believe me: I’m definitely a man who enjoys his drink — even known to get completely schnockered from time to time — but ya ain’t gonna ever see me getting in a car, driving down the freeway, putting my life and the lives of others at risk. Why?
Because I have common sense.
And if someone in the Cardinals organization had any common sense there would be a mandatory tutorial for all team personnel on the dangers (who in the world is so dumb they don’t know about these dangers already???) of drinking and driving.
I have long heard stories from Baltimore about instilling in its Oriole family the notion of the “Oriole Way”; and while it may have begun as Paul Richards’ acute focus on instructing and establishing the fundamentals of on-the-field play, it eventually became a code of conduct — a creed which all members understand, that it goes for life off-the-field too. Nothing supersedes the Oriole Way.
How many Baltimore Orioles are driving drunk these days?
Wake up, St. Cardinals. Partying your @$$ off is perfectly okay with me, as long as you do it responsibly. But if you guys want to keep making me and the rest of your millions of fans worry about whether or not you will even be alive tomorrow, well, let me tell ya, I’d rather be a Cubs fan than deal with that kind of stress.
Y’all oughtta be ashamed of yourselves.
Go ahead. Hate me. I could care less. ‘Cuz I know I’m right. And you’re pi$$ing me off.
Preparations for the holiday season begin (for me) in June, when my epic 180 consecutive days of beer consumption starts to strengthen my tolerance for… eh… other people. Crowds. Yule tide blah blah blah.
But it never really feels like the holidays until my annual MLB.com catalogue arrives in the mail. Just look at how happy it makes me!
Of course, there are a few things that seem a bit odd, a bit off, inside its pristine pages, so before I place it next to the toilet for future browsing, I would like to point out some of the highlights.
One of this year’s most interesting offerings is this official team patch by the Baltimore Orioles (p. 24):
Wait, did I say Baltimore Orioles? I think I meant Baltimore Ravens. But it says “Orioles”. I don’t know. Forget it. I ain’t buyin’ it anyway.
Next, we focus on one of those must-have holiday treats! Indeed, this thing will come in handy to shoo away all those annoying neighbor kids who keep lighting dog doo-doo on fire and ringing your doorbell. Beware, the official MLB licensed “Forest Face” (p. 21):
Dear readers, not every publication is perfect. Typos, misnomers, glitches… these things are pretty common when producing such a large body of work. Like this picture, which is just all wrong (p. 5):
And just in case baby Jesus, Mom, Dad, Barack, Santa and the Easter Bunny are reading this, let me point out my own personal holy grail of a gift idea (p. 22):
I’m sure we can find a stocking big enough for this to fit. Or just give me a couple hundred bucks and I’ll buy the damn thing myself!
So that should be enough to get you in the holiday spirit, y’all! Don’t hate me for that! And don’t hate me ‘cuz I bear the curse of always being right.
Matt Wieters just turned water into wine! Not only that, I heard that when Matt Wieters wouldn’t come to the mountain, the mountain came to him! And all that happened right before he attained nirvana to become the Buddha! If Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods and Ted Williams’ frozen head got together and had a baby, it would be Matt Wieters.
There’s just one small problem with all this hoopla. Matt Wieters plays for the Baltimore Orioles so no one really cares. In fact, despite the disparity of their records, I still firmly believe that there is only one team near the Chesapeake Bay that actually matters. And that team, my friends, is the Washington Senators. I mean Nationals.
The Nationals evoke a Hobbesian system at its finest. Their chances of winning, similar to how Hobbes described life, are typically “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” And if only the Nats didn’t make it so easy, we’d probably just leave them to their inauspicious demise. However, when you do this:
-Teddy picture via Deadspin
Yeah, I wear a pinky ring. So what? I’m a made man and it’s the “company” rule.
And yeah, I have a Microsoft Zune… and no witty excuse other than to say, well, I got a good deal.
Yet to challenge my masculinity based on these attributes, Mr. Krause, is quite uncharacteristic, even for a flip-flopping self-loathing nihilist Tiger fan like yourself.
2006, my friend. 2006.
Still, this low blow to my sexuality got me wondering: do I really come off as a pansy?
So on Tuesday night I bought myself a case of MGD, stuck my hand in my shorts and plopped down on the couch to watch six hours of baseball. I even avoided eating and shaving — two things I try to do at least once a week.
And this is what I learned:
Brandon Phillips doesn’t care how many times Miguel Montero says “mercy”; he’s still beatin’ that dude’s ^ss:
Ignorance is bliss… unless you have no business being naked in public; that’s just plain cruel (and stereotypical Met fan behavior):
Hate me ‘cuz I wear the pinky rings; just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Images courtesy of the Associated Press and Getty Images)
As if the world wasn’t overflowing with enough bad news already, Iranian officials came forth on Thursday to boast of their newly installed 7,000 centrifuges, presumably to scare we evil US Americans into bowing down to their racist demands or else.
During the kangaroo court adminstration of ‘Lil Bush and Smokin’ Dick Cheney, this clear and present danger would have been immediately dismissed like a young Dubya D.U.I. arrest. Unfortunately, Iran is not North Korea: they are not just playing around. And thankfully the Obama adminstration is making a sincere effort to work out these serious issues.
That being said, the topic of nuclear weapons is not what interests me on this day; rather, it is the centrifugal technology behind it that leads to such scary development.
For it is this exact same technology that the Baltimore Orioles and Toronto Blue Jays are currently utilizing to trick their fans in to thinking they have an actual shot at competing this year. After one series apiece, both teams find themselves with more wins than losses.
The Orioles? Well, they just got lucky.
The Blue Jays? They played the Tigers.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
The Pittsburgh Pirates managed to lose a game the other day to a local
community college. Granted, it wasn’t their best players on the field
that day but they did still lose to a community college. Now, we’ve
spent a lot of time talking about the highlights we expect to see in
the upcoming season but what are some of the bloopers and sob stories
you are looking forward to as well?
The Pirates’ saving grace (after losing to a community college) is the fact that they themselves are a team better suited for the community college circuit. Boasting players most of us have never heard of like Nyjer Morgan, Brandon Moss and Ross Ohlendorf, is it any surprise that the perennial underachieving Buccos start the season picked to win a mind-blowing 65 games? I think not.
But as my sludge-dredging colleague, Mr. Krause, so coyly alludes to, this will be just one of the many “sob stories” we baseball fans are looking forward to in 2009. Now I am no soothsayer; nor am I blessed with magical powers allowing me to predict which gaffes and gripes will take centerstage this season; but let’s face it: some things are just a given. For example:
The Orioles and Blue Jays Will Simply Disappear
If they haven’t already, by the time we hit the month of May, I foresee that all relevance of baseball in Baltimore and Toronto will cease to exist. After a steady diet of Yankees, Red Sox and Rays is slammed down our throats, who will care that Brian Roberts is a shining star in a sea of apathy or that J.P. Ricciardi is single-handedly destroying what was once a proud baseball organization? No one. That’s who.
Cub Fans Will Be Whining About Something
They always do. They always will. They never stop. Whether it’s invoking the spirit of Cub castaway Steve Bartman, repeating ye ole circa 2003 mantra: “Prior and Wood, Prior and Wood, Prior and Wood” or just getting too drunk to know what’s actually going on during the game, Cub fans were born to lose. And in personifying their joyous moniker of “Lovable Losers”, they love to whine. Sure. They’ll win the division. How can they not? But they’ll find a way to blow it in the playoffs and we sane baseball folk will be subjected to yet another lengthy offseason of wouldas, couldas and shouldas — a century old Northside tradition.
Gary Sheffield Will Say Something Stupid
Happens every year, folks. He might even box someone too, that is, if he can find the strength to walk from homeplate all the way out to the mound. And if he plays in more than 114 games, there’s a good chance that he’ll add even more guts and gore to that Phillies/Mets rivalry we’ve all come to enjoy over the last few years. Sheff is certainly setup to give new meaning to the phrase “choke artist”. All Cole Hamels has to do is open his mouth.
Joba Chamberlain Will Try His Luck with Erin Andrews — Again — and Fail Miserably — Again
I know, I know. Ms. Andrews said it was nothing, but we saw the video (which has conveniently been erased from the entire interweb) and let’s face it: Joba struck out like Adam Dunn after an all-night bender. Having been in that situation myself, and being a guy, I think it’s safe to say Joba will go there again. Men are stupid. Ladies, am I right?
Yet looking into my crystal ball, dear readers, the one blooping gaffe that is bound to come up again and again this season is almost too easy to call:
Kyle Farnsworth Will Be the Laughingstock of Major League Baseball
They hated him in Chicago. They hated him in New York. They hated him in Detroit. If the Royals had any fans, they would hate him in Kansas City too. But at the end of the day, no one can deny that Farnsy has become the whipping boy of baseball sadists all across US America. When a kind-hearted She-Fan openly in love with her beloved Yankees rips the man to death in her best-selling book, it is safe to say that Kyle Farnsworth is and always will be fair game. He should’ve known better: “There’s no crying in baseball!”
Hate me ‘cuz I can be an ^ss, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Produced, shot and edited by Atonal Studios.
Special thanks to Theo Roll.
Very special thanks to Alex Rodriguez for giving MLBloggers blog fodder for life.
(For best playback results, watch in High Quality)
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Tuesday and Wednesday’s posts will both be the result of a small experiment between Mr. Lung and Mr. Krause. The title for each post will be the exact same and was co-created by each constituent in an odd writing exercise known to literary dorks as “build-a-sentence”. Mr. Lung wrote a word, then Mr. Krause wrote a word, Mr. Lung wrote a word, etc., until there was a complete sentence that sorta made sense.
Stay tuned and see the true difference between these two baseball-politico minds and find out just where that co-created title will take them, whether it be down the same jaded street or off into themes yet undiscovered like Red Sox fans who never complain about anything (yeah right, like there is such a thing).
You know what we mean.