Don’t worry, dear readers, RSBS is on it. Sure, the WikiLeaks crew seems to be focusing their efforts on outing wrongs and ending wars, but don’t forget: a lot of these folks are US Americans (I think?) and after they solve enough military crises and torture pandemics, they’re gonna turn their attention to what really matters:
Luckily, for you, we have the inside track. Of course, such sensitive information doesn’t come easily, and It is important to remember that many RSBS interns perished in order to bring you the truth.
Please. Be respectful of that.
And do with it what you will. After reading the following information, I advise you to lock all the doors, close all the windows and drink some beer. You’ll feel better.
– – – WIKILEAKS CONFIDENTIAL; MLB FACTION – – –
Derek Jeter is being courted by the Red Sox. And he is listening.
The Expos are not dead. They’re frozen in carbonite until the Quebecois can be fooled into thinking they’re watching hockey. Almost there.
Peter Gammons is Gepetto. For real.
The Pittsburgh Pirates’ 1979 uniform combos were designed by embedded Russian spies hoping to kill the American public with ugliness. They almost succeeded… if it weren’t for that damn Sister Sledge!!!
Contrary to popular belief, Desmond Jennings is NOT Carl Crawford. The Rays are making a mistake.
Jon Hamm loves the Cardinals. (Oh, that’s not a secret? Of course not… everyone should love the Cardinals!)
The Cubs remain in a perpetual state of misery… because they can. Cubs fans keep coming back. For more.
Prince Fielder is prone to eating himself if left alone for more than 15 minutes at a time.
Yorvit Torrealba’s name spelled backwards is Ablaerrot Tivory, which looks like a Prussian hybrid name. But it’s not. It’s Spanish. Backwards. Try it. You’ll see.
We know what Jayson Werth did last summer… and it wasn’t Chase Utley’s wife!!!
– – – END CONFIDENTIALITY – – –
Hate me ‘cuz I get the facts. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Major League suits are set to invade US America‘s baseball-less Indianapolis this week… and they all have one singular goal: move that paper.
For those of you dear readers who respond better to visual metaphors, here’s one for ya: John Mozeliak (Ernie), Kermit (Peter Gammons), Cashman and Epstein (the Yip-Yips), and many more are all gittin’ down to ante up:
*Strong language may not be suitable for children unless your kids are related to Busta Rhymes in which case this type of language is as common around the house as naked women and blunts for breakfast*
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
I remember listening to NPR while driving to work one spring morning and hearing a wonderful rendition of the famous poem, Casey at the Bat. It was read by James Earl Jones and the recitation was accompanied by some orchestra. Sure enough, it was Opening Day and it felt like the perfect way to start the baseball season.
But that was a different time. That was spring of 2002 when maybe we weren’t quite as naive as we had been but we were far enough removed from the strike and still unaware of the steroid scandal. I’m afraid that if I were to tune in my radio on Opening Day this year, the poem would be quite a bit shorter and might go something like this:
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for most baseball fans that day;
Canseco had become a sage with allegations of tainted play,
And when McGwire admitted using, and knowing Bonds had done the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought with optimism that was waning as of late,
“The game might still have purity now, with A-Rod at the plate.”
But, the sneer has fled from A-Rod’s lip, the eyes are filled with tears;
He sports a shirt and sweater as his soul to us he bares.
And now Gammons forms the question, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of A-Rod’s blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in baseball — mighty A-Rod has struck out.
Only this time it’s not just the Mudville nine that lose. It’s all of us.
If you are one to eschew the daily fear mongering and perpetual bad news infecting our world today, then I highly recommend you avoid reading the Chicago Tribune first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, for me, the Tribune has become that thing I love to hate. My self-inflicted aggravation is just one of the many results.
But today, I came across a titillating article by Stacy St. Clair which boasted and celebrated the harmony, the togetherness, the complete reciprocal adoration between Barack and Michelle Obama — our nation’s first couple. Reading it made me feel good.
As the day went on, news broke of Alex Rodriguez — our collective fallen hero — and his stunning confession of guilt regarding his usage of banned performance enhancing drugs in 2003. The image of Rodriguez discussing the issue with Peter Gammons flickered on my computer screen. I was overwhelmed with sadness.
My thoughts immediately went back to the Obama article and I couldn’t help but ask myself: Is anything what it seems anymore?
Alex Rodriguez put on a great front. Despite Jose Canseco’s self-righteous smear campaign and associated agenda, I never once questioned Rodriguez’s proclaimed innocence. At no time did I suspect Rodriguez to be tainted in even the slightest of ways, for A-Rod was our hero. He was the one targeted with pulling us out of the steroid era forever. He was the one endowed with replacing Bonds as the all-time homerun king. He was the one who seemed like the most talented, most gifted, most touted ballplayer I have ever witnessed play the game.
What you see is not always what you get.
John Edwards seemed like a family man.
Pete Rose seemed like the consummate all-American baseballer.
Eliot Spitzer seemed like a hard-nosed crime-stopper.
The Wizard of Oz seemed like an all-powerful wizard.
And it turns out they were all just… like… us:
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.