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.
Having barely recovered from my colleague’s audacious yet titillating post from yesterday, which featured the buxom awesomeness of one Erin Andrews, I am sure you can imagine how exhausted I was this afternoon. I was so worn out that I almost didn’t even have the energy to be shocked at the following news stories:
- United Kingdom Bans Michael Savage for Being a Ranting A-Hole
- University of Illinois at Chicago Bans Students from Shaking Hands (thanks a lot, swine flu, how are the kids gonna hook up now?)
- MLB Bans Manny Ramirez for Testing Positive for PEDs
Okay, I admit, that last one isn’t really all that shocking considering the myriad priors of Manny Ramirez buffoonery. Still, to be banned for 50 games? Now that is saying something! Kudos to Major League Baseball for throwing the hammer at a big-time rule-breaker not named J.C. Romero!
While the entire social networking world is going wild over this steroid ban by Tweeting and Facebooking and MySpacing and Moshpitting opinions at lightning speed, let us not lose sight of the fact that there is an awful lot of banning going on in the free world — some warranted (Manny), some not (UIC students).
And like most things trendy, tired and trite, RSBS strives to get in on the action. So here is a short list of things that must be banned in the very near future:
BANNED: Paula Abdul’s Sobriety!!!
Wonder why American Idol ratings are down? You think Adam Lambert and Simon Cowell can carry the show? Ha! Think again, squarepants. Give me a whacked out loopy Paula and I’ll show you some damn ratings!
BANNED: Kyle Farnsworth’s Glasses!!!
They are not helping! A 7.56 ERA? Opponent BA of .314? Somebody get this guy some steroids! Stat!
BANNED: Paying Attention to Rod Blagojevich!!!
Seriously, does anyone really care anymore?
Now that Virgin is revolutionizing space travel, just think of how many asterisks we will need once baseball is being played there! Stop it now while we can!
BANNED: The Yankees’ Ability to Beat the Red Sox!!!
Oh, wait, we already did that.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
If I were making $126 million over seven years for a team that invested its future in me assuming I would be the one to anchor its pitching staff, I think I would probably focus on being a good pitcher.
But if it’s Barry Zito in that position — which it is — apparently none of that is important.
Dear readers, welcome to Zito’s World: a super hip fantasyland where losing 30 games in two seasons with a 4.84 ERA is worth every penny of that $126 million; a place where winning games in April is never a priority; an imaginative mirage where baseball meets Hollywood starlet meets aspiring rock star meets absolute shock that people would be just a wee bit vocal about his seemingly laissez faire attitude.
Look, there is no question that I have been a staunch critic of Mr. Zito. Yes, I suggested his 2007 and 2008 pitching woes were rooted in his unprofessional preoccupation with movie star female companionship. Yes, I coined the phrase “Zito Happens”. Yes, I poked fun at his childish, uncensored Tweets which made him look foolish — pining for “cab cakes”.
But none of that seems to warrant the fact that Barry Zito — the millionaire pitcher who up to this point hasn’t done a very good job of making good on that Scott Boras super-contract — blocked me from his Twitter account.
Juvenile as his actions are, I still cannot help but chuckle. I mean, here I am lowly Joe Six-Pack, unpaid aspiring writer, committed MLBlogger and informed baseball fanatic, trying to get seen, be heard, find a voice…. and Barry Zito does me the grandiose favor of reading what I write and hating it enough to block me from his 10,000 plus following.
Now, I understand that being a multi-millionaire, playing the greatest game on earth for a living and personifying the American dream is probably really hard on the soul, Barry, but come on, don’t you think you deserve it? Just a little bit maybe? Yeah. Yeah, you do.
Man up, Barry. Get over yourself. Do your job and people like me will have no choice but to shut up.
Until then, you will remain back-page fodder for the masses.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
P.S. Barry may have blocked me from following him on Twitter, but I can still access his Tweets and laugh because they look like they’re written by a 12 year old as they tend to focus on the importance of Radiohead, farting in the shower and men layering with scarves. Nice work, Barry. Nice work.
P.S.S. Despite the aforementioned aggravation I am experiencing from Zito’s actions, I am still living a good life, visiting Washington D.C., hanging out with one of my best friends and co-author Allen, ready to see the Cardinals play the Nats tonight and tomorrow afternoon. Heading over to the White House now. Pics/Story to follow.
And let me tell ya, folks, they’re well on their way.
For if Opening Day is any indication as to what we Cardinal fans can expect this season, we are in for a long, painful, vomit-inducing ride.
In fact, I’m still cleaning up the mess I made yesterday.
Thank you, Jason Motte.
But more thanks to you, John Mozeliak, our miserly GM who spent the entire off-season ignoring the Cardinals’ biggest problem: the gaudy, bloody mess of a metastasizing bullpen.
Sure, having a healthy, strong, productive Adam Wainwright and Chris Carpenter in the rotation is great and all. And yes, we will take a lot of leads into the sixth inning; but unless we find a way to get Albert Pujols on the bump for the 7th, 8th and 9th, we are in line to fall apart every single night like Amy Winehouse at an open bar mixer.
And though I am impressed with Jason Motte’s blazing fastball, it’s not really all that impressive when that’s all he throws (that slider that doesn’t slide doesn’t count). I’m sure Jack Wilson was thinking the same thing when he sat back and ripped that game-winner.
Dear readers, if running a baseball organization was a democracy, the revolution would have long been over by now; and the ominous, towering, domineering statue of John Mozeliak would be lying in ruins.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
He had long hair. He had no earthly possessions. He was nice to everyone. He was compassionate, well-spoken and he didn’t judge others based on their ideas or actions; he left that up to his daddy.
So after two thousand years I have to ask: where did all those ideals go?
Catholic church, I think it’s about time you get over yourself.
The Tigers’ home opener is on a Good Friday, during holy hours? This offends you, Catholics? Whaa whaa whaa! Cry me a river so I can walk on it and impress my friends with my mad Jesus skillz. What!?!
Your hardline is just as insane.
Take it easy on the Tigers, will ya, Catholics. They’re in terrible shape and the last thing they need right now is a religious scandal scarring their opening day attendance. Besides, have you taken a look at the empty industrial shell known as the city of Detroit? Do you think the city or the team actually cares about what offends you and what doesn’t? The Tigers organization (and I can’t believe I’m defending them here) is a business. Business. How many other businesses will close during your precious holy hours just because you think they should and you will be offended if they don’t? Will McDonald’s close its doors? How about the crack dealers? Will there be a moratorium on rock sales during the holy hours? Will you police that if they don’t? And what about Little Caesars? Do you think they’ll shut down shop during your holy hours? No, sir, not while there are $5 pizzas that taste like crap to sell in order to pay off Gary Sheffield’s walking papers to the tune of some 14 million bucks!
But the story doesn’t end there, does it? You’re always in a tiff about something. Whaa whaa whaa, we don’t want Barack Obama, the leader of the free world, to give a commencement day speech at Notre Dame because he supports stem cell research — an effort that only aims to help people, heal people, give people hope. You don’t want Obama on your campus because he promotes progressive thinking, the freedom to choose, the American dream… and I guess all those awful, terrible ideals just don’t have a place in the rigid backwardness of the Catholic church, do they?
No, not as long as your higher-ups continue to challenge the existence of the Holocaust; not as long as your bishops suggest more Catholics died during the Holocaust than did the Jews; not as long as your elders continue to diddle little boys and get away with it.
Ask yourselves this, Catholics: What would Jesus do?
I’m pretty sure Jesus would say: Play Ball!
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
During a recent social outing, a Cub fan friend of mine (yeah, I know; I ain’t perfect, folks) mentioned how much he enjoyed RSBS now that I had seemingly lightened my unadulterated bashing and verbal vexing toward his beloved Northside team.
Upon reflection, I realized that I had indeed let my guard down… and noted that a good old Cub ego squashing was well overdue.
So in the confounded interests of being hack — carefully considering the fact that hack sells — I reluctantly invoke my inner Jeff Foxworthy in order to remind Cub fans just who they really are.
- If you pop your collar, skip class and hang out at John Barleycorn with a pocketful of GHB, you might be a Cub fan.
- If you remind Southsiders about the 1919 Black Sox scandal at least once a day, you might be a Cub fan.
- If you think Wrigley Field is anything other than a dilapidated craphole with more falling parts than Amy Winehouse after happy hour, you might be a Cub fan.
- If you consider urinal trough diving an official sport, you might be a Cub fan.
- If you do not work yet can afford season tickets, you might be a Cub fan.
- If you are my brother-in-law and you made a baby with my sister, you might be a Cub fan (thanks a lot, Patrick, for ruining the Cardinal blood line).
- If you think the word “choke” only applies to baseball teams and has absolutely no physiological connotation at all, you might be a Cub fan.
- If you think a baseball game is just an excuse to shotgun Old Styles and annoy anyone within ten feet, you might be a Cub fan.
- If you think Magellan is the name of a shoe insert, you might be a Cub fan.
- If your team’s biggest fan is an impeached corrupt politician with Lego hair, you might be a Cub fan.
And of course, the most obvious sign can only be this:
If you sincerely hate my guts, you must be a Cub fan.
Go ahead and hate.
Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Here is but a sampling of the goings on around the league:
Alex Rodriguez Homers in Spring Training Opener
Immediately after he hit that bomb, all controversy of A-Rod’s MVP PED use and the subsequent tarnishing and questioning of his character disappeared like the hopes and dreams of Pirates fans. Well, maybe not, but one can fantasize, right?
Ryan Dempster Has Yet to Say Something Stupid
Last year during spring training, Dempster guaranteed Cub fans a World Series title. His foot-in-mouth silence at the start of this season practically guarantees another stellar regular season record, followed by a quick division series exit to the tune of 101 years. Which leads me to the fact that…
Cub Fans Still Hungover from 2008, 2007, 2003, etc.
A simple stroll through Wrigleyville these days will yield much more than the average Barleycorn date-rape and trust-fund-baby all-night-party — both of which have long been synonymous with the neighborhood. Nowadays you can still see the aftershocks of that disappointing NLDS performance against the Dodgers in the face of this guy and this guy and these guys.
Khalil Greene On Pace to Replace Ozzie Smith as Shortstop Icon
Don’t look now, but after one spring training game, off-season blockbuster acquisition Khalil Greene is on pace to hit .333 this year — which is way better than his .212 average of 2008! While John Mozeliak sits back and strokes his pompous ego, we Joe Six-Pack fans are left daydreaming of that fifth-place NL Central finish.
Yankees Lend a Helping Hand: Willing to Pay Off the Country’s $1.75 Trillion Deficit
Okay, this is a lie; but the Yankees unwillingness to cooperate just proves how anti-American the organization really is.
“But as long as the nation is obsessed with historic milestones, is no
one going to remark on what a great country it is where a mentally
retarded woman can become speaker of the house?”
Ann, sweetie-pie, remember: we had a mentally retarded man with a fancy-rich last name as president for 8 years. Let us have our speaker and please stop talking.
Indians Fans and Cub Fans Breathe Collective Sigh of Relief
Joe Borowski, possibly the all-time scariest closer for all the wrong reasons, officially announced his retirement. There are parties in the street. Check ’em out.
Tigers Fans Better Off Watching Hockey
After my esteemed colleague and Tigers apologist Allen Krause wrote his annual lament on the sad state of his team, one clever commenter riffed:
“When the tigers crush your soul as they inevitably will, just remember to look on the brightside, we still have the Red Wings.”
Enough said. Thanks, D.K.
No One Cares About Blagojevich Anymore
Or Roland Burris… or Dick Durbin strong-arming Burris to get out of town… or the poor economy… or world hunger… or the climactic dictatorship of one Hugo Chavez… dude, who cares? There’s baseball to watch!
And at last…
The MLB Network Is Seriously Affecting My Loyalty to American Idol
I apologize to all my supporters, for it is true: in my living room, the MLB Network has temporarily taken the place of American Idol. Two weeks have gone by and I haven’t watched a single A.I. episode. I know, I know. This situation is difficult to accept for all. But believe me when I say it hurts me more than it hurts you. For some reason, Barry Larkin’s nonsensical ramblings and Al Leiter’s delusions of grandeur are just way more entertaining than Ryan Seacrest’s hair and Simon Cowell’s cliche Britishness.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.