Tagged: Rants

I Got ‘Em, but I Ain’t Happy About It

cardinals fan.jpgBefore interleague, before realignment, the St. Louis Cardinals and
Chicago Cubs used to battle; they decimated each other in a bonafide on-the-field theatre of war much like the Yankees/Red Sox and
Dodgers/Giants do today.

But with six teams crammed into the
National League Central, each vying for a top spot with Selig’s odds
stacked against them and the unnecessary evil of force-feeding a
delusional I-70 rivalry that requires the Cardinals to play the Royals two
times a year, what was once the toast of classy baseball rivalries has
been diddled down to a mere four series a season, which allows me the
opportunity to see my ball club make a trip to my home (Chicago) just twice.

Didn’t Selig get the memo?  I thought the world revolved around me.

Guess not.

So
like all loyal Cardinal fans living in the Chi, I too was first in the
interweb line to purchase tickets for the Cardinals/Cubs series: one
four game set in April and one three game set in July.

I logged
on to cubs.com and was told to “Please be patient. We are experiencing
a high volume of requests at this time. You will be notified when your
spot in the queue is ready.”

Besides being impressed that Cubs personnel could spell “queue”, I sat patiently, waiting my turn.

For an hour.

And then another hour.

And then another… and another… and another…

After waiting patiently for five and a half hours, I was told it was finally my turn. 

BUT,
I could not buy tickets for the July 10 game (sold out) or the July 11
game (also sold out) or the July 12 game (it’s f***ing sold out, dude)
or the April 18 game (goddamn it, it’s sold the **** out, man!).

I
bought tickets for the Sunday night ESPN game on April 19.  And then,
before I could celebrate even the smallest of victories, I was booted
out of the ticketing system — the online equivalent of having been peed
on.

wrigley_field.jpgImmediately, I ventured on to Stubhub were I was delighted
to see that I could buy tickets to all of those games I wanted to see
for the same price my health insurance company rapes me for every month. 
In other words, a $22
upperdeck-there’s-a-giant-metal-column-blocking-my-view ticket at
Wrigley starts out at $125 a pop.  Two tickets, do the math, is $250.

Boom.

Better not get sick this summer.

Maybe
it is for the best though.  It is no secret that once I step in that
dilapidated craphole cathedral known as Wrigley Field, donning my
Molina jersey in all its 2006 WS Championship glory, my Old Style
soused tongue and seedy underworld presence tend to get me trounced
more often than I would like.

But you can bet I’ll find a way.

So don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy

A Friday Film Analogy

buddha_stars.jpgThat Buddha sure wasn’t kidding when he said “Life is suffering.”

He must have been a Pirates fan.

Yet spring training is supposed to be that time of year when every team has a shot at being the best, every team has the opportunity to go all the way, every team can hope to be champions — well, every team not named the Pirates, Royals and now: The St. Louis Cardinals.

That’s right, folks.  The Cardinals were big losers before they even got to camp thanks to one General Manager John Mozeliak.  It is no secret that I hold little regard for the man who did nothing to better our ball club during this off-season, so I will refrain from further condemning him back to the bookish hell from which he originally oozed. 

What I will do instead is make it easy for you, dear readers, Cardinal lovers and Cardinal haters alike: those days of St. Louis fans harboring perennial playoff hopes are long gone.  And all that remains is an empty, blown-out pipedream much akin to that of one Theo Roll, modern dancer extraordinaire.

Don’t know who Theo Roll, modern dancer extraordinaire is?

Watch and learn (at the 1:35 mark look for some fine, world class, Academy Award worthy acting):

Get my drift?

Good.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy

Translations of a Maniac

john_mozeliak.jpgSorry, folks, I am through pontificating on Alex Rodriguez (for now) and ready to get back to baseball talk that does not include scandalous tirades on the poor policing of the game.

Wait, no… that is a lie.

Because the St. Louis Cardinals released their clubhouse infecting second baseman Adam Kennedy this week and GM John Mozeliak, by simply opening his mouth, has opened the door for more ridicule from those of us who should actually matter the most (the fans) but continuously get tossed aside like a Roger Clemens B-12 filled syringe.

So Kennedy is gone.  Great.  Ask me if I care. 

I don’t.

What I do care about is the $4 million we are paying him for 2009 anyway.  Mozeliak said:

“I tried to exhaust the trade market. We thought we might have something happening that really came to an end
this weekend. At that point it was just time. It was more fair for both
parties to do it now than wait a couple weeks.”

Translation: I am not very good at my job.

You mean to tell me, Mr. Mozeliak, that no team in Major League Baseball was willing to trade for Kennedy?  No team!?!  None?!?  You couldn’t get one minor league guy, one nobody, one journeyman reliever for Adam Kennedy? 

Give me a break.  But in all fairness, Mr. Mozeliak, you are right about one thing.  That was a fair deal for the Kennedy camp.  More than fair.  Here’s $4 million, Adam.  Sit on your ^ss, dude.  Have a good time.  Go out and get a league minimum one-year deal from some team and live off the fat of the Cardinals’ land.

I suspect he will.

Meanwhile, the Cardinals fan forums, blogs and message boards are lighting up with “what the hell do we do now”s; some delusional fans have even gone as far as to suggest Mozeliak may go out and sign a free agent second baseman like Orlando Hudson or Mark Grudzielanek to fill the empty space.

Ha!  I laugh in your face!  For you know not the true nature of our general manager:

“Right now, we’re going to go with what we have. We would like to do this internally if we could, and we do have confidence that we can.”

piggy lord of the flies.jpgTranslation: I have the conch!  Not you!  Me!  It’s mine mine mine mine mine!  All mine!  And I say let’s get these suckas in the ballpark without assembling a competitive team.  Why not?  Those silly fans have already proven that they’ll support a crappy team; we can do that on the cheap and still rake in millions!  Sell ’em t-shirts and Busch Light and bobbleheads that are way overpriced!  They love that s***!

Mozeliak finished by saying:

“I do think this [releasing Kennedy for nothing while still paying him $4 million] was an opportunity to inject some energy into that
position and really show that we are moving this club in a newer
direction.”

Translation: This club is built to fail.  I signed Trever Miller and Royce Ring to further weaken an already deplorable bullpen that blew 31 saves last year.  My major off-season acquisition of shortstop Khalil Greene hit a mind-blowing .212 last season, I haven’t even tried to land a closer and I am taking Ludwick and Ankiel to arbitration because I want to make them feel uncomfortable about playing in St. Louis.  And as soon as this season is over and we have been embarrassed by the Cubs and Brewers, LaRussa and Duncan will walk and I’ll have this team right where I want it: going nowhere!

At least Ballpark Village is right on track:

ballpark village.jpg

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy

An Unseasonably Warm Lament

gravestone.jpgIt’s 55 degrees in Chicago today and my entire Bridgeport neighborhood is wet with the sound of Irish keening.

We should all be outside, throwing the ball around with the neighborhood kids, hitting grounders with the fungo bat and telling little Jimmy to keep his eye on the ball, to level his swing.

Instead, we find ourselves trapped inside our apartments — breaking things — deeply saddened by today’s news and seriously questioning our loyalty to a game that continues to let us — an entire nation — down.

This, my friends, will be the legacy of Bud Selig.

Screw revenue sharing.  Forget the WBC.  Eat it on interleague play.

Bud Selig is the sole reason why we the fans — the rock-solid foundation of Major League Baseball — find ourselves in the midst of yet another seriously debilitating depression.

Go ahead, Bud.  Pretend like you didn’t know anything.  Entertain your highfalutin, self-righteous, narcissistic thoughts as being the trailblazing ambassador of the game.

We know. 

Yes.  We all know.

The Truth is: YOU dropped the ball.

And you will forever be remembered for that.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy

Chaos A.D.

chaos.jpgHold on to your money-makers, dear readers… this is gonna be a thrashing ride reminiscent of Clint Malarchuk’s 1989 throat-slashing — the first and only image on television that made me actually throw up. 

Bleh.

Verily, NBC gave her demonic highness, Ann Coulter, the greatest public relations gift in the history of the human race by banning her for life from their network and all like-minded lefty-linked affiliates.  This decision was made in lieu of Coulter’s new book which attacks the media as being a farcical, one-sided (left), pretentious boys club incapable of stomaching any of her ranting diatribes, most of which we learned folks have grown to just call ‘crap’.  Strongly suggestive of fecal matter or not, Ms. Coulter is still a US American, one who is astutely literate in the land of fantasy writing and one who has the same exact rights that all of us share in making our voice and our opinions known.  Nothing good can come from this.  She’s going to run with it ad nauseum and in this case, NBC clearly proved the exact point she’s been trying to make all along.

And it might not make me want to vomit as much as the above, but Pat Burrell is now a Tampa Bay Ray and in doing so virtually shuts the door on my boyhood hero, Ken Griffey, Jr. ever getting another shot in the playoffs.  Having shored up their veteran/DH hitting needs, I doubt the Rays will have much interest in Junior now.  In my mind, this can only mean he’ll likely end up with that cyclical hell-hole of a franchise known as the Seattle Mariners (for nostalgia’s sake — yack).  Sorry, Junior.  I really am.

And just as sure as I was that the Democrats’ insatiable desire for unwanted negative attention had already met Biblical proportions, it got worse when Rod Blagojevich appointee and prophetic puppet, Roland Burris, said he was the junior Illinois senator because “the Lord has ordained” him.  How come the Lord is always talking to everyone except me? 

Maybe he’s been talking to Al Franken too.  No matter what, the Minnesota senatorial feud will be nothing short of a long, drawn-out, party-dividing legal and social battle that will only make us hate politicians that much more, if that’s even possible… wait, yeah… yeah it is… because there’s still this guy:

bill richardson.JPGOh and yeah, there’s also still this guy:

rod blagojevich smiling.jpgAnd of course his team is just one passing physical away from putting another ice pick in my chest and signing Milton Bradley to a three-year deal.  In essence, the Cubs continue to get better, continue to open their change purse, continue to be savvy in all their dealings.

Note to John Mozeliak: You might want to consider waking the hell up!

And no, Mr. Mozeliak, I do not consider your signing of left-handed bullpen scrub Royce Ring, who finished 2008 with an ERA higher than Method Man and Redman on a Saturday night backstage (his ERA was 8.46), to be a “savvy” move.

(*insert dramatic pause while I take the time to puke… again.)

Ahem.

So what do I do when the world around me crumbles like Amy Winehouse during happy hour?

I tune into the wondrous world that is Red State Blue State

But, folks, it ain’t always pretty.  And it’s painfully obvious to anyone with a remedial math education that whether I’m younger by twelve years or twelve days or twelve hours than my cooped-up colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, I am and always will be younger than he, and more eloquent, and better at baseball.  That’s just the hard, undeniable truth.

And yes, just as Mr. Krause stated in his low-blow, I did indeed spend some quality years without a steady girlfriend.  This I cannot deny.  But to call me out on the transgressions of the past without expecting a wicked rebuttal is quite juvenile. 

Alas!  Mr. Krause has long been the New York Yankees of meaningful romantic relationships: he was always in one, always spending too much money, always on top (so I hear).

Equally, I have long been the Tampa Bay Rays: never actually in the race, always flirting with free-agent wh0res who weren’t worth the inflated dollars, always on the bottom (cuz that’s just how I roll).

But (and I think we can all see where this is going here) like all facets in the grand scheme of life, balance ultimately plays a most crucial role.  And nowadays it’s pretty apparent that I’m on top (with a hot girlfriend) while Mr. Krause wallows in the despair that is not making the “playoffs” for the first time since 1993.  Don’t worry, Al, I’m sure they seat parties of one on Valentine’s Day somewhere in the nation’s capital.  If not, you can always give Eliot Spitzer a call.  I’m sure he knows some “people”.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy

Fire This Man!!!

John Mozeliak.jpgI and the rest of Cardinal Nation have had enough of this incompetence! 

Another one got away… one we needed desperately, one who could’ve been had were it not for the mental retardation of one John Mozeliak.

And now we are forced to sit back and reserve room at the bottom of the National League Central Division because with the massive, gaping, bloody wound that is the St. Louis Cardinals bullpen throbbing with ineptitude faster than the Illinois legislature moves to impeach a pompous nimrod governor, that’s exactly where we’ll be.

Move on up, Pirates.

We got this taken care of.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy

P.S.  Happy Friggin’ New Year.

Enouph Phriggin’ Phun with the Phillies “Ph”

phillie phanatic.jpgBelieve me, Philly Phans, I pheel ya.  As a Cardinals phan and White Sox supporter, I know phirst-hand what exuberance and exaltation comes with celebrating a World Series championship.  Indeed, it’s so ecstatically mind-blowing that one can easily phathom losing all sense of grammatic aptitude and phonetic inpherence. 

I’m just sayin’… enouph is enouph.

Because, yeah, we get it.

We understand that the Philly “Ph” is phun to insert into newspaper headlines and crawler teasers phrom the major news organizations.  We understand that, phor Philly phans who have had nothing to cheer phor during the last twenty some odd years, that this is a big phriggin’ deal and you want to make some noise.  We understand that up until that last out was recorded, yours was as phormidable a task as you could possibly phathom and that phear of being unable to phinish would always be phound in the back of your mind. 

We understand.

We’re just tired of it.

Jump up and down.  Knock a few back.  Celebrate to your hearts’ content.

Just cool it with the dumb bastardization of the English language, please.

And make sure you get all the partying in before Tuesday, November 4th; because on that day my city, my home, my people will be the center of the world.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy