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)
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)
– – – –
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.
Much of the political uproar over the past week centered on Rush Limbaugh’s address at CPAC in which he reaffirmed his desire to see President Obama fail. Understandably, many people are up in arms over this statement but some of them seem to be upset for all the wrong reasons. Obama is not the messiah and he will have policy failures. The sooner we accept that inevitability, the better.
But there is another reason why Rush’s words should have incensed us. Not only is his naive desire to see our country’s problems worsen ignorant at best, it also goes against everything we’ve been led to believe. America is a country built on dreams, MLK’s dream, the American Dream, even Obama’s dreams from his father, and failure, although sometimes an intermediate result, is never a goal. That’s where Rush gets it so wrong.
In America, we love dreams and we love seeing people pull through when everyone else is sure they’re going to fail. Kirk Gibson in the ’88 World Series. Willie Mays’ catch. The Tampa Bay Rays’ run to the pennant. No one gave any of them a chance but somehow they managed to overcome failure and succeed beyond their (and our) wildest imagination. When failure is an end instead of a means, dreams die and you become irrelevant.
Rush’s problem and, by extension, the problem of the Republican Party is that their actions have begun to cast them as irrelevant to the national debate. Wishing failure on your opponents doesn’t make you a seer. It makes you a streetcorner prophet, carrying your cardboard sign and sleeping on a park bench at night. It doesn’t signal engagement but rather disengagement.
The real issue and what Rush is afraid to say is that it’s not so much that he disagrees with Obama as it is that he has no solution of his own. After the experiment of the past eight years proved morally and financially bankrupt, how could he? However, the purview of the streetcorner lunatic has always included yelling louder than everyone else and making sure that yours is the voice that stands out. In that respect, Rush can truly claim, “Mission Accomplished.”
How very un-American our mothers are!
Indeed, freedom of speech — speaking one’s mind — venereal verbosity — is just but one of the many great attributes of being an US American. Believe me, after living in China for four years, it is both comforting and refreshing to know that I can publicly endorse the extreme social and mental benefits of playing the Harold Reynolds drinking game on a semi-regular basis. (*In China, drinking games are not allowed unless they are a) a way to dupe silly Americans into sending jobs overseas b) a way to dupe silly Americans into eating Fido and liking it or c) a means to getting drunk.)
Yet sometimes, our mothers seem to actually know what they are talking about. And such advice would really come in handy if your name was Alex Rodriguez or Ann Coulter or any one of these individuals:
He says publicly that he would like to make a comeback and play for either the Chicago Cubs or the Tampa Bay Rays. Okay. Fair enough, Curt. You are a gamer. You probably still have it in you to pitch at the Major League level. Yet, considering your less-than-admirable reputation among others in the league, would it not be more beneficial to just go about your business and get in the game rather than release a statement of who you would like to pitch for? And why the ultimatum for those two teams? Could you not pitch for the Pirates just as easily as you could the Cubs? This ploy is eerily similar to me drunk texting women from my past at three in the morning when I would be much better off going to bed or more successful by getting in a cab and just showing up at someone’s doorstep.
As an US American, it is one thing to say “I hope my party [the Republican Party] gains momentum and succeeds in the next presidential race.” I do not think anyone would have a problem with that. The problem is, the GOP’s own Jabba the Hutt did not say that. He said: “I hope he [President Obama] fails.”
Go eat yourself to death, Rush.
Personally, I like Steve Phillips and the general manager perspective he brings to ESPN’s broadcasts. In general, I find Phillips to be a decent guy who always calculates what he is going to say before he says it. But to publicly lambast Lou Piniella on his handling of Japanese imports (Kosuke Fukudome) is something even I find astonishing. He said:
“My view is Lou doesn’t have a great deal of patience of assimilation
into culture, assimilation in the team. He is just not the most patient
guy around and he tends to verbalize his frustrations in an angry way.
I think that may have affected Fukudome a little bit.”
Hmm. Well, Steve-O, I think you may have ticked Lou off just a tiny bit with that one. Ordinarily, I would attempt to defend you in some way, but then I saw how crazy you really are when you said: Dontrelle Willis will be the comeback player of the year in 2009.
Yes, the democrat who just won’t go away is still… around… and this time he is writing a book! Don’t feel bad, folks; I didn’t think he could read either, but apparently he can (or someone can for him) and when it is all said and done there will be a big, fat, juicy tell-all telling all about… er… eh… what we already know. Blago’s foray into Jose Canseco-ism may be a success only if he can convince anyone to care about what he has to say. From my vantage point, that ain’t happening. We are talking about corrupt politicians here, not homerun happy ‘roiders. Big difference.
I know, I know. Dempster has not said anything extraordinarily stupid… yet. But he will. That is what he does.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
**In lieu of THIS BREAKING NEWS, we at RSBS would like to congratulate Manny Ramirez and Scott Boras on successfully hijacking the Dodgers for the entire off-season. That is classy. No, that is Roberto Alomar I’ll-spit-AIDS-in-your-eye kind of classy. Believe that.
Hold 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.
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:
And 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.)
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.
Still pissed off that Santa didn’t bring me the one thing I wanted most this year (a competent General Manager running the St. Louis Cardinals), I have little choice but to fully embrace the intangible magic of humility. In doing so, I have decided to channel the tenacity of my bitterness and turn it into sincere, reflective admiration for all that has been accomplished here at RSBS this year.
Not only did we create a unique baseball-politico universe full of hyperbolic criticism and satirically erratic fandom, we also had the good fortune of being surrounded by fabulously smart and like-minded baseball nuts with passionate political views within the MLBlogosphere.
Indeed, in 2008, we saw dreams come true; we saw corruption, glory, beauty, heartbreak, Cinderella, more corruption, more beauty and more heartbreak. We saw it. We reported it. We ripped it to shreds.
In honor of RSBS‘ rapturous reportage, babbling blabberings and partisan posts, I have pulled out the top three 2008 RSBS entries written by that misguided Tiger fan you have all learned to feel sorry for… the one and only Mr. Allen Krause.
The 1st Runner-Up:
Diversionary Tactics — September 18, 2008
A fat incompetent college football coach, a Broadway musical composer and an old Topps baseball card featuring a solid porn mustache have never made such sweet, sweet love.
Golden Parachutes — December 10, 2008
Hip, Sexy, Current… these three words don’t just sound like a hit NBC mini-series; they also describe the tone of this well-written commentary exploring the ins and outs of our ever-failing government, the ever-declining mystique of Detroit sports franchises and the ever-growing… well, fellas, you know what I’m tryin’ to say… (*Ladies, please ignore that last line 😉
…and the Winner is:
Allen’s Post-Partisan Playoff Preview — October 1, 2008
Hardly known for his loquaciousness, Mr. Krause really put it to dear readers galore with this existentialist exercise in post-modern fantasy capped off by… well… by being RIGHT. Fine tuned to the unique political and social caricatures of our dear elected leaders, my colleague done me proud with this little ditty of a post — so much so that I… well… I peed a little from all the excitement.
Go ahead, hate me, folks. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.