Whether we’re talking about getting drunk and hitting the Taco Bell drive-thru at 4 a.m. or the state of my phone after a fast-movin’ night at the Roxbury, this much is known: things blow up.
This much is ALSO known: nothing blows up quite like the internet. I had a front row seat to the Twittersphere when Michael Jackson died (for real that time) and was amazed at how far-reaching this convoluted series of tubes really is.
And, as my melancholy and oft addled colleague Mr. Krause recently pointed out: proper internet explosions get a lot of fuel from fumbling politicians intent on keeping their multiple wives inside the three-ring trappings of a Trapper Keeper.
But the REAL explosion has yet to come. Hopefully, it will come tonight — Friday night. Hopefully the Cardinals will wrap up the San Francisco Giants’ futile efforts, kick back and wait for those cute little kitties to come to town.
That’s right, my fellow US Americans. An RSBS World Series is on the horizon…
Does Justin Verlander ever sweat? Seriously, does he? Not only does his velocity rise late in the game, but he also does it with an air of easiness that makes us mortals hate ourselves as we pile on another helping of chips and salsa.
I don’t doubt he’s one of the hardest workers in baseball. Like Chuck Norris, Justin Verlander’s off days are probably harder than any busy day at the office I’ve ever had to endure. In fact, I bet Verlander could kick Norris’ butt, especially since Chuck is currently distracted by the unfounded promises of his invisible friend.
Chris Sale has a Verlanderish look in his eye. It says: I’m here to kick some ass and I’m gonna keep a straight, determined growly face just to show you that I really am an animal inside. Except once the lid comes off that attitude and runners start spilling onto the basepaths, Sale loses his game face.
Maybe he just needs time to work on it.
It took Verlander some time too. This whole ‘getting stronger as the game goes on’ phenomenon wasn’t something that Verlander started his Big League career with. He learned it. He perfected it. And now he’s cutting through a hot knife with butter and swimming through land and threatening death with a near-Verlander experience.
Hate me ‘cuz I’m rallying around Mr. Krause’s hero today, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Happy Labor Day!
That’s right. Davey Johnson speaks for me.
In this case, we (Davey and I) are talkin’ about my surly and oft dour colleague, Mr. Allen Krause. Surely these words sting, almost as much as watching Mr. Krause’s beloved Tigers defeat my WORLD CHAMPION ST. LOUIS CARDINALS in their recent 3-game series.
Indeed, Verlander is a beast. But the following inequality is true:
Westbrook + Lohse > Verlander
Unfortunately, the following is also true:
Santiago + Peralta + Jackson + Berry > Marte
I’m sending my representation to handle the press conference:
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Oh, look, Starlin Castro went and did something stupid. Surprise, surprise.
And, oh, look, Dale Sveum and the Cubbies brass talk the talk, but eschew the walk while doing something quite similar to twiddling their collective thumbs — thumbs that tend to be stuck in proverbially unpleasant places.
Hmm. Haven’t we been here before with Castro? Yes.
Hmm. Haven’t we heard the same old “we gotta change the Cubs culture” mantra before? Yes.
Hmm. Haven’t we been bombarded with mythical imagery supposedly brought in on the wings of a SABR nerd? Yes.
And yet here we are, witnessing the same old Chicago Cubs.
I believe Albert Einstein was the one who said “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results.” Einstein was a pretty smart fella. Maybe it’s time the Cubs took notice of that notable quip of truth.
Instead of threatening to bench a spoiled star with as much talent as he has cluelessness, why not just bench him? Why not teach him a lesson? Why not teach the entire team — a team that is continuously caught with its inflated head in the clouds — and show them that there are no more third, fourth, fifth chances?
I’m a Cardinals fan. To the death. Part of being a Redbird fanatic is jousting with our arch rivals; but our rivals to the north are so bad that it just isn’t fun anymore. I long for the days when our regular season match-ups actually mean something.
Unfortunately, as long as the Cubs continue to simply “try” to get better mentally, with little effort, rather than actually DOING anything about it, I’m afraid we’ll just have to rehash that same old “Brogglio for Brock” snafu.
Hate me ‘cuz I’m deliberate, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
If Kim Kardashian’s well-traveled yet consistently hypnotizing room-shaker just doesn’t calm that nasty case of televisionitis anymore, do not fear.
This is the 21st century. And armed with both an MLB.TV subscription AND an MLB Extra Innings package on Direct TV, you never have an excuse to sully your brain again (unless Las Vegas is involved).
There are three basic rules.
Watch Tony Campana. That’s right. I can’t help but tune into this wily sCrUB. He’s great television! Seriously, the dude looks like he should be delivering my newspaper every morning on a magenta, one-speed Huffy, not working a walk so he get on base to haunt opposing pitchers. Perhaps it’s because my imagined baseball skill-set is similar to that of Campana’s that I often find myself glued to his base-running. Or maybe it’ s just because the guy is a buzzing gnat in a game full of free-swinging giants.
WATCH the American League East. Doesn’t matter the team. Yankees. Drama. Red Sox. Drama. Orioles? DRAMA! Blue Jays? MORE DRAMA! Rays… oh the Rays… they are the KINGS of DRAMA. On any given night no one knows what the hell is gonna happen in this division. It’s a baseball fanatic’s wet — okay. Sorry, chuggin’ the verklempt there.
Bryce. Friggin’. Harper.
Watch this dude. Seriously.
I gotta tip my cap to Mike Rizzo and the Nats. Both of their high profile picks have delivered early in their careers, not with just talent, but with poise and brass balls. Watch Bryce Harper play a baseball game and tell me he doesn’t love it more than anything else on the planet, that he doesn’t live his every waking second for the opportunity to play the game we love so much to the best of his ability, AT ALL TIMES.
Isn’t that a great example of how life should be lived by us all?
Stay tuned to Bryce Harper. That kid is fantastic television.
And go ahead, hate me. I don’t care. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*Dear readers, pardon me while I step away from being an unbiased observer and put on my wrathful fanboy hat*
You are a 6-win team thus far, and while yes, your last two wins (unfortunately, against my World Champion St. Louis Cardinals) were full of drama, let us not forget: you suck.
But you wouldn’t know that watching your celebrations the last two nights. Unbridled bedlam. Unwarranted one-upsmanship. Beating your chests then dogpiling like you won the goddamned World Series?
Please. You were the beneficiary of TWO blown calls. Also, you are a terrible team.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t celebrate a walk-off victory, because it is only natural to do so. But there is celebration and then there is what you’ve done two days in a row: act like blithering fools.
Consider a touch of class, or at least a nod to the
baseball gods umpires who handed you a victory on Tuesday night.
Hate me ‘cuz I speak it straight, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
For all of the sCrUBS fans chugging the Theo Epstein Kool-Aid, talking about how the “Cubs Culture” is “changing” and how “new leadership” is taking them in a “new, respectable direction”, just remember: Jeff Samardzija isn’t drinking it.
Hate me ‘cuz I hate the Cubs, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
– – –
HOLLA BACK, Y’ALL!!!
It’s time for THE FILIBUSTER to settle back in the Sunday slot at RSBS! The Interns are excited. Mr. Krause is excited. And I AM EXCITED TOO! No matter what the query, send it to RSBSBlog@gmail.com and we’ll let you know what we think.
Things to Do in Miami When You’re Dead
Just one week ago I wrote about all the good the Marlins are doing. It’s been an interesting week since then. I baked. I strung lights. I went sledding in my neighbor’s bathtub (she may or may not know this). I made a gingerbread house. I have Christmas fever!! And it’s Big Cat week!! But wait, there more!
I’m also slightly sore from the waist down since my man Aramis Ramirez is leaving the Cubs, but I’m not in the same stratosphere compared to what Jeffy is going through with Alberto de la Pujols. But that’s not why I called.
See, my father lives in the Miami metro area. He slipped me a story that’s been going on down there, one that hasn’t been reported too much here and it details the mess the Miami Marlins have created with the locals involving their new stadium. Check it out from the Herald.
And *this one* too!
Apparently all isn’t so sunny in Dade County regarding the tax payers who paid for the stadium. And the Marlins are BANKING ON FILLING THE HOUSE. Way to piss everyone off before DAY FREAKING ONE.
Will owners ever learn? They can tell you they put on pants the same way you do, with the whole putting one leg in at a time, but they probably just lay on shag carpets and have the butler put them on for them. I know this because my iguana, Dudley, does this for me every morning (despite his violent protests).
The Marlins couldn’t come close to half capacity, even winning it all twice. Now this?
Again Vice City proves just how douchey a place it really is. Other than visiting my father and my two stripper friends Leviticus and Deuteronomy, you can keep it. I have enough Crockett and Tubbs in my life. Just when I thought the new look Marlins were doing things the right way they go and screw the locals.
But I gave Dad some advice for when they tax him again: “The problems of the world won’t be solved by love alone. You need the opposite of love too… and by ‘opposite’ I mean Scientology.”
And… “Life is like a mustard burp, momentarily tangy and then forgotten in the air.”
Follow Johanna on Twitter!
Admit it. It may be Monday, but your mind is already on Thursday — Thanksgiving — the one day of the year where your sole responsibility is to eat yourself into a coma, sprawl out on the couch and watch football for 7 hours while catnapping as necessary.
You get all of that for the small price of being thankful.
And what do I have to be thankful for this year?
I’m thankful for the 2011 Cardinals. For the second time in six years I’m bragging about being a champion. And I got to be a part of it by going to the first two games. HOT DANG!
I’m thankful that, as always, whenever the Cubs triumph (Theo) they also manage to fail (Zambrano).
I’m thankful that Rick Perry has disappointed, that Herman Cain has self-destructed and Sarah Palin has invisiblized.
I’m thankful that I think I can get away with making up words.
But most of all, I’m thankful that I’ve never been punched by Mike Tyson.
Happy Thanksgiving Week Monday!
By now, my century long-depressed baseball brethren on the north side of Chicago are aware that, despite Prince Charming occupying the king’s seat at Addison and Clark, Cubbie Land might still get turned on its head.
If Ryne Sandberg becomes the new manager of the St. Louis Cardinals — THE WORLD CHAMPION ST. LOUIS CARDINALS — then I think I might just pee on myself.
Oh, the joy… to think, that one of the greatest Cubs in the history of the world — THE SAME CUB WHO WAS SNUBBED OVER FOR MIKE “LAME DUCK” QUADE — could sit at the St. Louis helm with those beautiful, beautiful birds on the bat, blazing across his Hall of Fame chest.
Oh sure, Francona would be great. Oquendo too. Hell, even Pettini is good in my book.
But Ryno… oh Ryno… *SALIVATES*
A friend of mine ran into Ryno, his wife and some friends of theirs in Times Square this summer. He said he was so in awe of the Hall of Fame second baseman that he sort of lost track of his thoughts and the forced conversation sorta became… awkward.
I imagine it was the same sort of awkward that would come from him championing the Cardinals to a World Series title in 2012…