Tagged: Rivals

Fallout, Apathy, Toby

The names were different, yes, but the destruction was equally devastating.  Maybe even more.

I’m talking about the EPIC FAIL that was the 2012 NLCS, compared to the one that first stopped by heart 16 years ago.  Yes, in 1996 it was Todd Stottlemyre in the role of Lance Lynn, with Andy Benes as Chris Carpenter and Donavon Osborne as Kyle “I Ain’t A Big Game Pitcher” Lohse.

It was Ozzie’s last year, Tony’s first and the first time back to the World Series since 1987 and the uncomfortable early 90’s era Redbirds… or so I thought.

Up three games to one in the best of seven series against the Atlanta Braves, the jockstraps came off a team that simply couldn’t score any runs; and instead of spending the last days of October in complete ecstasy, the 17-year old me stayed locked away in a dark closet, reading Nietzsche by a flashlight, ultimately coming back to the same redundant question: WHAT… IS… THE POINT?

I still don’t know.  What is the point?  Why get so worked up over something so silly?  I wish I knew.  And, for RSBS‘ sake, I sure hope Mr. Krause doesn’t have to find out.  Not this year.  So yeah, um… go Tigers.

Also, Marco Scutaro is my Toby Flenderson.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

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RSBS Digest: Blowing Up

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…

Happy Friday!

Jeff

State of the RSBS Union, Take 2

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.  There is nothing there.  That whole thing about the White Sox winning the AL Central and the Tigers nose-diving at the unlucky hands of my delirious and oft thwarted colleague, Mr. Krause?  I know not that of which you speak.

Also, please don’t hate me ‘cuz I was wrong.

And don’t get used to it… me, being wrong that is.  It doesn’t happen often.  Of course, you already know this.

It’s just that this baseballing… it’s a fickle pastime.  One day you’re up, the next day you’re the White Sox.

(Seriously though, the White Sox tanking like this?  WTF?  How can one team be so bad at fundamental baseball so quickly?  I don’t get it.)

Naturally, by falling back into the trend, I wouldn’t be surprised to see the Tigers lose three in a row as the Sox win three in a row.  If that happens, just shoot me — but wait until AFTER the one-game playoff.

Meanwhile, bring on the Bravos…

And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m (usually) right.

Peace,

Jeff

Workin’ Hard or Hardly Workin’

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!

Jeff

Do or Do Not, There Is No “Try”

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.

LOSERS.

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.

Peace,

Jeff

The Rules: Good Television Edition

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.

Number One:

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.

Number Two:

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.

Number Three:

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.

Peace,

Jeff

Stop It, Chicago Cubs, Just Stop It

*Dear readers, pardon me while I step away from being an unbiased observer and put on my wrathful fanboy hat*

Stop it, Chicago Cubs.  Just stop it.

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.

Peace,

Jeff