As a young boy growing up in the middling middle-class of US America, my dreams were aplenty.
In particular, I dreamed of a day when I would succeed as a professional baseball player. Wearing the mask behind the plate, I envisioned catching the called third strike to win the World Series… rushing to the mound, hugging my pitcher, shouting til I lost my voice.
So too did aspiring to be a great leader. Always the smooth talker with a penchant for spontaneous charm, I reckoned I had the skills to become a good politician.
Neither dream became reality; and poor old me had to settle for co-writing a hit baseball blog.
But that’s okay.
I mean, I still wish I could have lived out those Major League aspirations… but when it comes to politics, I couldn’t be happier that I eschewed it all the way. (Yeah, I just said ‘eschewed’. I like that word. Eschew. Say it with me. Eschew.) Because to be honest, politics is boring as hell. Oh sure, the Jack Kennedys and Bill Clintons and Ronald Reagans and Barack Obamas make it look flashy and fun and cool; but most of what goes on behind the political scene is as boring as Tommy Lasorda is fat.
Of course, you wouldn’t know it by watching this clip, which just happens to be the most exciting exchange on the senate floor since Strom Thurmond admitted he still owned slaves. Okay, he didn’t admit that, but he probably should have.
Will the Senator from Connecticut please continue…
Oh, sorry. You’re still reading? Cool.
So, what did we learn? Franken is an ^ss. McCain is old. Lieberman is confused.
Don’t hate me. ‘Cuz I’m right.
PS, Thanks so much for all the kind well wishes you sent me on my birthday. Much appreciated! Fist bumps all around!
A-Rod finally has his ring and the Yankee faithful are overjoyed.
However, do you think there’s any chance that this will make him less
of a dill-hole? This is a guy who has dumped his wife, dated Madonna,
admitted to being a big fat liar and had somewhat major surgery in the
span of about one year. Does one ring atone for that?
Okay, that’s a lie. My mom doesn’t know what a dill-hole is (perhaps neither do I), but it doesn’t matter because it’s true.
Let us remember that.
But let us also remember that in professional sports, just as in politics, the most important question when evaluating merit will always be the same: What have you done for me, lately?
In Alex Rodriguez’s case, does it really matter that 9 months ago all we were talking about was his wayward romp in the world of performance enhancing drugs? Does anyone remember that he flat-out lied to the press? That he stained the game? That he forced difficult discussions between parents and their children about the dangers of illegal substances and cheating the most sacred of US America‘s games?
No. Of course not. He led them to a World Series crown. If Charles Manson hit .378 with 6 HR and 18 RBI during the playoffs, he too would be lifted up on the city’s shoulders, carted off to the tune of “27th Heaven” just like A-Rod was.
Because that is how the world works.
I don’t think ethnic Albanians in Kosovo really put too much thought into President Bill Clinton’s oval office sexual exploits when they erected their tributary bronze statue of him in Pristina recently. He ended their persecution, man! He knocked Serb forces out of the game by hitting in the clutch, with proverbial runners in scoring position!
Likewise, Ronald Reagan ended the Cold War! Nevermind all the money and resources he threw at guerrilla specialists in Afghanistan (*ahem, Osam bin Laden, et al*) to fight the evil Soviet regime! HE ENDED THE GODDAMN COLD WAR, MAN!
And let’s face it, folks: cold wars suck. I think we can all agree on that. To Yankees fans, an eight year absence from holding the highest position in the baseball cosmos had to feel a lot like a cold war, and like my mama always said: “character doesn’t mean s*** in love and war.”
Okay, that’s a lie. She never said that. But she might. She’s got opinions.
Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
As is customary at RSBS, the Filibuster will be put on hiatus until pitchers and catchers report. Very special thanks to all our dear readers who’ve bombarded us with Filibuster topics this season! We’ll ask for them again in February! Until then, please enjoy RSBS‘ continuing pursuit of the ironically fantastic and creatively eclectic. You’ll be in for some real treats! I’d almost bet my life on it!
The events of the past couple weeks have obviously left me thinking quite a bit about the idea of mortality. Not my own, of course, as I don’t ever plan on dying. But rather the idea of mortality in a philosophical sense. There are so many different ways that one can shuffle off this mortal coil and it’s a topic we’re so obsessed with but, at the same time, we know next to nothing about it.
Some people make a grand exit, whether it be Reagan’s processional farewell, Michael’s tear-strewn send-off or Ted Williams’ bizarre, cryogenically frozen head. And some people just sneak away. Maybe there’s a small obituary, maybe even a large one if they were well-known, but the exit itself is quiet and unassuming.
However, sometimes the end is simultaneously quick and disturbingly bizarre. A case in point is Vincent Smith, Jr. and his recent cocoa related misadventures. I mean, we expect strange things out of New Jersey but dying in a vat of chocolate?
So, as we head into the All-Star break and you start to realize that your team is either on life support or has already been declared DOA (I’m looking at you, Nats’ fans), remember that it could be worse. At least they didn’t die in a huge vat of chocolate.
As if your inferior baseball acumen were not enough to cause acid reflux among dear readers galore, Mr. Krause, you just had to top it off by insulting a fellow US American and subsequent baseball god: the Albert Pujols.
“reknowned Mexican wrestler, Albert Pujols, won the NL MVP…”
— Allen Krause, Fenway to Foggy Bottom
What!?! Look, Mr. Krause, you’re extremely lucky that you live in the safety of our nation’s capital. Slinging slapdash remarks like that could get your legs broken — and I don’t mean by me, but by the 10 million Dominicans who now want your head on a plate having desecrated their larger than life island hero.
Mexico does not equal the Dominican Republic.
And besides, I think we all know that A.P. moved to the States at an early age and found his stroke in Independence, MO of all places.
Set free thy hate, groundling!
NL MVP Albert Pujols bleeds US American red, white and blue just like you and I do. In fact, he scored a perfect 100 on his citizenship test.
Can you say that, Al?
No. Yet you find it in your heart to say you could “care less” about Pujols and Pedroia’s crowning achievements.
Well, lahdy frickin’ da, Mr. Krause. You are a letch. I didn’t want to believe it; but you are.
On the one hand, you have who could quite possibly be the perfect baseball player in Albert; on the other you have a paragon of scrappy overachievement in Pedroia.
And you could “care less”.
That’s just… well, it’s just… un-American.
You probably also care less about our modern day messiah turning to that same old Washington crap to fill his cabinet posts. I understand fist bumps and shout-outs to fellow Dems who helped you get elected, but is Hillary Clinton really the “change” America needs? I’m not convinced.
We, the People, did the right thing and put Obama in office based on his platform of Hope and Change politics. In turn, I believe We, the People, deserve to see that plan put in to action. With the pantheon of bad news coming out of the world markets and my downtrodden colleague posting ill-aimed remarks at the greatest living baseballer on earth, I would like to hang my proverbial hat on at least something positive.
Like this: I, Jeffery Lung, agree with Mitt Romney.
And no, that’s not a joke, my friends. In fact, his recent opinion-editorial in the New York Times is the smartest thing I’ve read since Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet.
Now that’s smart!
So go ahead, Al, hate me for siding with a Mitt on this one. Hate me for respecting the magnificence of Albert Pujols and Dustin Pedroia. But goddamn it, don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.