Jeff and Allen have been very busy all season long and with the playoffs in full swing, they thought it might be nice to bring in some relief writers. Today their friend from college, Jordan, gives us his take on the playoffs.
Man, it really is great to see Tommy Lee out there thrilling the crowd again. And this time instead of sticking it to Pam Anderson, he’s sticking it to the Yankees, picking up right where he left off last year. I’m happy for the guy, though. It’s a real achievement and hopefully it makes up for taking all that crap from Nikki Sixx for all those years. And playing for the Mariners. Now that’s a motley crew, right? Right?
Meanwhile Henry Rollins found an ideal moment to get back into form. Sure, he’s had a rough season and the last couple years weren’t the same with the injuries and all. But hey, what do you expect when you go from fronting Black Flag to playing shortstop for the Phillies?
But the Phillies also made the bold move of picking up Matt Holliday and turning him into a pitcher. It’s like the anti-Rick Ankiel. Considering that first round no-hitter he threw, it appears the Phillies get the last laugh. In all honesty, I didn’t see it coming either.
And of course the Yankees are loaded from top to bottom. Is Roger Clemens still playing? No? Uh, ok. Well, at least they still have Kung Fu Panda, Chien Ming Wang. I think that’s his nickname. He is Chinese after all. Or is he Korean? I always get them mixed up.
Anyway, the point is, I love the baseball playoffs and they’re even more exciting than usual this year with all these familiar names and faces in new places. I’m still a little bummed that my Twins didn’t do better but really, they just haven’t been the same since Kirby Puckett and Kent Hrbek left.
If I’m a Californian, I’m not too excited about the two gubernatorial choices jockeying for my November vote. Jerry Brown? More like Jerry Boring. Meg Whitman? Uh… you invented eBay, Meg, not the actual internet (Al Gore did that), so don’t be so proud of yourself.
To be honest, I don’t think most Californians even know there’s an impending gubernatorial race going on. With so many distractions, like the Kardashians and Alex Smith and The Hills… when does one have time to care about politics?
You needn’t worry, California. Your man — though barely known just a few weeks ago — is Cody Ross.
After being fed to the waiver wire in August, Ross was reluctantly picked up by the Giants; his timely bat and quiet confidence has since turned into the bargain of the year.
He banged one out against Derek Lowe to break up a no-hitter in the NLDS.
He banged TWO out against Roy Halladay in Game One of the NLCS.
He banged ANOTHER out against Roy Oswalt in Game Two of the NLCS.
That’s a lot of friggin’ bangin’…
And for a state that’s known to bang, I think Cody Ross should get a shot.
Hate me ‘cuz I think outside the box (and occasionally use tired cliches), just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
In the old Wyatt Earp legends, you never knew what Doc Holliday had left in him. That’s why he was so dangerous. Sure, he was tubercular. Sometimes those coughing fits made you sure he already had one foot in the grave. But when a man no longer fears death because he’s stared it straight in the face and then made a gentleman’s agreement, you’d sure rather have him on your side at that point.
So is it any surprise that, despite being worked like a plow-horse for the last several years and staring the death of his dreams in the face while playing in Toronto, our modern-day Doc Halladay has proven just as dangerous as his namesake?
This is why the Phillies went out and got him. A mercenary gunslinger with something to prove but nothing to lose makes for a great story. And with a second no-hitter under his belt this season and the first one in the playoffs since Larsen did it up back in the day, Halladay’s story sounds almost as good as the Tombstone legend.
The Phillies have plenty more to look forward to, too. Doc Holliday managed to stay alive all the way to ripe old age of 36. Hey, three more years of baseball is practically a career, at least if you’re Mark Prior.
And so in this Podcast…
Jeff and his sCrUBS fan nemesis pal, Johanna Mahmud, get back in the studio and throw down on the art of being right! Among the titillating topics of discussion: mispronouncing dominance [Doc Halladay] and futility [John Grabow], Brandon Phillips’ wings, a wild war of words over Albert Pujols, the Lou Piniella Mailbag and much, much more.
– – –
to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*
via iTunes by clicking *HERE*
thanks to Keith Carmack — our engineer, director, editor and
all-around sound guru. He always knows when the Hawks are (or aren’t) gonna get donged.
Recorded Monday, May 31, Memorial Day 2010
Yeah, Roy, I don’t blame ya. You get no run support. Your team owner has laughable baseball sense. Ed Wade is but a slave to the errant desires of said laughable baseball sense. Yeah. I wouldn’t wanna be a LOLstro either. But if I were in your position, you sure wouldn’t hear me cryin’ about it.
Unlike Roy Halladay’s situation of a year ago, when he quietly went to his GM requesting a trade — a request that the Blue Jays inherently blew out of proportion and blabbed to the media thus causing a tailspin of rumors that hurt everyone involved — Roy Oswalt’s recent proclamation via his agent to the press is more than just a bit off-putting.
Look, I know I have the reputation of bein’ old school. I don’t like interleague. I don’t like the DH. I don’t like players wearing the long pants. And in this case, I don’t like prima donna pitchers placing themselves above all others (even if performance warrants some discretionary leeway).
On the sandlots of Quincy, IL, if you took your ball and went home, we didn’t give a sh!t. We just got a new ball. We didn’t have time for whining, complaining, crying. And if you tried to come back and cause problems, you might go home with a few less teeth… and no ball.
Do you think Bob Gibson would ever cry to the media about being on a losing team? Koufax? Seaver? Hell, even recent phenoms like Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine, Pedro Martinez. Those men were men. Okay. Your team isn’t playing well. It happens. Deal with it. You’re making millions of dollars playing the greatest game in the land, you’re the envy of every 30-something sitting behind a desk (me), and all you want to do is complain about it?
I understand that it sucks playing for a losing team… that being in an organization as backwards as the Astros have been the last few years must take a damaging toll on one’s psyche… but to b^tch and complain about it to the press rather than take it behind closed doors like a respectable ballplayer… that just rubs me the wrong way…. it even causes me to be lazy and use tired cliches (see this run-on sentence).
Take your ball and go home, Roy.
Unless you want to sign with the Cardinals, then, by all means, come on over, grab a jersey and let’s go. I’ll even give ya a hug!
Hate me ‘cuz I’m old-school, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
P.S. Rumor has it the Cubs have an eye on Oswalt… to bring him in and make him a set-up man.
I would pay Albert Pujols the moon. I would pay Derek Jeter the sun. Roy Halladay my left — AHEM. Okay, you know what I mean. These aren’t Chicago Transit Authority workers who sit around in bunches and watch one guy change one light bulb while they all count how many more days til that fat pension check kicks in. Pujols, Jeter, Halladay… men like that… their services are incalculable.
On the contrary, inflation and greed have changed the dynamics of the world economy so much that I find it frighteningly appalling that certain people in certain positions are able to pull down the amount of scratch they do. Considering how so many US Americans (me) are just skating by, watching ye olde savings account disappear quicker than an Oriole lead in the 9th, I think it’s time we call some of these folks out.
Don’t get me wrong. I ain’t no hater. But soon you’ll agree… overcompensation can be a nagging pain for those of us on the opposite end of the money tree.
Sure, in the baseball world, $7 million a year is quite the bargain, especially for a perennial MVP candidate who can single-handedly carry a team for weeks at a time. Or is it? In the case of Hanley Ramirez, it’s probably less about overcompensation and more about breaking child labor laws. Yeah, you heard me right. ‘Cuz only whiny kids and spoiled brat beotches find themselves exempt from exerting maximum effort on the diamond. And at $7 million a year or $70 a year, when ya play baseball for a living, I expect you to hustle. Always.
Did you know that the strikingly beautiful oldest daughter of former Alaska governor and ultimate purveyor of Backwardism has signed a deal with a speakers bureau to make between $15,000 and $30,000 per speech. Uh… m’kay. So… uh… what’s she gonna speak about? Let’s see, what would make anything Bristol Palin has to say important to me (or anyone)? She’s the daughter of a famous politician. So what? I’m the son of an awesome MRI technologist. She got knocked up while in high school. So what? I was smart enough to wrap it up. Uh… she’s attractive. So what? Hello!?!? Where the hell is my $30K per speech contract?
Remember this guy?!? If you hear that Twilight Zone music sifting through your head, you are not alone, dear readers. I was able to catch the end (and most, er… exciting?) part of that Royals/Indians matchup last night… y’know, the one where Kerry Wood came in throwing 97 mph gas that the Royals — yes, the ROYALS — blasted all over the park. I don’t know about you, but if I’m paying someone $10.5 million a year — someone who always seems to be or is about to be injured — I would ask him to at least be as good as his replacement. Throw in the eminent departure of the most highly publicized free agent in the history of sports and yeah, I’d say it’s time to light that Cuyahoga on fire again, Cleveland. Yep. Let go and let that baby burn.
Hate me ‘cuz your girlfriend digs me, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Dear (So and So Business Associate),
I hope this finds you well rested after the long Thanksgiving holliday. Your question really needs little thought to answer, for the best single volume on Chinese symbolism is most definitelyHidden Meanings…
Did you catch that?
No, not my inane nice guy approach (which I admit, reeks of staleness). I mean did you catch my spelling error?
Holiday. Not holliday. Silly Jeff.
If this can happen to me, it can happen to you. Dear readers, if you allow your baseball nerdiness to infect your everyday life then please at least take the extra careful step of proofreading your work-related correspondences.
And that goes for everything work related. The baseball gods blessed me with a 24/7 baseball persona, but they weren’t careful enough to provide me with a reality censor. Some things slip by and the result can be as catastrophic as postseason errors by the Tigers pitching staff (eat it, Mr. Krause; it’s never going to go away).
Other mistakes I’ve made at work include but are not limited to the following:
- Screaming out Holy F***! when DeWayne Wise made “The Catch”
- Telling the mailman he reminded me of a young, early 60s era Dal Maxvill to which he replied: “That’s the coffee with the Columbian guy on the front, right?” Wrong.
- Asking a client to hold (while I sat in an online queue to score Cards/Cubs tickets)
- Turning red in the face while explaining to a colleague that a batter cannot advance to first base on a dropped third strike if there’s a guy on first! Jesus Christ I know what I’m f****** talkin’ about here, man!
The above are all avoidable, but when we find ourselves in the trenches of the holiday season and the two most sought free agents are named Holliday and Halladay, someone is bound to find himself in a world of blunder.
And that’s what we want to help you avoid.
So, y’know, don’t mess up. Like I did.
Go ahead, hate me ‘cuz I fell victim to the occasional spelling error, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
But if there was, you could be damn sure that A.J. Pierzynski would lead the Major Leagues in all of three of them — every year, all the time.
Late in the White Sox game against the visiting Blue Jays Sunday, the score was tied with two men on base when a Jays batter hit a knuckling dribbler down the third base line. Everyone at Sox Park was thinking the same thing as A.J. while he all-out-hustled after the ball: Let it be foul.
Eventually, the ball found its way over the white lip, into the grass, foul ball. The crowd sighed in harmonious relief.
But instead of simply picking up the ball, Pierzynski, with his glove, slapped it violently towards the home dugout with the type of ferocity more often seen from 1980s era offensive tackles loaded up on juice. He let out a hellacious “ARRRGGGHHH!” then stared down the anxious baserunners with that A.J.’s-gonna-kill-you-in-your-sleep-and-eat-your-children-raw glare.
It was awesome.
Say what you will about A.J. Pierzynski, but with fierceness like that, the dude is an instant and absolute asset to his team. It’s only April and on every single play he’s grinding like it was Game Seven of the World Series — as if his life, his country, his freedom were on the line.
That’s someone I want on my team — if not for his competitiveness, then for his uncanny foray into the wild world of comedy:
Love him or hate him, A.J. is the Polish Prince of Pertinacity. You’d have to kill him to make him go away; and if you do kill him, you still better watch out because I bet zombie A.J. would be much scarier, much more lethal than alive-and-breathing A.J.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.