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.
Superstition is not something I find myself drawn to ordinarily; however, certain recent circumstances have led me to question even my own staunch stance in reality. On Saturday, while witnessing Anibal Sanchez’s no-hit bid against the lowly Indians, I thought to myself, surely my obstinate and beleaguered colleague, Mr. Krause, is enjoying this little bit of history-in-the-making.
To be sure, I sent him a simple (non-superstitious text) that read: You know what’s happening right now, don’t you?
Unfortunately, as the baseball gods shook their invisible heads in shame, Mr. Krause responded with a phone call, to ask me what I was talking about, and as soon as I answered the phone, Carlos Santana drove a deep drive over Austin Jackson’s head and the drama was dead.
Good job, Mr. Krause. Seems to be quite the formula for the Tigers this season: flashes of brilliance followed by complete disappointment. How long will the White Sox stay ahead of the Tigers? Until the end of the season. That’s how I see it.
As for me and my Cardinal fanatic family, sure we’ve been victimized by the same sort of blasé play lately; but never fear… our SAVIOR will be HERE… FRIDAY.
Hate me ‘cuz it’s Monday, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Andy Williams had it all wrong. I’m sorry, but I’ll take September’s non-stop MLB pennant chasing + NFL + Notre Dame losing to Michigan combination over cold and snow and fake Santas any day. In fact, since it’s an election year, we get even more drama to go with our Irish-trouncing, and if you wait until the end of this post, you’ll even see that the Republicans have JOKES!
But first thing’s first: TUNE IN TO BASEBALL. My lord, between the AL Central showdown, the A’s/Angels wild card battle and the AL East title three-way, I can’t imagine a more exciting scenario (except maybe a non-baseball related three-way, but that’s for a different blog). Consider the NL wild card race and the fact that one of the three AL East teams could also nab the last AL West wild card spot and now allow your mind to be blown (again, maybe better for another blog).
And I haven’t even mentioned the myriad story lines decorating the start to the NFL and college football seasons!
The fact is, for dudes like Mr. Krause and I, it really doesn’t get much better than this. Unless you want to throw in some flaccid punchline deliveries (ZING!)…
Hate me ‘cuz you can, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
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!
Seriously. There is no guarantee. There is NEVER a guarantee (right, Red Sox?).
Whether you’re listening to the Worldwide Leader of Dopes or MLBN or that fat guy at the end of the bar who just won’t shut up, you’ve probably heard some variation of the following phrase regarding the AL Central:
Yeah, but the Tigers are the better team and they’re going to win the division.
Oh really? Then what are they been waiting for? Hockey season?!? It’s coming!!!
Sure the Tigers have been playing better baseball the second half, but the truth is, the White Sox have been playing championship-caliber baseball. And what is championship-caliber baseball? It’s winning in walk-off fashion even though you allowed the Mariners to come back from 5-run deficit in the top of the 9th. It’s getting gutsy performances out of nobodies like DeWayne Wise. It’s having your MVP catcher thrown out of the game only to have his backup, Tyler Flowers, be the hero. TWICE.
Verlander, Cabrera, Prince. Indeed, these are mighty names with infinite possibility.
But possibility is no match for performance. And as long as long as the White Sox keep getting more than the Tigers, then all those analysts and “experts” would do well to right their wordy ships and recognize the truth from potential.
Also, there is a White Sox fan holding a gun to my head as I write this.
And he asks that you don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Sports Illustrated‘s annual Fortune 50 list of the 50 highest-earning American athletes list is out and Major League Baseball is heavily represented. In fact, 36% of the athletes are baseballers — some better than others (looking at you, Barry Zito). And while I’m sad to see an star like Floyd Mayweather, Jr at the top, one who eschews real glory at the highest level for a comfortable place atop boxing mediocrity, I am glad that baseball players are makin’ that pay-puh. It makes me feel less suicidal when I pay $8 for a 16 oz beer.
Here’s a quick rundown of the highest paid American baseball players and their overall ranking among American athletes in parenthesis.
1. Alex Rodriguez (6)
Too bad for the Yankees A-Rod can’t be young and steroided like the good old days. His health is just going downhill from here.
2. Derek Jeter (9)
He can do no wrong. I would pay this man a bazillion dollars a year if I could. And since Albert left me, I have no problems admitting my 17-year Jeet man-crush.
3. Joe Mauer (12)
Really? 12th highest paid American athlete overall and third highest Major Leaguer? I would feel better about this if he could hit it over the Target Field fence once in a while.
4. Vernon Wells (17)
PSSSHH!!!! I just ruined my keyboard with a mouthful of coffee.
5. C.C. Sabathia (20)
Mo’ money, mo’ foooooooooooooooooood!
6. Mark Teixeira (21)
Nothing says $23 million a year like a YEEE-HAW JAW!
7. Prince Fielder (22)
I have a feeling if I make one more Prince Fielder fat joke then I’m going to be… eaten…
8. Adrian Gonzalez (25)
He may have lost his power stroke, but with $21 million a year I’m sure he’s strokin’ plenty of power.
9. Justin Verlander (28)
A man’s man, I would prefer to see Verlander at the very top of this list, or at the very least, have the opportunity to rifle a fastball at Mayweather’s head.
10. Cliff Lee (29)
Way to go, Phillies. You’re making Clifton Phifer look bad.
11. Ryan Howard (32)
While many of my Cardinal fan brethren choose to hate on Albert, I prefer to hate on Howard, the man who made signing Albert impossible.
12. Roy Halladay (35)
Way to go, Phillies. You bring in the best pitcher in baseball to get you over the hump then s*** the bed three years in a row.
13, 14, 15. Barry Zito, Carl Crawford, Albert Pujols (Tied for 36 overall)
One of these things is not like the other…
16. Josh Beckett (44)
Is it me or has he gained like 40 pounds since he was traded to the Red Sox?
17. Jake Peavy (45)
Up until this year, I thought dude was done. Yes, the crow I’ve been eating tastes bad.
18. A.J. Burnett (49)
Huh? How did A.J. get on this list? I’d like to know the same. He should’ve signed two contracts, one for each of his personalities. At least he’s been living up to it ever since his worst day ever.
Hate me ‘cuz I didn’t make the list, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right!
Everyone does. Right?
22-year veteran. Stand-up, lunch pail guy from Peoria. No nonsense, just give me the bat and let me hit ’em far. Defensively challenged, yes, but in a funny ha-ha way (not a funny-sad Carlos Lee way).
That’s Jim Thome. And everyone loves him for it.
Except one thing: Jim Thome still doesn’t have a ring.
All around the world and I – I – I – I can’t find my baby…
This, of course, is true despite his strong efforts to land on a contending team. He had several chances with the Indians before going to the Phillies. But just as the Phillies were developing into a powerhouse, Thome left for the newly crowned World Series champion White Sox after the ’05 season. He then wandered in south side purgatory before getting a shot with the playoff-bound Dodgers in ’09, then signed with an up-and-coming Twins club that nosedived him back into the lap of Cleveland — a team that just couldn’t hang around the top long enough to give him another shot at a championship.
So he resigned with the Phillies. Best pitching staff in the Majors. Potent offense. Okay, anemic offense. But they were supposed to be potent. Doesn’t matter anymore.
Thome is in Birdland now. And while I love the move and think the young kids in Baltimore are gonna learn a heck of a lot from the old man, I really don’t think the Orioles are going to contend for the World Series title.
I just hope Jim is cool with another spin around the world, so he can find his bay-beh…
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Matt Cain this week threw what some people are saying was the best “perfect game” ever. Is it really possible to say that one perfect game is better than another and, if so, which one would you vote for?
I think so, but such a statement comes with the caveat that one would have a hard time quantifying it. Why is it the best? Because of Mr. Krause? Because of Mr. Lung? Because of the interns?
That’s just the very beginning of a long list of things that makes RSBS the G.O.A.T.
But can we quantify what exactly makes one perfecto better than another? Not really. But it’s fun trying. For example, Matt Cain’s 14 strikeouts tied the MLB record for strikeouts in a perfect game (Sandy Koufax, 1965), which clearly demonstrates superior command and dominance over the opposition. Cain also threw 19 first pitch strikes and never got himself in a 2-0 count. Meanwhile, his defense did some dazzling. Both the 6th and 7th innings featured unbelievable catches in the outfield that, had they not been made, would have sunk the perfect game effort. The last out, a hard ground ball to third base that put Joaquin Arias in a stutter step also provided one final gasping twist to the accomplishment. All of the above, plus Cain’s eery zen mound presence throughout it all, provide plenty of quantification for it being the “best” perfect game ever.
Still, it’s relative. And maybe we see it as the “best” right now because it’s fresh in our minds.
I recall Randy Johnson’s 2004 effort against the Braves as being one of the most dominate games I’ve ever seen too. The Big Unit struck out 13 in that game and was throwin’ nasty stuff all the while. David Cone didn’t see a 2-0 count in his 1999 perfecto against the late Expos, a game where he also had to sit out for a 33-minute rain delay, on Yogi Berra Day, with Don Larsen in the stands!
But, for me, the best perfect game I’ve ever seen came on a lazy Thursday afternoon in July 2009, when Mark Buehrle pitched himself into the record books, again. What made that game so special, for me, was that I was watching it at work and by the 8th inning, I was watching it with the UPS man, the FedEx man and yes, even the mail man. When Dewayne Wise made “the catch” we reveled in our mutual south sidedness and gave each other big, sweaty man-hugs.
That’s the sorta thing that only happens once in a lifetime, so I’ll be hanging my hat on the Buehrle perfecto for the forseeable future. But that’s just me.
You can hate me for that. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
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Bizarro baseball. You know what it looks like. No, not that bizarro baseball. Nor this one, though I do like the idea of a batless batsman. The bizarro baseball I’m talkin’ about is the kind I was forced to watch Tuesday through Thursday of this week.
My DirectTV Extra Innings and MLB.TV packages both blackout my home team St. Louis Cardinals’ television broadcast streams when they are playing in my home market (I happen to live on the south side of Chicago). And while I have become quite used to watching the Cubs’ broadcasts whenever they play the Cardinals, for the first time since I moved to the Chi, I had to endure the cliched, logorrheic tomfoolery of one Hawk Harrelson whilst watching my favorite ballclub play.
Of course, as a longtime neighborhood White Sox supporter, I have withstood many a Hawk-infested baseball game; so this was nothing new to me. But in the past I’ve always been able to leave the game knowing “whew, at least that guy isn’t callin’ my teams’ games!”
Plus, his shenanigans don’t seem quite as cute when YOUR team is the “bad guys”.
But that’s why we have the mute button. And M.O.P.
We’ve been warning our readers about the impending zombie apocalypse for a while now. In fact, we even went so far as to make some suggestions on how to prepare. Well, it turns out it’s a good thing we did so because on the zombie apocalypse clock, we’re about a millisecond from midnight.
The signs have been there for several years but it took some crackerjack sleuthing by the RSBS interns to sift through all the grisly stories and distill out the horrible truth. If you go back nine years ago, to 2003, you find the infamous case of the man who decapitated himself while trying to flee an arrest (link contains graphic photos). Or is that what happened? As we all know, you have to decapitate a zombie to kill it so maybe the “fleeing arrest” story was just a coverup to keep people from freaking out about zombies.
However, even if you dismiss the man on the fence, the events of the past couple weeks should assure you that the apocalypse is upon us. First, in late May, Canadian police began to find blood-soaked packages in the mail containing human body parts. You know who else likes to dismember people? Zombies.
A couple days later we heard about the Maryland college student who not only killed a man who had been living with his family but also ate his heart and brain. Ate his brain?!? There’s only one other being I know of that likes to eat brains. Zombies.
And if that isn’t enough to convince you, how about the man conveniently known as the “Miami zombie” who was shot while trying to eat a homeless man’s face? I can only think of one reason to eat someone’s face and that’s because it’s the easiest way to get to their brain. I’m pretty sure there’s another group that instinctively knows the quickest way from point A to point B (as in brain), is a straight line. Mathematicians. And zombies.
Now, just in case you think I haven’t done enough to prove that the apocalypse, zombie or other, is upon us, think about this. Currently the Orioles and White Sox are leading their respective divisions and the Pirates are in second. Yeah, kind of makes you want to stock up on bottled water and sawed-off shotguns, doesn’t it?