The baseball season may be over but the wheeling and dealing is just beginning. Trades, pickups, moves. It's like Christmas came a month early. However, one man seems to be doing a little more wheeling and dealing than everyone else. Well, maybe more of the wheeling after hitting up someone else responsible for the dealing.

Now, let's see a show of hands for those of you who are surprised that Tim Lincecum likes to hit the reefer from time to time. Ok, Utah, you can put your hands down. Mormons don't count in this poll. But as for the rest of the country, of course we all knew he liked to smoke. The dude looks like a smoker. He's practically a dead ringer for Wylie Wiggins and he just has that look in his eyes.

Here's the thing, though. Isn't this just yet more proof that marijuana might not be as bad for you as DARE led you to believe? How many people do you know who are at the top of their game and like to relax with their close friend, Steve Green, from time to time? Half the NBA are regular smokers, Lincecum obviously likes it and how else do you think Steve Jobs came up with the iPod?

Take another look at that article. The thing I notice about the story is that Lincecum pulled over and "immediately complied with a request to hand over the drug and a marijuana pipe." Compare that with a drunk who refuses to put down his beer and winds up taking a swing at the officer. I'll take the pot head any day.....especially when he has a 2.90 ERA over 3 seasons.

-A

First, I tip my cap to the New York Yankees.

Congratulations on winning the World Series, fellas.  You kept me interested by keeping things interesting; you played great baseball all season long; you are champions of the universe.  You deserve -- and receive -- my recognition.

But I still don't like you.

And that's a good thing.  It's good for me, good for you.  It's good for baseball in general.

I am human and humans hold grudges... even if they are stupid. 

That's right.  1996.  Three terrible things happened to me in 1996: Tupac Shakur was murdered.  The Yankees won the World Series for the first time since 1978.  And MC Hammer went bankrupt.

I can only hope that this present calamity is not followed by two equally devastating events.

Luckily, it has coincided with at least one current positive from the baseball cosmos: Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher, Vicente Padilla (species name vicenteticus padillicarpeus), shot himself in the leg earlier this week near his home in Nicaragua, lending even more credence to the "Padilla Once Shot Himself In the Face" theory of explaining why he is so goddamn ugly.

Life is about balance.

I like it that way.

Y'feel me?

Hate me 'cuz I hit neanderthals below the belt, just don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeff

(Image at the top courtesy of Three Frames)

Awaiting your praise, huh, Mr. Lung? Well, you'll get your salutatory essay soon enough. However, today is not the day. Today I'm in too much of a celebratory mood. Why? Why not. It's the beginning of the Islamic weekend, I have a martini in one hand as I'm writing this and I just obtained Season 2 of True Blood which started off much stronger than the first season.

Not only that, but the Yankees have not yet won the World Series. There's so much to be thankful for and we're still three weeks away from Thanksgiving (and the Eid Al-Adha, too).

But more than that, I'm just grateful because no matter what else might be going on, I can still wipe my @$$ without needing any kind of assistance. That, just like Chase Utley, is the gift that keeps on giving:



Happy Hump Day!

-A

Relax.  Breathe easy.  Enjoy this, fellow Yankee haters: Cliff Lee and the Phillies have given us another precious day of hearing "twenty-six rings" over the inevitable "twenty-seven".  And remember, God made a "firmament" in just one day.  Think of what we can do with ours!

Because let's face it, whether it happens on Wednesday or it happens next year, the year after that or whenever (it's gonna happen in your lifetime), the Yankees are going to get their twenty-seventh ring.  That's fine.  I'm okay with that.  The franchise more than deserves it.  You see, if you spend a billion dollars on something, it will work.  Ask our government.  And if I spent a billion dollars on something in just 9 years I'd expect that something to at least win me a trophy of some kind, or get a bill named after me, or land me a free room at Holiday Inn Express (they still make me pay there).

The point is: the Yankees will win... sometime... eventually...

...probably.

Until then, A-Rod, Party Boy, Mo and Tex... you will have to wait patiently for this hater (me) to shower you with praise. 

Speaking of people who want to shower me, I believe Mr. Krause lost the World Series of Metaphors and owes the winner (also known as Me) a meritorious essay on the topic of why I am awesome.

Can't wait!

Hate me 'cuz I flash a flair of fetidness, just don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeff

In an effort to avoid any bias in reporting the results of the recently completed World Series of Metaphors, RSBS decided to ask an impartial third party to announce the results of the contest and authors of the metaphors. Unfortunately, it was kind of short notice and the only person willing to help out was our old friend, Max. So, despite our better judgment, here goes.
___________________________

Populism can eat my @$$. For that matter, so can democracy. You know what happens when you let democracy and populism run amok? Sarah Palin and Barack Obama. Speaking of which, you know what both of them can do? I'll give you a hint: It has already been mentioned in this paragraph.

You know what else happens when democracy and populism run amok? Worthless excuses for contests like the one that happened right here on this blog. Look at those metaphors. At least there was an attempt to keep it a little highbrow with the biblical references and I thank Allen for that. But Jeff went straight for the gutter. Way too embarrassed to tell your friends about Ryan Howard? That doesn't even make sense. He might be a fat girl but he's popular. Wouldn't that put him more in the Jennifer Hudson vein? I'd expect Jeff to make that connection anyway considering his practically pederastic love for underage Filipinas and everything else that American Idol entails. Way to play to the lowest common denominator there buddy.

As it stands, Jeff won the contest. Jayson Werth as the dirty uncle and this whole A-Rod as a pretty girl business won it for him. But really, doesn't that just mean that we all lose? And just to be fair, I'm more than a little disappointed with Allen for sinking to the same level with his self comparison to Yankee fans. Did you forget that you hate the Yankees, pal? And as if that wasn't bad enough, you still lost and now you have to write an essay praising Jeff. Well played, Judas. Hope you remembered to pick up your thirty pieces of silver on the way out.

Frankly, I'm not even sure what I'm doing here right now. I consider Jeff and Allen great friends but intellectual minnows, a point they proved impressively well with this "metaphor-off" or whatever poorly disguised euphemism they might have used for their h0mo-erotic excuse for a blog. I need to get home anyway. Populism and democracy are coming by in a little while to attend to some business.

-Maxwell "Max" P. Framington

Who is more despised by the RSBS guys?  Yankees or Cubs.  I haven't figured it out yet. 

Brad T.
Springfield, IL
____________________________________

Maybe I'll begin by asking a question of my own. Who was a more insignificant president, Benjamin Harrison or Millard Fillmore? Or perhaps it makes more sense to ask something slightly different, like, who was a more brutal dictator, Stalin or Mao? The point I'm trying to make here, Brad, is that there isn't necessarily an answer to your question. Wanting to know who is more despised, the Yankees or the Cubs, is like asking what does Indiana Jones hate more, bugs or snakes.

When it comes down to it, the Yankees and Cubs aren't all that different. They have both been spending money like a hobo in a liquor store, dropping every last penny on whatever rot-gut might make them warm for a second. Milton Bradley is just a poor man's Jason Giambi once you leave Bradley's temper and Giambi's juice out of it. And up until this season, the results were pretty much the same. Make the playoffs, head to the playoffs, crash out of the playoffs.

The equation shifted a bit this year, though. Now, it's safer to say that the Yankees are Stalin to the Cubs' Hitler. It was all going so well for the Cubs until it all fell apart. And the Yankees may have almost driven their base over the edge with the profligate spending and tax-payer financed multi-billion dollar ballpark but, like Stalin, nothing brings the masses back in line quite like victory.

All that being said, I still don't know as though I can say that one of those two teams is more despised here at RSBS than the other. I can say, though, that after thinking about it a bit more, although Indiana Jones really didn't like bugs, he hated snakes. And the name Steinbrenner sure does have a sibilant sound to it, just like a snake. Coincidence? Probably, but I'm willing to forgo the formalities and declare the Yankees the more despicable.

-A

What could be more spooky than changing locations for a pivotal game 3 on Halloween night? The answer: not much. I think I'd even rather face the terror of national health care than show up wearing Yankees gear in Philadelphia tonight. No matter which side of the debate you find yourself on, the fright of getting dropped from your health insurance because of a pre-existing condition or sending Nana in front of a "death panel" because her health is no longer viable sure beats the horror of beer and hot dog wielding phanatics. 

However, no matter how insane Phillies fans may be, I am hard pressed to believe there is anything more scream inducing than listening to Joe "I don't even pay attention to baseball anymore" Buck doing the play by play. Although they could have made it even worse by bringing TBS and the corneal abrasion that is Craig Sager in on the act. Even Michael Jackson couldn't make that outfit look good.

What would be really nice is if just for one night they would bring in a voice that could give the World Series the gravitas it deserves. And since it's Halloween I think you all know where I'm going with this. Exactly. We should raise Vincent Price from the grave and let him do it. Hey, it worked for Thriller:



-A

***IMPORTANT PROGRAMING NOTE***

The World Series of Metaphors continues and there's still time to make your opinion known here, here and here before the results are announced on Monday. Vote people!

In this epic best of three game battle of metaphors -- mixed, extended, absolute and beyond -- Jeff and Allen pair wits and leave it to YOU, the dear reader, to decide the champion.

The humbled loser will be forced to shower the winner with a carefully constructed essay of praise. 

For real.

And now... the FINAL MATCH...

GAME 3

The Topic:        Phillies Fans v. Yankees Fans
Suggested by:  Jonestein from Baseball, Apple Pie & Lobster

Metaphor 1:

Yankees fans are the U.S. Military. Backed with billions of dollars and stacked with the Nation's finest, these chiseled warriors are built to destroy. And while it's going well, they tout themselves as being the very best EVER. When things aren't going so well they pretend none of it actually exists. Phillies fans? These are the relentless Jihadists. Playoff bound or not, they will blow you up, they will eat your children, they will terrorize everyone and everything around them; and they won't feel bad about it, for at the end of the explosion waits paradise with 72 Shane Victorinos.


Metaphor 2:

Yankees fans are Allen, dedicated but with a statistically significant percentage of ostentation. They claim to love their team but sometimes you wonder if that love is as intense as it should be. Phillies fans are Jeff, always spoiling for a fight and ready to punch you before letting you bad mouth their team. You never doubt the love but you wonder if maybe they're just a little off.

But both have one thing in common. They think they deserve to be number one. Like Jeff and Allen, though, it doesn't always happen.


Please vote!  Tell your friends!  Storm town hall meetings!

In this epic best of three game battle of metaphors -- mixed, extended, absolute and beyond -- Jeff and Allen pair wits and leave it to YOU, the dear reader, to decide the champion.

The humbled loser will be forced to shower the winner with a carefully constructed essay of praise. 

For real.

And now...

GAME 2

The Topic:        Jayson Werth
Suggested by:  xcicix from Bringing Diamond Back(s)

Metaphor 1:


Jayson Werth steps into the box, a hyena scavenging for whatever scraps he can claim from his constantly shifting place in the pack. Something stolen here, something taken down all by himself there, the fear comes from never knowing what he might do. You wonder how something that looks so ridiculous could do so much damage but the crunch as he feasts on yet one more victim forces you to simply accept him for the beast that he is.

In this epic best of three game battle of metaphors -- mixed, extended, absolute and beyond -- Jeff and Allen pair wits and leave it to YOU, the dear reader, to decide the champion (based on the quality of the metaphor, not the person because Jeff would destroy Al in a popularity contest).

The loser will be forced to shower the winner with a carefully constructed essay of praise. 

For real.

And now...

GAME 1

The Topic:        "The Sluggers" (Alex Rodriguez and Ryan Howard)
Suggested by:  Buz from Yesterday's Hitter

Metaphor 1:

Alex Rodriguez is the prettiest girl at the dance -- the one who all the guys lust over only to find out she doesn't even put out.  Across the empty dance floor, you'll find Ryan Howard: the hot mess of a big girl who will ride you all night long and be real, real sloppy about it. 


... but you'll be way too embarrassed to tell your friends.


Metaphor 2:


From postseason goat to playoff stallion, A-Rod's current heroics pale only in comparison to those of Ryan Howard, the rider on the red horse. To him is given the power to take away peace and smite with the sword, a fact to which the Dodger's pitching staff can surely attest. But the slight pallor of Mr. Rodriguez's accomplishments only accentuates his equally ashen steed and the Evil Empire, Hades, as the good book calls it, that he brings in tow.