May 2009

The Filibuster

My challenge to you, Jeff, is to get a date with Erin Andrews. Or at
least get her to answer your email/Tweet, Facebook poke, etc.

-Jane
Confessions of a She-Fan

__________________________________________

erin andrews surprised.jpgFor well over a year now, The Filibuster has been the weekly RSBS medium for sounding off on baseball and politics’s most important issues.

Dear readers, this week is no exception.

Indeed, my freakish obsession with sports’ most beautiful sideline reporter, the one and only Erin Andrews, has finally left the long creepish confines of my mind and unleashed its potentially psychotic repercussions on the public.  For Jane Heller of Confessions of a She-Fan has thrown down the proverbial gauntlet and kicked my poor self-esteemed ^ss into working my hidden magical charm to — at the very least — make contact with her highness… and see where the magic takes me (us).

Fear not!  I am no Joba Chamberlain.  While my advances may be thwarted on a regular basis, they never cause the receiver to curl her lip in disgust (that generally takes place only once I’ve gone on to the next victim lovely lady).

So, how will I go about this endeavor?  Jane suggests “email/Tweet, Facebook poke, etc”… and while those tools will certainly find good use in my mission, I would like to start with a banging first impression:

When it comes to the religion of baseball, I am anything but laodicean

Oh, and when it comes to the dance floor, dear Erin, I got moves galore.

Hold on to your seats y’all… this is gonna be one scandalous shameless wild ride.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

***SEND US YOUR FILIBUSTERS****

Something on your mind?  Want to see Jeff and Al sweat (separately, not together, eww)?  Think you got a real stumper?  Send us your Filibuster question(s) by commenting or emailing them to us at kraulung@gmail.com. 

***Pictures of Allen doing something bad also welcome.

My Kind of Nirvana

matt_wieters_hall_of_fame.jpgMatt Wieters just turned water into wine! Not only that, I heard that when Matt Wieters wouldn’t come to the mountain, the mountain came to him! And all that happened right before he attained nirvana to become the Buddha! If Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods and Ted Williams’ frozen head got together and had a baby, it would be Matt Wieters.

There’s just one small problem with all this hoopla. Matt Wieters plays for the Baltimore Orioles so no one really cares. In fact, despite the disparity of their records, I still firmly believe that there is only one team near the Chesapeake Bay that actually matters. And that team, my friends, is the Washington Senators. I mean Nationals.

The Nationals evoke a Hobbesian system at its finest. Their chances of winning, similar to how Hobbes described life, are typically “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” And if only the Nats didn’t make it so easy, we’d probably just leave them to their inauspicious demise. However, when you do this:

rossevelt_nats.jpg…you leave us with no choice.

So take your Matt Wieters. Me, I’ll take my Washington Nationals and their fearless leader, Teddy Rossevelt any day.

-A

Credits:
-Teddy picture via Deadspin

Hot Heads Sink Ships

rush_limbaugh.jpgAh, summer! A time of year that seems to bring out the worst in everyone. According to statistics the RSBS interns just delivered, the number of drunken brawls increases by 46.7% during the summer while the number of rational decisions made dips precipitously to less than one out of every three decisions. But don’t just rely on our statistics. Take a look at the anecdotal evidence, too.

Carlos Zambrano’s ejection the other night, which was quickly followed by a 6-game suspension, highlights the upward trending number of ejections in Major League Baseball over the past few weeks. And if you think Zambrano’s tirade was ugly, just wait until Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity really get going on Sonia Sotomayor. The higher the temperature goes up, the hotter people’s heads get and the more likely they are to explode.

Maybe that’s why we should learn a lesson from the always even keel Brits. For instance, take a look at Eugene here. Do you think he’s going to shove Simon if he doesn’t make it to the next round? Will he verbally abuse the other two judges? Despite Eugene’s special set of issues, I’m thinking no.

Either way, happy Friday!

-A

Crybabies Never Finish First

carlos zambrano crazy.jpgThe escalating crybaby tantrums that so poignantly characterize the 2009 Chicago Cubs are about as interesting to me as reading People Magazine‘s cover story on Bristol Palin and her five-month old child.  Still, I admit: they’re both fun to look at.

Carlos Zambrano lost his cool again?  Ya don’t say.  If he’s not cussing himself out on the mound he’s throwing at someone’s head or beating the crap out of Michael Barret or, like yesterday, bumping umpires, throwing balls into left field, or bashing that poor Gatorade machine in the dugout. 

Look, I like fiery baseballers just as much as the next pretentious a-hole, but when is enough finally going to be enough for Zambrano?  If I threw such a fit at my job you can be sure that I’d be in the unemployment line that same afternoon; and my job doesn’t affect 24 other millionaires in the clubhouse and a neighborhood so jaded, so disgusted, so unruly that its people would actually run a guy out of town, fearing for his life.

Big Z, Milton Bradley, Ted Lilly…

Cub fans, this is why you don’t win championships.  The World Series crown is reserved for respectable men who handle adversity with poise and class, who lift each other up with their actions, not tear the team apart.  One would think that having Lou Piniella — the skilled master of argumentative persuasion who perfected competitive bluster without hurting his team, himself or others — would teach these rascals how to go about being grown men.

But such logic always seems to get lost in Wrigleyville.

On July 19, 2004, after beaning Jim Edmonds twice for allegedly showboating on a homerun trot, Carlos had this to say: “This is not a baby’s game.  This is a man’s game.” 

Yet Carlos Zambrano (along with spoiled co-whiner Milton Bradley) remains one of the biggest babies in this “man’s game”.  The last time I threw a fit like Zambrano I was ten years old and my father did to me what someone should have done to Carlos a long time ago: he spanked the holy bejeebies outta me.

Until someone does that, there is no team — just a bunch of selfish individuals looking to cause a scene, which will ultimately lead to yet another year of hopeless dreams on the Northside.

Hate me ‘cuz I’m callous, hate me ‘cuz I use big words, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

More Freakazoids & Oddities: The Always Venerable, Mostly Searchable RSBS

Thumbnail image for freakazoid.jpgEveryone is looking for something.

I am looking for a reason not to hate John Mozeliak; the Cardinals hodge-podge yet surprisingly effective pitching staff has given me hope (so far).

Milton Bradley is looking for someone to actually listen to his crybaby tantrums, but we are grown-ups; and we do not care.   

North Korea is looking for a good old-fashioned ^ss-whoopin'; sources say firing nukes at your neighbors is an excellent way to accomplish that.

Still, others must turn to the long, twisted and always trustworthy inner-wirings of the world wide interwebs.  And sometimes, dear readers, they end up here.

As they have in the past, the RSBS interns did their homework and now we present to you some of the most intriguing keyword searches responsible for bringing people right here to the land of the free slightly tied down and the home of the brave pretentious and pompous, Red State Blue State:

“Red State / Blue State Means???”

It means Jeff and Allen are awesome.  Look, I know you queried this from an IP address in Spain, but still… come on, hombre… we’re kind of a known thing.

“Carlos Quentin’s Descents”
There have been many… playing like crap for the Diamondbacks, breaking his wrist in a fit of rage, having a sore left foot… take your pick.  I’d say the most influential one is the fact that he looks like a full-sized version of Herve Villechaize.

carlos quentin team photo.jpgHerve Villechaize.jpg

“Overweight Man”

Now, now… let’s be nice and cordial here, Mr. Internet Searcher.  I wouldn’t call my Tiger-lovin’ colleague, Mr. Krause, overweight.  I would call him ridiculous (because he is) and anti-establishment (because he is) but not overweight (okay, maybe just a little).  If it is indeed larger men you’re looking for, then I direct you *here*.

“What is the Lump in Nyjer Morgan’s Mouth?”

Uh, I dunno.  Chewing tobacco?  Tongue?  Someone else’s tongue?  Or maybe playing for the Pirates has given him the mumps.  Whatever it is, we humbly admit that we have no friggin’ clue.

And finally, the most intriguing query of them all…

“What is Jeff Lung’s Problem?”
Well, if you don’t know by now, I guess you’re just gonna have to keep on reading.

But whatever you do, don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

15 Minutes that Saved Baseball

sotomayor_obama_biden.jpgIt’s not often that the fates see fit to dish up a tidbit that hits on everything that makes the RSBS heart tick. So when one of my brothers sent me a link to this story today there was no other option but to bring it to you all. The nomination of a Justice of the Supreme Court is always a momentous occasion but when the judge may have also single-handedly saved baseball, well, that’s more than momentous. Monumental, perhaps?

I think the phrase that really gets me, though, is this one: “she deliberated for just 15 minutes before making a decision that, in the President’s words, ‘saved baseball.'” 15 minutes and she saved baseball? How could you not confirm this person?

Now, I understand that it’s important to step back and review her entire body of work. We don’t need a stealth Clarence Thomas or Alito clone on the bench. And the fact that she’s a Yankee fan is particularly worrisome. But knowing that she might have saved baseball? That’s clutch. That’s Kirk Gibson in the ’88 World Series, that’s what that is.

Now, if Obama can pull this one off and then somehow manage to get the NCAA to replace the BCS with a playoff, I think we might have to start channelling Stephen Colbert and asking, “Obama: great president or the greatest?”

-A

Credits:
-Photo from NY Times

….And a Memorial Day Reminder

Due to a minor mental lapse made all the more ironic by today’s holiday, Allen forgot to include this in yesterday’s filibuster. However, we are still looking for questions from our readers which we will then attempt to answer.

***SEND US YOUR FILIBUSTERS****

Something on your mind?  Want to see Jeff and Al sweat (separately, not together, eww)?  Think you got a real stumper?  Send us your Filibuster question(s) by commenting or emailing them to us at kraulung@gmail.com. 

***Pictures of hot chicks also welcome.

Memorial Day War Cry

iwo jima.jpgPitchers should hit.

Old defensive liability power hitters who strikeout 150+ times a year and can’t hang in the National League should retire.

And yes, perhaps players should go back to wool uniforms (‘cuz when you’re itchy, you play with an edge).

Verily!  The Gospel according to Jeff hath been spoken.

With that, I virtually extend my hand through the interwebs and take that of my calloused and oft misguided colleague, Mr. Krause.  Indeed, I accept his dubious (and ultimately self-deprecating) proposal knowing full well that victory is in my near future.

And, since we’ve opened up the Gospel, let it also be known that:

albert pujols.jpgThe squeeze play is the most exciting play in all of sports.

The closer is the most overrated role in baseball.

And Albert Pujols is the only man who could make me gay.

Wait, did I just say that?

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy

The Filibuster

What would it take for you two to switch caps for a day? Would Allen
ever wear a Cards jersey? Would Jeffy ever not insult the Detroit
Tigers? Is it an impossibility?

-Vanessa
http://flairforthedramatic.mlblogs.com/
__________________________________________

me_and_bro.jpgImpossible is a big word. It’s like when people tell you to never say never. However, in this case, it’s pretty unlikely. See, the thing is that it’s not even so much about the Cards and Tigers’ rivalry because, let’s be honest, since they play in different leagues and have only met a few times in the Series, it’s hard to really call them rivals. It’s like Batman fighting Lex Luthor. Yeah, I can understand why they wouldn’t like each other but there’s just not that same enmity. Batman against the Joker? That feels right.

No, this isn’t about the rivalry between fans of two baseball teams, it’s a rivalry between two different ideologies. Jeff comes from the old school, where the pitcher hits (or doesn’t, as is usually the case) while I have fully embraced the balls out style of play in the American League. Does this mean that I don’t appreciate an old-fashioned pitcher’s duel or that Jeff doesn’t jump up and down when someone crushes the ball out of the park? No. But it does mean that when it comes right down to it, we have a fundamental disagreement about what is good for the game. Jeff would like to see all the players still wearing wool. Me, I’m a fan of synthetics that wick sweat away. Is one of us right and one of us wrong because of this?

jeff lung 4th of july 1.jpgWell, probably.

But here’s a modest proposal for my friend. Next month the Tigers and Cardinals play an interleague series in St. Louis on the 16th, 17th and 18th of June. Despite the fact that I’m giving up homefield advantage, I’m willing to agree to the following bet.

Whoever’s team wins that series and thereby illustrates the dominance of their respective league gets to make the other person wear an article of the winning team’s paraphanelia for an entire weekday and then write a post about the experience, praising the winning team’s superior play and including photos from their day at the office. I have faith in my Tigers.

What do you say, Mr. Lung? You game?

-A.

Hifalutin Hijinks

American flagNothing says Memorial Day weekend like baseball, patriotism and trying to figure out just how the hell I got home last night.

Obviously, dear readers, this year is no exception.

Stumbling home at 4:30 in the morning, it took a good twenty minutes of frustration before I realized I was trying to get inside my neighbor’s building instead of mine.  Whoops.  No wonder the key wouldn’t work.

Quizzing myself on what actually happened the night before — piecing quipped memories together one by one to reassemble reality — is the basic tenet of any three-day weekend.  Like, did the Cardinals’ Todd Wellemeyer really throw six-plus scoreless innings last night?  Indeed.  Did Nancy Pelosi actually run out of things to say?  You betcha.  Did I really overhear the following conversation at the bar last night?

Pretentious Woman #1:  I had the Pinot.  He had the Shiraz.

Pretentious Woman #2:  I didn’t know they served wine at the Cell.

Pretentious Woman #1:  They do.  In our section anyway.

Pretentious Woman #2:  I’ll have to try that next time.

Pretentious Woman #1:  Yeah, I mean, what else you gonna do?  Watch the game?  Ha!

Yes, folks, such tragedy is not made up.

You wanna drink wine?  Fine.  Go ahead.  Nothing wrong with that; but I don’t care who you are, the ballpark ain’t no place for wine.

Or maybe I’m still languishing over John C. Reilly’s intriguingly accurate characterization of me at last year’s Memorial Day cookout:

I may be no angel, but I do know that there is a time and place for everything.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

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