Well, let’s see, I did Testosterone Propionate, Methyltestosterone, Clomid, Laurabolin, Nolvadex, HGH, Masteril, Agoviron, Ambosex, Chorvlon, L-Thyroxine, Clomid, Euthyrox, Neo-Hombreol, Maxiolin Elixier and a little bit of Testo-Enant and then I watched David Ortiz go yard against the Oakland Athletics.
Athletics? Please. If it ain’t full of Riboxifen it ain’t no athlete.
But who cares anyway? I’m sick of talking about this and I imagine dear readers are too so let’s talk about something a bit more titillating, shall we?
It is no secret that the merits of baseball relevant beauties have long been a popular subject at RSBS. From Erin Andrews to Gong Li (somehow related, trust us) to Kendra Andrews, we and our loyal interns always go for broke. That is why we are happy to announce that the crew at Fantasy Baseball Dugout has launched its 2009 edition of the Hottest Baseball Wives contest.
And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(*Images courtesy of Fantasy Baseball Dugout)
Well, what with all the festivities surrounding baseball’s mid-season classic, it has been awhile since we checked in with our old friend Sarah Palin out in Alaska. Knowing her versatility and vitality, though, I’m sure she’s doing well out there in the tundra……..she did what!!!!!?????
And she said what???!!
Wow. It’s possible that Ms. Palin might just be the Milton Bradley of politics. I mean, how does a person go from a more or less coherent communications major and sports reporter to what can only be described as the political equivalent of “boom goes the dynamite?”
Honestly, I don’t even know how to answer that question but what I will say is, “Ms. Palin, please don’t ever stop doing that thing you do.”
There was a time when LaTroy Hawkins acted as a personal savior of mine; because I knew the minute he came into a ballgame wearing that Cubs uniform, the chances of them losing took an astronomical leap. While those days may be over — and the nomination of the world’s worst reliever has shifted to the awkwardly clumsy Kyle Farnsworth — I am happy to report that LaTroy Hawkins has given me yet another reason to worship him.
During Monday night’s game against the Cubs — as an Astro — Hawkins verbally and physically questioned the merits of homeplate umpire Mike Everitt, which eventually got him tossed. Since then, Hawkins has suffered from a severe case of logorrhea and has had no problem jawing out at Everitt. Now, Major League Baseball is investigating the incident.
“I have my own opinion, and he had his opinion,” he [Hawkins] said. “He [Everitt] thought I was showing him up. I saw Alex Rodriguez do way worse when I was in the American League. He undressed the umpire. Whatever he said, it was in his face. It’s America.”
You’re damn right, LaTroy! It is America! It’s US America and I don’t care who you are — Alex Rodriguez or not — one should never be allowed to undress the umpire. Who does this Rodriguez fella think he is anyway? Some pretty boy poster child for Details magazine? What a pompous sicko!
We applaud you, LaTroy, for saying what we were all thinking and going after the bad guys behind the plate.
And in the future, LaTroy, instead of getting into a war of words — a war that is rarely won by a journeyman reliever — you may want to follow the stellar example set by Chinese professional athletes and just pulverize your enemy:
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
The following is an actual, real life conversation (albeit by text messaging) that occurred last night between myself and a fellow baseball nerd (who just so happens to be a lowly Cub fan) prior to the Cardinals/Dodgers game on ESPN — America’s home for Manny-mania and other sensationalized crap.
HIM: Whew! First place finally. I feel so safe. Especially since we can pull off a deal at the break cuz I’m sure hendry has the green light financially……..
ME: Yeah, sure. Don’t get too comfortable
HIM: I was being facetious of course. And anti jinxing at the same time. Have fun with manny and the boyz tonite.
ME: Haha. I know. I’m fluent in sarcasm. Will do. Fertility drugs in hand.
HIM: How would Cards nation handle the inevitable Pujols scandal?
ME: Okay…seriously… Denial. Then anger. Then revolt. Then suicide.
HIM: About what I imagine would happen in the bronx wit DJ. Laughing villainous now. When that happens I’ll put on robin williams beard and tell u its not your fault.
ME: Haha. Might b too late. I may have murdered an entire village by then.
HIM: Like Annakin when he took out the sand people?
ME: Yes. Only worse.
And that is all I have to say about that.
Hate me ‘cuz I preach the Truth: that Jesus hates the Cubs; just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Very few pursuits allow for perfection. In bowling, there’s the 300 game but how much of that has to do with luck? Football quarterbacks can post a perfect passer rating but that usually still involves incompletions which is far from perfect in my book. And let’s be honest, when you’re forced to define perfection by a mathematical formula, how perfect is it really? (No offense to any of the mathematicians out there, obviously.)
But in baseball, perfection exists. And when Mark Buehrle hit the mound the other day, we got to see it. There were tense moments and some great plays that made it happen. But it was perfection.
The most amazing thing about perfection is how it’s a snapshot in time. No one is going to achieve perfection over the course of a season. No batter is going to get a hit every time he’s at the plate, no pitcher is going to avoid giving up a hit during every outing. The reason that perfection appeals to us is because it happens so rarely.
Some of this sentiment also plays into the betrayal many have felt at the hands of various players who used PEDs. I still remember the summer when Sosa and McGwire were racing for the home run crown and how astounding it was to watch them rack up those totals. They made the extraordinary ordinary. And when Bonds came along and shattered those records, it almost became mundane. We came to expect these kinds of feats and now we’re disappointed by their absence, a problem similar to what swimming is now facing with the ban on many of the new suit technologies. No one wants to ride in coach after they’ve experienced first class.
But the perfect game stands out because it is one of those things that is still so rare. Clemens may have been juicing and he may have been a dominant pitcher but that never earned him perfection. Nolan Ryan threw seven no-hitters but none of them were perfect. But a guy like David Wells, all 250 plus pounds of him, managed to do it.
Possibly the best part of Buehrle’s perfect game, though, is the time in which it came. This season has been marked so far by Manny’s suspension, A-Rod’s admission and several mediocre divisional races. It’s only fitting that the thing that takes our minds off of the mediocrity and failure……is perfection.
the Julio Lugo trade has left you despondent. But here’s the question.
If you were cast away on a desert island and could choose only one
Cardinal, past or present, to be with you, who would you choose?
While the human condition often leads us to fantasize about achieving maximum fame — to be known throughout the world as easily as a McFlurry, the Bible or Michael Jackson — the truth is, most of us would be extremely lucky just to get that fifteen minutes everyone talks about. So when posed with a question of such magnitude, of course, my initial list of suitors would already seem to be set in stone. My grandfather’s generation would say Stan Musial. My father’s would say Bob Gibson. Mine, Ozzie Smith and today’s would most assuredly go with Albert.
But here’s the thing: with any one of those St. Louis Cardinal icons, there is no question that I would cower from awe, go silent from my insecurities, shy away with humbling woes of unworthiness. In other words, I would hardly be good company, especially for someone on a deserted island.
Which would lead me to choose that St. Louis Cardinal who isn’t quite the paragon of baseball supremacy — the one who I feel like I could carry on a legitimate conversation with sans all the slobber, the one who all Cardinal fans know, but aren’t likely to jump at spending any hang-time with. And that man’s name, dear readers, is Fernando Tatis.
Despite playing in just 300 games for the Cardinals between 1998 and 2000, Tatis is as recognizable a name in St. Louis as Hornsby, Brock and Herzog; and his name is known for one thing and one thing only: making history on April 23, 1999 by becoming the only Major Leaguer to ever hit two grand-slams in the same inning!
Clearly, this accomplishment is almost as intriguing and noteworthy as creating a number one hit single called “Jesus Hates the Cubs”, so I am satisfied that Fernando and I would get along just swell on our little deserted island with plenty of ways to relate.
And considering Fernando’s consistent injury issues, I feel like my role in keeping us alive would be much greater than if I were stranded with King Albert, who might just eat me to make things easier. Plus, I’m pretty sure I could get my slider by Fernando which would go a long way in keeping my spirits high.
So go ahead and hate me ‘cuz I’m so unpredictable, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
***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 firstname.lastname@example.org.
***Pictures of a skinny Bartolo Colon also welcome but we don’t think such a thing exists.
I don’t want to alarm anybody or prey on your fears but you should all know that god is dead and the devil has won. “But Allen,” you’re probably asking right now, “How is this possible?” Well, it’s really quite simple. Let me refer you to the classic documentary in which Doctors Venkman and Spengler expertly deal with all manner of paranormal aberrations. Now, as anyone who has seen the film well knows, the only way to avoid the end of the world is to make sure that the “Keymaster” and the “Gatekeeper” do not get together. If they do, well, it’s over.
So, you can only imagine how my heart sank the other day when I read that the Keymaster and Gatekeeper are on a collision course and their unholy union will be consummated on 20 November 2010. Seriously, we are knowingly allowing the Yankees and Notre Dame to combine their evil powers together? I don’t want to go to far over the edge here but you should know that it will form the most pure nexus of evil ever known in the history of the planet.
At least by then we may have bigger worries. That’s right folks, at that point we may have insurance coverage for each and every American. And as bad as Zuul may have been, there’s nothing worse than universal health care. Don’t believe me? Just watch this public service announcement from the always civic minded Stephen Colbert:
|The Colbert Report||Mon – Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c|
|Health Care Hell-Scare – Die-agnosis: Mur-DR|
Happy Saturday y’all!
Indeed, it is no secret that whilst in our bogarting college days, I brought my dubious and oft erratic colleague, Mr. Krause, up on a live stage in front of hundreds of people with the promise of providing wholesome entertainment only to publicly embarrass him by tying him down and shaving his overgrown forest of an otherwise pasty white chest.
Something tells me he hasn’t gotten over the humiliation.
Which explains his hurtful yet accurate tirade ridiculing the Julio Lugo/Chris Duncan exchange from earlier this week.
But let me step away from the GOP-like mudslinging smackdowns and ask this simple question: Can we not just call this trade what it is? Literally?
It’s crap for crap.
And no, I ain’t happy about it.
But I have found that in the darkest of hours, the most tumultuous of times, the most republican of regimes, that sniffing through all the sugar-coating just to figure out what is really going on often brings out the heartiest of laughs.
Don’t believe me?
Now if that doesn’t make you want to relive 1983 — and laugh all the way — then I don’t know what will.
I do know that giving up a top prospect (Brett Wallace) and some minor leaguers for the player formerly known as Matt Holliday (now just a shell of his former slugging self) is something that will keep the smiles off my face and torment my sleep patterns. Until I see some serious power surge protection for Albert Pujols from our new unsignable Scott Boras client, I am not going to budge from my disgusted stance. Ah, the pain… I cannot help but remember that Dan Haren and Kiko Calero trade for Mark Mulder a few years back. But hey, if this motivates Tony LaRussa to stay on with the Cardinals, then I suppose it is more than worth it… that and as long as Jesus continues to hate the Cubs.
Happy Friday! And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*And a special RSBS cap tip to St. Louis boy, Mark Buehrle, for not only achieving perfection, but for providing me with uber-stimulation while I should have been working.
Julio Lugo scares me. He’s the guy who walks up to you in a crowded room and sticks a knife between your ribs not because you did anything or because you deserved it but just because it seemed like the right thing to do. You can see it in his eyes.
But there is one thing I love about Julio Lugo. And that one thing is the fact that he now plays for the Cardinals and I know that this is having the same effect on Jeff as some Tijuana tap water. His intestines are forming such interesting knots at this point that he probably qualifies for some sort of merit badge.
The only other way I think you can understand how Jeff feels right now would be to imagine that you’re Jack Nicholson in the early 90’s and, as you come out of your drug and alcohol addled haze one morning, you read that the Lakers have decided to bring Bill Laimbeer on board. Jeff inhabits the same land right now.
Now, I’m not going to judge this move one way or the other. The Cardinals got a deal in that they needed a backup at shortstop and the Red Sox are picking up most of Lugo’s salary. And even though there’s no denying that he was a liability in the field and an ever increasing liability at the plate as well, everyone says that Duncan was loved in the clubhouse. So, maybe it is a fair trade. However, the upside on the “pissing Jeff off quotient” is out of this world so I am fully in favor and hope that John Mozeliak will stay the Cardinals GM forever.
So, happy Thursday to everyone out there and let me remind you one more time, just in case you forgot, that Jesus Hates the Cubs.
The truth is: I was going to leave this one in the proverbial scrap pile of unprocessed information otherwise known as my oft useless brain, but after reading this touching letter to Colorado Rockies shortstop Troy Tulowitski, I decided this might have a place.
I mean, I already infuriated Barry Zito (or at least his handlers) earlier this year by writing the truth: that during his Giants tenure, he hasn’t performed as well as that lofty contract might suggest. Before I knew it he was blocking me from his Twitter account and I was wallowing in the kind of sorrow that only comes from not knowing what band Barry Zito thinks “rocks” or what type of scarf he’s going to wear to the polo club to impress his famously hot girlfriends.
So I certainly hope that when I call out Padres pitching prospect, Mat Latos, for acting like a bratty child during pre-game activities at this year’s Futures Game, that he doesn’t block me from watching his so-called Tim Lincecum-like delivery on MLB.TV.
Oh wait. Why would I ever want to watch a Padres game? Nevermind.
Still, much like the young fireballer Latos, I too am trying to become established, to make a name for myself, to be noticed. And the truth is, Mat, you and I, we can be a team. Maybe…
First you will have to brush up on your people skills. For example, when little kids ask you to toss a batting practice ball up to them in the stands, I wouldn’t fake-throw it (like one tends to do with his dog because watching a dog chase nothing is funny) then laugh with your buddies at how clever you are. And I also wouldn’t spend most of that shagging time trying to launch errant balls high up into the upper decks (and fail miserably) because those balls were falling down onto we little people at high speeds and someone could have gotten hurt.
See, the thing is, Mat, I know you’re young and all that talent has probably gotten to you; still, remember that you’re living a dream — that you have been gifted with the ability to play a game… for a living — and that your personality on and off the field will have a whole lot to do with how we plebeian fans perceive you. Don’t care how the fans perceive you? See Barry Bonds for more information on how it can go horribly wrong.
Lucky for you, Mat, I’m a pretty understanding guy. And I can be a snot-nose sometimes too. I won’t fault you for that… but remember who you are aiming your snot-nosedness at, Mat. The kids. Remember the kids.
Those kids — kids who look up to you even though they have no idea who you are, ‘cuz let’s face it, right now you’re a nobody just like Lastings Milledge is a nobody — those kids, when you mess with them, they don’t take it so well.
Remember that and you will be good to go. I almost guarantee it. Okay, I sorta guarantee it.
Good luck, Mat! Hope to see you around the ballpark and maybe — if you feel lucky — you might even consider attacking my character… when you get a break from being the next Tim Lincecum that is…
Hate me ‘cuz I call ’em out, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(“Crying Kids” image courtesy of The B.S. Report)