Yep. We’re sick of seeing his smug mug behind the plate on every pitch too. So in an effort to oust his recurring playoff cameo, we sent our RSBS interns into Angel Stadium with a mega-fortified parabolic microphone to pick up all the juicy sound bytes Mr. Boras let slip during the game.
Here’s what we heard:
“Jesus, look at A-Rod. How’d I let that guy fire me again? That oughtta be my ****ing walking wallet! Mine! My lord, those labrums! Look at those labrums! Best labrums in all of sports!”
– – –
“Forget Teixera… Matt Holliday is worth Babe Ruth like money. How much money did Babe Ruth make again? What?!? $80,000 a year was his best? F*** that, Matt Holliday is so worth Mark Teixera like money.”
– – –
“Why aren’t there gold flakes on this f***ing hot dog? Huh? Who the hell brought me this hot dog without gold f***ing flakes!?!”
– – –
“Jesus Christ, I can’t understand a thing Manny says. How do you say ‘take a goddamn shower for crying out loud’ in Spanish!? Anyone? Anyone?”
– – –
“Holy s***, Alex Rodriguez… maybe I can get teams to think Ivan Rodriguez is actually Alex Rodriguez. Quick trip to the Dominican Republic, grab some stuff from A-Rod’s cousin… shoot up Pudge and BAM! He’s lookin’ like Alex did in that hot Details shoot. Did I just say that? F*** you. Don’t look at me. Watch the game.
– – –
“Ha ha. I just remembered that Adrian Beltre deal.”
– – –
“Why does everyone hate me? Because I’m rich? Because I’m powerful? Because I look like a young Rush Limbaugh? Ha! My bowel movements are worth more than these worthless fans’ entire lives put together and run through a gilding press that I bought with my money. Where the hell is my goddamned organic vodka gimlet!?! Jesus!”
– – –
“Someone remind me to tell Kyle Lohse he has really f***ing made me look bad.”
– – –
“$tra$burg… $tra$burg… $tra$burg…”
– – –
“Jesus, if I were gay, I’d totally do Alex… ha ha, but, y’know, I’d of course make a big deal of it to the press first before opting out at the last second… then, when things calmed down a bit… I’d fire that b****.”
– – –
Now you know, folks. You aren’t surprised, are you?
Hate me ‘cuz I bring it, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
I’m a mean guy. Not incredibly mean but mean enough to bring it up in a public forum when my friend’s team crashes out of the playoffs by losing 3 straight games. Mean enough to continue bringing it up at least until the start of the next season. Mean enough to insult Albert Pujols’ mama. But even I draw the line somewhere. It appears that StubHub doesn’t have quite the same restraint.
Can you imagine it? A city full of Mets fans waking up to such an incendiary email on a Monday morning? Mondays are bad enough as it is. And New Yorkers are angry enough as it is. It’s like poking an already angry bear with a stick. Granted, when we’re talking about the Mets it’s a mangy old bear that long ago lost its teeth and claws. And will to live. But it’s still a bear and everyone knows you don’t poke bears with sticks.
Now, StubHub apologized and that’s a classy move. God knows I’m not going to do anything like that with regards to my comments about the Cardinals or Mr. Pujols’ mother. But the damage has already been done. The bear has been let out of the cage, if you will. Granted, it probably won’t make that much of a difference because even Mets fans will still hit up the website if they really want tickets to a sold-out game. But it’s the moral of the thing. You just don’t kick someone when they’re down. Well, maybe sometimes. Like when they’re down 3 games to none in a five game series.
-Thanks to Rachel at http://twitter.com/PujolsMolinaFan for the tip.
Dear readers, what you’re about to witness is real. Nothing has been altered or changed to assist my own, personal opinion(s). Thank the baseball gods for screen capturing abilities while surfing the interwebs.
*Click on images for a closer view*
Hate me ‘cuz I gotz mad computer skillz, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I (and, usually, Google) am (is) right.
This week’s filibuster question is being addressed by a longtime colleague of RSBS who, while he may not always makes people happy, always provokes a response. Maxwell P. Framington, take it away.
Since you guys are into politics, too, I wonder if you thought about how
the League Championship Series sort of mirror politics. New York
money, two L.A. glitz and glamor teams. Philadelphia. Where is middle
America in all of this?
Troy, middle America is exactly where it belongs right now. At home, cooking meth before hitting the bar in hopes of subsequently procreating with whatever is left standing (or sitting or laying passed out on the floor). After too many years of mediocre teams from cities that no longer matter stealing the limelight and torpedoing the television ratings, baseball is right back where it belongs. On the coasts, with the intellectual and monetary elite.
I’ll grant you this, Troy. We may not always be there for the first pitch and we may not stay to see the final out but we do appreciate the roar of the crowd as we sip on our organic vodka gimlets. And let’s be honest. It doesn’t really matter anyway since our seats are all owned by the corporation and it’s better that we grace them for a moment as opposed to letting them sit empty the entire evening.
The dirty little secret that you really should have figured out by now Troy, is that middle America only matters in election years. And even then, only a small fraction of its residents truly count. And that’s true of both baseball and politics. Are you really not going to tune in for a Dodgers-Yankees World Series? Of course you are. You have nothing else to do out there except harvest corn and fire up a little more speed in your favorite broken light bulb. But if it’s the Tigers and Cardinals playing, who on the coasts is going to care? We have restaurants, culture and important jobs. If the team that we occasionally proclaim loyalty to isn’t playing, we’ll just go work on getting that reservation at Babbo instead.
But don’t worry, Troy. Next year is mid term elections so you can be sure the politicians will work their way out among the proletariat once again and bring you that attention you seem to crave so much. And you can also be sure that some team from a state who’s entire population is limited to seven last names as a result of inbreeding will once again find themselves in the playoffs. Personally, I’ll be planning my Christmas ski vacation. What do you think, Troy? Heli-skiing in the Andes or the typical chalet in the Alps?
-Maxwell “Max” P. Framington
RSBS would like to apologize for Max’s comments. We forgot that he’s also kind of a d!ck.
While you and I spend our time wondering when the Phillies bullpen will
next self destruct or why there aren’t as many green M&Ms as there
are brown, or how long it will take Glenn Beck to realize we’re laughing at him, not with him, there are some people in the world (scientists and such as) who pass the time by making ground breaking discoveries, actually furthering the intellect of the human mind.
Move over Lucy. Make way for Ardi.
That’s right. Australopithecus afarensis,
an extinct hominid (most commonly known as Lucy), who was once thought
to be our oldest common ancestor, now must take a backseat to the most
recently proclaimed elder of bipedalism: Ardipithecus (or Ardi for short).
Like it or not, this is a big deal because Ardi is a million years older than Lucy! Consider her the
cougar of the archaeological bar scene. And with her discovery, the
entire evolutionary map of modern day humans and just exactly where we came
from, how we evolved, what we once were, has been totally rewritten.
It is no longer safe to say we share a common ancestor with
chimpanzees. More likely than not, we came from Ardi and whoever (or
whatever) came before her. Her construction is rare, odd, striking: a
bipedal creature with an opposable big toe; an animal that walks
upright on land but acts as a quadruped in its arboreal environment,
Ardi is the corner border in a 5 gazillion trillion piece puzzle that
is the evolutionary road to modern day humans.
We’re starting to know where we came from.
Yet the only plausible explanation science can come up with for where the
ugly flop-sweat of a man known as Vicente Padilla came from is this
thing from the Clash of the Titans:
Hate me ‘cuz I don’t pull punches, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
**Special thanks to Jason Russell for the pic and assist. You can follow him on Twitter at @JasonrussellUT
As we look over the baseball season and all the stories that emerged, we also start putting the pieces together, trying to see what parts of the story are most important. This process often leads to discussions of who deserves which award and even when it’s a clear-cut race, that doesn’t mean that people won’t still yell long and hard about who they think should win.
So let me jump into the fray early on and start campaigning for a couple of my choices.
Let’s start with the American League where the manager of the year is obviously Jimmy
Leyland. Despite the whole “losing the division his team led for five
months on the last day of the regular season” thing, you have to admit
that it’s pretty impressive that he was even able to remain standing
for 162 games. Seriously, his lungs are like little tar flavored
prunes. If he’s an organ donor, the only person who could use his lungs
is a researcher at the Kingsford charcoal company trying to figure out
how to pack even more carbon into every little bricquet.
And on the NL side there are many people who think that Albert Pujols should win the MVP award. And despite his team’s ignominious crash out of the first round of the playoffs, the argument is a strong one. However, let me suggest another possibility. Rinku Singh. Ok, so he technically isn’t really eligible since he didn’t even play in the majors this season. But, think of this. In a nation of nearly 1.2 billion people, he is the first one of them to win a professional baseball game. That’s one small step for a man but one giant leap for, uh, India, I guess. And as if that wasn’t enough, he’s also the only reason that most Americans even realize the Pirates still play baseball. Those are pretty strong credentials, my friends.
So as you start debating the relative merits of the possible winners of this years’ awards, take a second and consider the RSBS inspired ticket of Leyland and Singh. They may not be winners in baseball but they sure are winners in life.
Nevermind all that pre-NLCS/ALCS buzz dancing around the internets and such as, the Iraq! Soon we will all have more than our wanted fill of Joe Buck self-righteous proclamations and ear-numbing Chip Carary-isms. For now, let us focus on the larger, more looming and lurid task of finding the Cleveland Indians a new manager. Shall we?
Yep. John Farrell is no longer in the mix. They can’t afford Bobby Valentine. And unfortunately, dear readers, Lou Brown has gone back to selling tires… forever.
That’s why I, along with the fastidious help of our always reliable RSBS interns, have prepared a list of potential managerial candidates for Indians GM Mark Shapiro, whom we all know is too busy lamenting the contract of one Travis “I Ain’t Got It No More” Hafner and the cruel reality of a midge-less postseason.
Mark, here is the shortlist of suggested targets:
Sure, the Big Tuna ain’t no baseball guy; we know that. But he was born to win (and eat… a lot). Besides, just think of what hiring this former Cowboy coach could do for the long neglected and oft polarized relationship between Cowboys and Indians. Mark, it is time to heal these wounds.
Since being shunned and axed by his University of Illinois home (where he was a staple presence for 81 years), the Great Chief doesn’t really have much to do but stay in and get drunk all day. Hey, you can get drunk at the ballpark too, Chief! Plus, having such a standard bearer of Native American tradition might help the Indians solve that whole racist image thing they’ve had goin’ on for… y’know… ever.
Oh, wait. He’s dead. Never mind.
He’s dead too? Sorry.
Whoops. My bad. Okay. No more dead guys of French descent.
Well, then that leaves me with just one more super managerial candidate for Mr. Shapiro and that person is:
Look, if you’re gonna build a bridge to nowhere, ya might as well build it on the Cuyahoga River.
Hate me ‘cuz I’m on point, all the time, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
There are days when you feel like you can run through walls. Everything is going your way and there is simply nothing that can slow you down.
There are other days when even making it through an automatic door is tough. For all those days, though, just be glad that this isn’t you:
However, we did learn an important lesson. Always confront your problems head on. Preferably not head on glass, though.
While on the subject of tragically sweeping heartache, I guess by now everybody knows that Kourtney Kardashian is preggers with that toolbox Scott Something-or-Other’s kid, once again dashing my dreams of landing her on my “fantasy team” and rendering one of the hottest (and dumbest) free agents officially off the market.
Great. Just great. First some spazzbot ruined any chance I had at “getting close” to Erin Andrews by sneaking into her hotel room… and now this?
Still, dear readers, let us remember that it is often in the worst of times that we find the truest and simplest joys in life. Sure, the Cardinals got swept in the NLDS. But hey, we’re not the Cubs! True, President Obama hasn’t solved US America’s economic crisis… or the health care crisis… or, well, any crisis. But hey, he’s not George W. Bush! And well, okay, Kourtney’s probably not gonna have my baby now. But hey, at least I’ll never have to face the awful task of actually listening to her talk for any length of time!
Not that I would have anyway, ‘cuz, well, y’know, hers is one of the most annoying voices “like um, y’know, like, ever or whatever.” I’m just sayin…
I think I’ll leave that opportunity to Mr. Krause. He’s always been the adventure half of RSBS.
Hate me ‘cuz I’m sly, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
As a sports fan, is there anything more disheartening than a sweep? It’s great when your team is dealing it out but if you really care, it’s like a knife in the kidney when it happens to your guys. Everything that has gone into the season and then it’s all gone in 3 or 4 games.
So, I feel bad for all those fans out there of the Cardinals, Twins and Red Sox. Ok, not really so much for Red Sox fans. And really, the Cardinals won the whole thing at the expense of my team just a couple years ago so not really them so much either. And the Twins are division rivals so I guess I can’t really say I’m all that sorry for their fans. But, I do understand that it is not a fun feeling.
The thing is, a sweep isn’t just a defeat, it’s a smack across the face. It says that in a best of five or seven game series, you couldn’t even win one of those games. And while winning one might not be all that pretty or that meaningful, at least it shows you did something right. But not winning a single game? That just says you probably shouldn’t have even been there.
So, to all the heart-broken fans of the Cards, Twins and Sox out there, let me say this. You may not have actually deserved to be there this year but, just like Cubs fans, you always have next year.
–Image from SawxBlog. Irony not intended but definitely appreciated.