If I were stranded on a remote island ten years ago and I just now got back to see Rick Ankiel is playing center field for the Kansas City Royals, I would be thoroughly confused. We all know what a tremendous story Rick Ankiel’s career has been up to this point. So let me be clear: as a Cardinals fan, I fully support Ricky and thank him for all he did in a Cards uniform. I wish him the best of luck.
Yet I cannot help but believe all those concussions did a smidgen more than some serious damage to his psyche.
In his welcoming press conference with the Royals last week, Ankiel mentioned that part of why he wanted to come to Kansas City was because he ‘liked the direction’ the team was going.
And we all know it.
The truth is: Rick Ankiel is happy to be with the Royals because he has a job now when it looked like he might not. I can’t blame the guy. I would do the exact same thing… which may or may not include my liking ‘the direction’ of the team.
Because, let’s face it: this team ain’t goin’ anywhere.
Scott Podsednik. Jason Kendall. Billy Butler. Kyle Farnsworth.
These names do not a champion make.
I think the best summary of the Kansas Royals’ direction, under the keen eye of GM Dayton Moore, is represented by a technical glitch which provided wonderment during the press conference.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Kansas City Royals: Team of Infinite Regress:
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Tune in Monday and Tuesday of this week. Ninemen’s Morris is baaaaaaaaaaaaack…
I feel like a failure. Here we are, well into 2010, and not one single update on Kyle Farnsworth. However, being the person I am, I refuse to let this situation stand. So, after some painstaking research, I found a recent video of Farnsworth in action:
Crying, orgasming and only god knows what else. The man is just full of odd noises. Hope you didn’t have any romantic plans for the evening but happy Saturday nonetheless.
As a young boy growing up in the middling middle-class of US America, my dreams were aplenty.
In particular, I dreamed of a day when I would succeed as a professional baseball player. Wearing the mask behind the plate, I envisioned catching the called third strike to win the World Series… rushing to the mound, hugging my pitcher, shouting til I lost my voice.
So too did aspiring to be a great leader. Always the smooth talker with a penchant for spontaneous charm, I reckoned I had the skills to become a good politician.
Neither dream became reality; and poor old me had to settle for co-writing a hit baseball blog.
But that’s okay.
I mean, I still wish I could have lived out those Major League aspirations… but when it comes to politics, I couldn’t be happier that I eschewed it all the way. (Yeah, I just said ‘eschewed’. I like that word. Eschew. Say it with me. Eschew.) Because to be honest, politics is boring as hell. Oh sure, the Jack Kennedys and Bill Clintons and Ronald Reagans and Barack Obamas make it look flashy and fun and cool; but most of what goes on behind the political scene is as boring as Tommy Lasorda is fat.
Of course, you wouldn’t know it by watching this clip, which just happens to be the most exciting exchange on the senate floor since Strom Thurmond admitted he still owned slaves. Okay, he didn’t admit that, but he probably should have.
Will the Senator from Connecticut please continue…
Oh, sorry. You’re still reading? Cool.
So, what did we learn? Franken is an ^ss. McCain is old. Lieberman is confused.
Don’t hate me. ‘Cuz I’m right.
PS, Thanks so much for all the kind well wishes you sent me on my birthday. Much appreciated! Fist bumps all around!
What do you get when you cross an evil, faceless corporation with the soulless smile of a clown?
It may be cute. It may be funny. But to paraphrase close personal friend of RSBS, Keyser Söze, “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he was a funny clown commercial.”
Despite knowing my friend, Jeff Lung, for more than a decade now, I’m always surprised by how I can still see him in new and different lights. There’s Jeff playing baseball:
And of course there’s Jeff in the nonexistent backseat of a minivan:
In the pantheon of sporting goats, none has a more hallowed place than the guy who brings the season to an end. Sometimes it’s a team effort (the 2009 Detroit Tigers along with the 2007 and 2008 Mets come to mind) but sometimes a single man takes that entire burden onto his shoulders and says, “Yes, I can and will end this season for myself, my teammates and the fans.” Brett Favre is just such a man.
Being a fan of a team in the NFC North, Favre has been a thorn in my side for years now. I was more than happy to see him leave the Packers and I wished him nothing but ill when he made his return to the barren wasteland of the North. However, it warmed my soul to see him end this season the same way he ended the last couple: throwing an interception. He is the career leader after all. It’s only fitting.
I guess the only important question left now is not will he come back….again, but rather, would you call him the Bill Buckner or the Brad Lidge of NFL football? Me, I’m going with Lidge.
In baseball, if it’s a joke you want, it’s the Pittsburgh Pirates you get. No question.
In US American politics… Sarah Palin.
Television? The Office‘s “that’s what she said” bit.
And now, for your viewing pleasure, two of those three… put together:
Hate me ‘cuz I know magic, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Do you ever have a revelation right as you’re falling asleep? Where something just kind of hits you and then a second later you’re out? For instance, the other night I was drifting off when it struck me that I really don’t want to be killed by a crocodile. The whole ripping and tearing and drowning, I’m just not interested.
These little eureka moments on the threshold of sleep, somnolent epiphanies perhaps, usually disappear, replaced the next morning by a feeling of loss, like something was in your grasp and then faded away. But not always. Just like my Archimedes moment with the crocodiles the other evening, this morning I woke up with a similar sensation. Let me explain.
Last night I went to bed a little confused after reading Jeff’s post. I mean, he knows I like girls and I wondered why he would make insinuations about my sexuality. It just didn’t make sense to me. I know it had nothing to do with what I posted the other day because it’s obvious that I’m just trying to help him with a very real problem. But as I sank into sleep with these thoughts orbiting around my head, awareness suddenly exploded like a supernova.
Let me take you back a little. Those of you who read this blog regularly or know Jeff well undoubtedly also know that he is infatuated with Asia. The art, the languages, the religions, the peoples. There is no aspect he does not love.
But, if you follow pop culture, you realize that within this arena there are barely understood subcultures, fringes on which things happen that are often hard to fathom. And if you watch 30 Rock or read the New York Times you have become acquainted with possibly the most incomprehensible subculture.
Having watched this episode of 30 Rock just the other day, it’s no surprise that both the show and the article were on my mind as I went to bed. And when that mixed together in my head with a comment that a reader made the other day about substituting a blow-up doll in place of a girlfriend for Jeff, well, I had my eureka moment.
Yes, that’s right. I could barely believe it myself but all signs point to Jeff being in a long-term relationship with some sort of body pillow. The lack of a girlfriend. The callously strewn about accusations. The down feathers that always seem to be stuck in his hair. All are signs pointing toward the inescapable truth.
Now, I am unable to comment on the veracity of reports that this body pillow sports an Albert Pujols jersey. And I almost certainly do not believe the recent rumor that this pillow may actually be Jeff’s common-law wife. That being said, it would explain a lot.
Really, though, I’m here to be a friend and that’s why I just want to say, “Jeff. It’s all right. You can come clean. You’re among friends and we support you.” So, how about it Mr. Lung? Wouldn’t you feel better being able to live your life out here in the open with the rest of us?
Why anyone gifted enough to become a Major League Baseball player would ever give it all up to pursue a priesthood that follows an entity as tangible as the tooth fairy is certainly a question I cannot answer.
Perhaps Grant Desme can.
Because after a promising minor league career in the Oakland A’s organization, Desme got a call from God (I hope it wasn’t a collect call ‘cuz gee whiz the sky is way high up and way far away!) and now he’s leaving baseball all together… to become a priest.
Yeah. Okay. Have fun with that, dude.
If you can, Mr. Desme, please hurry up and learn all there is to learn about the church so you can answer the questions this guy can’t:
First of all, Tupac did know he was gonna die. He also knew he was gonna die young. He said it many times. And it’s on the internet.
Secondly, being a black man does not automatically make you an authority on Tupac. I am white; but I know more about Tupac than I do about myself. So eat it, pal.
And finally, if you have watched “all the videos on Tupac” you would know that Tupac prophesied his own, early, tragic death… that he and Jesus are in the same category (both saviors to many, both prolific speakers, both attained mythic status), only we have more proof that Tupac rose from the dead than we do Jesus.
Grant Desme, you have a lot of work ahead of you in setting the story straight. Good luck, and hopefully we will all meet up at that great “gangsta party” in the sky.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
P.S. I really appreciate the idea of you all helping me find a woman to take out on a date. That is very kind of you; maybe I should help Allen find a boyfriend on the internet. It’s been a while since he’s dated a real nice guy, you know, so maybe I should help him out. I mean, that’s what friends are for.
Sometimes, rightfully or wrongfully, things go to our heads. Now, we’ve had a great couple of years here at RSBS, even if the results of this past year weren’t quite what we’re accustomed to. It appears, though, that half of the RSBS team, the half that doesn’t look like Joe Maddon, has taken this as a mandate to run rough-shod over all that we hold dear.
Great thinkers have always had their weaknesses which sometimes led to misguided attempts at misguided pursuits. And my dear friend, Mr. Lung, is no exception. It has been awhile since he has known the pleasure of a woman’s company and I can’t say that I fault him for this current acting out. It’s normal and at RSBS we don’t judge.
However, we must have our standards. Dating someone who is not a baseball fan is one thing. They can be taught. But becoming enraptured by a girl who openly supports the team you claim to detest? Have you no shame, sir?
Yes, I have dated Yankees fans before and I am not proud of that. But I have resolved never to do it again. Better a life of celibacy than the self-loathing that goes with dating the evil empire.
But I think Jeff will need a little more help. This has gone beyond the point where mere shame will keep him from slipping down that long, dark, Cubbie-blue tunnel from which I fear he will never escape.
No, desperate times call for desperate measures and that’s why I am putting out the call now for all of our readers to help out. Help us find the girl who can save Jeff from himself and this gradual descent into purgatory. It would be nice if she lived in the Chicago area and she doesn’t have to be a Cardinals fan. I think we’d be all right just as long as she doesn’t support the Cubs. Although you could get a few extra points from me if she was a Tigers fan. You know, for the irony.
You have your mission. Now let’s get out there and find this woman! She must exist somewhere.
-Photo via Skull Swap