February 2010

If the Pittsburgh Pirates Were a Keyboard…

crazy keyboard.jpg

Don’t hate me.  ‘Cuz I’m right. 

And you know it.

Peace,

Jeff

(Image courtesy of 9GAG)

Bo Knows Superbowl

It feels a little strange to be thinking or talking about baseball on Superbowl Sunday.  If there is one day of the year completely devoted to football, this would be the day.  The coverage starts in the morning and doesn’t let up until the game has been replayed in its entirety overnight.  The Superbowl is not a game.  It’s an event.

But how do we reconcile this football-centricity with our quest, nay, our mission to bring together baseball and politics?  There’s a very simple answer:

Others have tried but no one ever brought baseball and football together quite the same way that Bo did. 

Happy Superbowl Sunday!

-A

P.S.  You’re wondering where the politics was in all that?  Watch again and pay attention to the crusty white guy.

Beyond Non Sequitur V

I’m not so sure that I want to attend the Nguyen family’s open house this year…
fun family.jpgGo ahead, folks. Hate me.  ‘Cuz after looking at that picture, I don’t even care.

Peace,

Jeff

(Image courtesy of 9GAG)

*Four more and they can field a team… or scare a lot of people. Either way equals win.
 

Magnum Returns

fallingwater.jpgSeveral years ago I went through a Frank Lloyd Wright phase.  I think it was a combination of reading Ayn Rand and Wright’s embrace of a design style that was completely different from the humdrum ordinariness of the Midwest to which I had grown accustomed.  And it also had a lot to do with his masterpiece, Fallingwater.  The thing that really set it apart was the waterfall.  Who wouldn’t want to have a house built on a waterfall?

Today I still think the house looks amazing and I still love the idea of a house built on a waterfall. 

But then I discovered the true definition of amazing:

selleck_pastrami.jpgThat’s right.  Tom Selleck+Sandwiches+Waterfalls.  What does it equal?  Nothing short of life-changing.  Add in the fact that this particular picture features one of Michigan’s finest wearing the old English “D” alongside a sandwich made of pastrami, god’s gift to the deli counter, and I think we can all agree that we may have discovered the answer to that age-old question, What is the meaning of life?

I know this is all a bit heavy for a Friday afternoon but I hope you can still enjoy your weekend even while contemplating the awe-inspiring brilliance of Selleck, Waterfall, Sandwich.

-A

-Thanks to L for the Selleck/Waterfall/Sandwich link

My Lord, Will Someone Please Get Me a Goddamn Salad!?!

Note to King Bud Selig: If you wanna sell your product to a bunch of guys, hire Kim Kardashian for your spots… not Dane Cook.  Not Bon Jovi.

Chicks, Bud.  Hot chicks.

Maybe I’d settle for Reggie Bush.  Maybe.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

A Rodent by Any Other Name…..

groundhog-day-bill-murray.jpgThe only real reason to celebrate Groundhog Day is because it means we’re into February and baseball will start back up soon.  Seriously, what is this point of this “holiday?”  I don’t get a day off of work.  There’s no food involved.  And no matter what happens, you’re still firmly entrenched in the middle of winter.  That doesn’t sound like such a good deal to me.  In fact, one might even be inclined to suspect a bit of conspiracy.

No, I mean it when I say that without the hint of baseball it entails and the vehicle it provided for Bill Murray’s formidable talent, Groundhog Day would be dead to me.  Just like you, Curtis Granderson.  Yeah, you know what I’m talking about.  You’re just lucky I don’t have your name on a Tigers’ jersey or I’d really be pissed.

-A

Ninemen’s Morris: No Sweeter Sibilance

Silas red quigley Prattling ninny!
 

Eastman Thune proved a Little Lord Fauntleroy!

I can’t think of a greater malfeasance than the continuation
of your poppycock and piddley-poo!  While
casting a vote for the windy-city murderers to appear in the La Belle Serie
Mondiale is a safe (some would say namby-pamby?) bet, the notion that
Detroiters would be denied another time is tantamount to an Irishman demurring
at an unwatched distillery.  A foppish
fantasy!  Nonsense on stilts!

Ty Cobb dominated, ripped up the basepaths and the shins of
his opponents throughout the last saison, and this correspondent sees no reason
why this status should not remain quo. 
And while a Killer Cubs World Series is plausible, there is no reason to
suggest they would easily win.  They do
indeed feature a murderous pitching rotation, led by Three-Finger Mordecai
Brown (27 wins to 9 losses) and his bewitching colleague Orvall Overall
(20-11), and lead all the leagues in Chadwick’s newly devised Earned Run
Average (a tetchy 1.74).

Tinkers evers and chance But curse you Thune, calling for their dominance for the
duration of the cententary and beyond is nothing short of swinging a dead cat
in a Chinese opium den and feigning surprise when striking a harlot.  It’s a virtual certainty, man!  They have the most devilish fireballers, the
dandiest batsmen, and a crackerjack defensive infield of Tinker, Evers, Chance,
and Steinfeldt.  Sweeter sibilance
couldn’t be dreamed up for any newsman’s reel.

Be that as it may, your tone of conciliation leaves me no
choice but to lob up a softball prognostication for you to masticate upon,
Alabaster, and I will not equivocate. 
Look you to this come springtide: this season will show an unlooked-for
boost from the man of your last column. 
I predict a mighty effort by those Cuyahoga Clippers, the Cleveland
Naps.  Arrogant namesake though he may
be, I predict Napolean Lajoie will lead his upstart brigade nearly into the
pennant, only to have his efforts dashed by Cobb’s wizardry. 

Confound you Old Man Winter, when will you forsake your
slumber for the gilded lilly of Lady Spring? 
Men and boys alike trudge through the mush and brave the howling gales
for your respite.  Come soon.  Please? 
We need your sweet breath, and the following crack of the bat.

- – -

Written by

Silas ‘Red’ Quigley
Editorial correspondent for the Boston Wax-Intelligencer.  Editor/Publisher of various workers rights
publications, sporting weeklies, and Ladies Garment Journals.  As a youth he was attache to Henry Chadwick (claims to be the
uncredited co-creator of the box score).

For more on the nature of Ninemen’s Morris, please click *HERE*


Ninemen’s Morris: A Reign of Dominance Will Commence!

Alabaster eastman thune Quigley!

You are a dung-encumbered
wretch!

(Just thought that I would
remind you.)

Ok.  Throw your bananalla peels at me, for I
readily accept them.  While I am
typically a soothsayer unparalleled in my ability to prognosticate outcomes in
all matters, sporting and otherwise, I must nonetheless admit an insipid
failure.  In the ante-annum, I was quoted
as follows:


…while the Detroiters seem
to be a lock to waggle the pennant American (hopefully they will be able to
hoist it a few times before Cobb uses it to rid his posterior of residual
defecate), they will nonetheless fall hard in the World Series, at the hands of
Chicago’s dear Orphans, the mighty child bears, the blessed Cubs themselves.


Honus_Wagner_1911 While the Bengals of
Windsor’s cross-water tongue-thumber did, indeed fall in Global Series
showdown, it was not at the hands of the mighty Cubs, but rather the
scurvy-lipped Buccaneers local to that intersection of Three Rivers known for
its defecation of steel.  Local-boy Honus
Wagner, though on the down-slope of his career, was somehow able to rise up and
help the Alleghany Arses take the match-up in seven.  He out-hit the cur Cobb .333 to .231, and
stole six bases, establishing the new Series record. 

I was so angered, that I took
all of my Honus Wagner baseball cards (I had roughly 30 of the brand new T206
series) and relieved myself on them before setting them on fire.  I guess I must find something else to leave
my unborn (and unconcealed) son.

If I have been silent for
some time, it is out of shame.

But let it be stated
now!  In 1910, the Chicago Cubs will once
again win the World Series, once again placing this, the greatest of the
nine-men’s quorums National or American, once again at the pantheon of the
game!  A reign of dominance will then
commence that will surely last the duration of the Millennium, and far into the
next!

What say you, Quigley?

You ding-bat!

- – –

Written by

‘Alabaster’ Eastman Thune
Former editor of the “Follies and Whatnots” section of the Chicago Inter-Ocean. 



Currently unemployed.

“Alabaster” is known for coining the popular quip:  “An Irishman and
his whiskey are like the Father Sky and his Sun – you are guaranteed
that the latter will show up in the former each day of God’s blessed
week.”

For more on the nature of Ninemen’s Morris, please click *HERE*

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