March 2010
The Filibuster
Have any financial advice for Lenny Dykstra? LOL.
Mick G.
Ft. Wayne, IN
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You know Mick, that’s a really good question. And to tell you the truth, yeah, I do have some advice for Lenny. But before we get to that, let me point something out. You would have to be crazy to take any kind of financial advice from us so who in their right mind gets it from a guy like Lenny Dykstra? That’s like taking diet advice from John Kruk.
But, despite the sad truth in that statement, Lenny thought he heard a voice crying out for advice a couple years ago and answered by launching a magazine. Not just any magazine, either. Seemingly inspired by Ice Cube’s 1998 film classic, Dykstra decided to call his rag “The Player’s Club,” an interesting name for a magazine purporting to dispense financial advice to professional athletes.
So, how did that work out? Let’s turn to AdWeek for an initial assessment: “Heading into a recession, with print advertising nearly universally in the toilet, it’s an interesting time to start a magazine.” Hm, that doesn’t sound promising.
But hey, who knows. Maybe it got off to a fast start and then picked up steam. What do you think, Forbes? “By the time the first issue hit clubhouses and locker rooms, Dykstra was already in litigation with Doubledown, suing for breach of contract after the company withheld the second issue for lack of payments.” Oh boy. That doesn’t sound good.
It’s still possible that it got better after a rocky start, right? Take it away, Deadspin: “Dykstra recently used his mother’s credit card to charge $23,000 to order to charter a plane ride back to his home in California from Cleveland. She has not been paid back.” Ouch, Lenny. Your own mother?
But even this isn’t enough for Mr. Dykstra. There’s no way that this is his fault. Not the magazine, not his repossessed private jet. And definitely not his default on a 17.4 million dollar loan used to purchase Wayne Gretzky’s house.
How about if we let Jon Stewart explain the situation a little further:
I think that pretty much sums it up. So, here’s my advice to Lenny. Stop. Just stop. And for the love of god, man, pay your freakin’ mother back.
-A
***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.
***Edible body paint, preferably in conjunction with Lindsey Vonn, also welcome.
Yak Away with RSBS… on Yakcy!
Former MLB Network anchor and the new voice of Los Angels de Los Angeles de Anaheim, Victor Rojas, has launched a new social sports media site called Yakcy. Mingle with like minded baseball nerds like us during the big game, challenge your rival fans, tell the NBA what you really think of it… all on Yakcy.
In fact, Jeff is probably there right now… verbally dueling with a Cubs fan.
Like the Bible* says: “A Redibird loyalist’s work is never done.”
Yak away!
*The Bible doesn’t say that.
Different Bib, Same Baby
Remember when you were an adolescent and all the problems in your life were someone else’s fault? Remember when the entire world revolved around you and your desires and everyone else could kiss off? Remember when you spent more time and energy whining and complaining than actually participating in the betterment of the world around you?
Yeah.
Well some people don’t ever grow out of that.
Dear readers, you know how I feel about the huff-and-puff man-child Milton Bradley. He’s a waste of talent, an infectious disease, a massive weight on the hopes and dreams of aspiring baseball clubs.
And he just doesn’t get it.
From spinning make-believe stories about Chicago’s evil, racist fan base to bad-mouthing Sweet Lou for something that took place 10 months ago to constantly forgetting how many outs there are in any given frame, Milton Bradley is the ultimate poster child for what is wrong with sports in the 21st century.
Me, me, me, me, me, whaa whaa whaa, me, me, me, me, me!!!
SHUT… THE… ****… UP.
Please.
If I were Don Wakamatsu, here is the one thing I would say to this embarrassment of a professional athlete:
“Don’t say a friggin’ word. And don’t make your customary grimacing faces, don’t stare down umps, don’t do anything but play baseball all season long. If you break these rules, you’re gone. No questions. Gone. Outta here. See ya. Go away. Never come back.”
And no, I wouldn’t care how much money I had to pay him to leave.
In an era where seemingly nothing is certain, the one thing that can be counted on is that Milton Bradley will destroy his own team. He has proved it over and over again throughout his entire career.
And to be quite honest, he makes me want to throw-up.
So don’t hate me (yeah, I mean you, Milton), because I’m right.
Peace,
Jeff
RSBS Presents: Chili
No, not that Chili. We’re talking about the kind of chili you cook up for days on end, taking care to add the right ingredients at the right time and ideally avoiding anything too explosive. Come to think of it, it’s kind of like the cooking that large swaths of the Midwest are doing right now even if the end result is probably a bit different.
To get back to the point, though, there’s a reason why chili topped anything is the choice of single men everywhere during the long cold winter months. It’s a delicious yet foul concoction that does damage at every point of the process of consumption. And if the sheer scatology of it all wasn’t enough, nothing brings men and sports together in awe-inspiring and death defying ways quite like chili.
Chili comes in many wonderful styles and, as a service to our loyal readers on this Friday afternoon, we here at RSBS want to highlight some of the more delectable forms that chili can take, especially at the ballpark. So come with us on a cayenne and tabasco infused journey deep inside a supernova of flavor.
The Classic Bowl of Chili
You don’t see a whole lot of this these days and it makes sense. If you’re jumping out of a small seat in a narrow space to cheer, you don’t really want to be dealing with a big ol’ bowl of chili. But under more sedate circumstances, nothing warms you up during early or late season games quite like a healthy helping of spicy chili.
The Chili Dog
Like a bowl of chili, the chili dog is also a classic. It makes sense, too. A hot dog is pretty close to perfection so if you’re going to do anything with it, you better make sure it’s good. A healthy helping of chili on top? Yep, that’s good. In fact, it probably would have been the end of the list except for one minor detail….
Chili Cheese Fries
There are a lot of things the Washington Nationals do wrong. But there is one thing they do very right. And that is letting Ben’s Chili Bowl serve up its wares inside the confines of their ballpark. Nationals are losing again? Doesn’t matter, I’ve got an order of chili cheese fries. Nationals misspelled their own names on their jerseys? Guess I should have another. However, there is still one step left to be taken to the pinnacle of chili evolution….
The Chili Cheese Half Smoke
As good as Ben’s chili cheese fries may be, the half smoke smothered in cheese and topped with chili represents a dimension of chili spectacularity all it’s own. Yes, that’s right. I’m making up words just to describe its scrumptatiousness. I don’t ask you to take my word for it. I just ask that you try it out for yourself if you’re ever in the DC area and see if I’m on to something. You won’t be disappointed.
-A
Imagine the Impossible
It has been well over a month since I first saw this doctored picture of Derek Jeter in a Red Sox uni, created and posted by Homer at We’re Talkin’ Homer, Blue Jays and MLB; but the damaging affects continue to haunt me today.
And I don’t even like the Yankees.
I know Brian Cashman is staying true to his hardline of not negotiating contracts during the season, but as long as Jeter isn’t guaranteed to be a Pinstriper next year, I am going to have to go to sleep each night knowing that the possibility he will be something else in 2011 still exists…
…and for a baseball purist like myself (bring back the wool uniforms, please) that is just unacceptable.
He’s Derek Friggin’ Jeter, Mr. Cashman. Not Posada. Not Mo. Jeter. The dude walks on water… and uses TWO HANDS!
So go ahead and hate me ‘cuz I appear to empathize with Yankees fans (in this situation and this situation only); just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Because I am.
Peace,
Jeff
The Luck of the Irish
Today we drunkenly celebrate Irish heritage by doing what the Irish do better than most: getting drunk. And we here at RSBS want to do our part to aid in the celebration. Since we can’t serve up Irish Car Bombs via the internet, we figured we would instead present a rousing tribute to Irish baseball players. Until we made a not entirely unexpected discovery. There really aren’t any.
Sure, guys like Fancy O’Neil and Cyclone Ryan may have played at one time. And if you include players with Irish last names, the list is a little longer. There are even some impressive names on there, like Nolan Ryan, for instance.
But, it appears baseball just isn’t what gets the Irish going. It’s probably hard to follow all the rules when you’re on your tenth Guinness anyway.
Instead, we’ll salute Ireland the same way we did last year. Take it away, Swedish Chef!
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
-A
Buster Olney? More Like Busted Phony
Believe me, dear readers, I didn’t want go here today… I didn’t want to appear like I was lending credence to another crackpot theory by actually addressing said crackpot theory. But the internets are a buzzin’ and the pressure from RSBS fans to address the situation is too great.
So, consider this sharp tongue released…
Yesterday, I first learned of ESPN shoe-licking savant Buster Olney’s egregious aspiration to be donned the worldwide leader of make-believe (specifically, a fantasyland where the Cardinals and Phillies swap Albert Pujols for Ryan Howard) by reading the Prince of New York’s take.
He speaks for me.
And he is right.
Why does Buster Olney have a job?
Seriously, this is no joking matter — especially considering the faux affection thrown Olney’s way every time he enters a baseball conversation, whether on t.v., radio or print.
Indeed, Olney’s actions are akin to me walking into an evangelical church yelling “the rapture’s coming, the rapture’s coming, the rapture’s coming!” just because I think it’d be funny to see how people react. (PS, the rapture is not coming… because it’s ludicrous.)
It is akin to a doctor telling a perfectly healthy pregnant woman that her baby is dead — even though it isn’t — just to get an interesting conversation going… y’know, a good old conversation about what it’d be like if her baby were dead.
It’s blasphemy. It’s conjecture. It’s unfounded (even though he says it isn’t).
Not even Carlos Zambrano would say something that stupid. (*I reserve the right to change my mind about this one*)
For me, the desire to continue down this ranting road is strong… but I leave it to my man-crush, Albert the Machine himself, to quash this unfettered anger by saying:
“There’s people, stupid, that like to write something when it’s not the
truth, and that’s all I have to say about that.”
Dagnabbin’ right, A.P.
Buster? Eat a big Phillie phat one.
And don’t hate me… ‘cuz I’m right.
Peace,
Jeff
(*Link to article with Albert’s quote*)
Throw the Bums Out
Sports networks love days like yesterday. As the conference championships finish up, the guess work kicks into overdrive. Who will be the top seeds? Who are the first four out? Who’s on the bubble? And is this finally the year when a 16 seed takes down a 1?
I’ve got nothing to add to this debate since my knowledge of NCAA basketball this year is pretty much limited to random John Wall highlights. And it’s still a little too early to start the baseball playoffs debate so that’s going to have to wait a couple more months. However, there is another debate I feel more than qualified to weigh in on. Which baseball player, current or former, is the biggest jack-hole?
More than a few players qualify for spots in this debate. I’m sure I’ll hear from people claiming a place for AJ Pierzynski. Curt Schilling and John Rocker probably have legitimate claims, too. However, I’m going to go with three who merit special consideration. Let the debate begin!
Ty Cobb
I love the Tigers despite recent disparaging commentary about my fandom. But the fact of the matter remains, if you want to talk about all time bad guys, the Georgia Peach has to top the list. I’m pretty sure he’s not even really dead but was instead secretly recruited by satan to stalk the earth, invisibly sliding in, cleats up, attempting to destroy the shins and ACLs of unaware people all over the world.
Barry Bonds
Barry, you may have the homerun record but you’re a stinking cheat and that’s how people are going to remember you. I’m sure I’m not alone in saying that I would like to punch you in your over sized head.
Jim Bunning
Former Tigers appear over-represented in this short list but there’s no way to pass up the senator from Kentucky. I understand his point in saying that the senate should have found a way to pay for unemployment benefits before passing the bill. But there are good and bad times to suddenly have an attack of principle. The middle of winter when people are out of work probably counts as a bad time.
Despite these guys’ well-earned reputations, there are still legions of fans who adore them. But there are also those who want to see them get some comeuppance. Ty and Jim are already in the Hall and like it or not, Barry will probably end up there one day also. That doesn’t mean we have to sit idly by and accept it, though. Just ask these guys.
-A
The Filibuster
You guys talk a lot about baseball and politics. What do you think
will happen first, national health care or the Pirates having a winning
season?
Beth
Allentown, PA
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Eureka! This is proof that dear readers galore are finally playing to our strengths here at RSBS, so even if your baseball team (or your government) does fail you, know that RSBS will always have your back (unless we’re busy doing something else, of course). I, personally, love taking below-the-belt hacks at the lowly likes of Pittsburgh’s not-so-finest, so I am delighted that our friend Beth here from Allentown, PA was willing to groove one right down the middle, in my proverbial wheelhouse.
Because this one is almost too easy:
We, the people of US America, will most certainly have a nationwide public option health care system set up before we ever see the Pittsburgh Pirates finish a season with a winning record.
Sorry, folks, but it’s just true.
Have you been paying attention to what the Bucs have been doing the last ten years?
No, of course not. Why would you?
I assure you, dear readers, no other team relishes in arbitrary head scratching more than the Pittsburgh Pirates — a team caught in the perennial chaos of “rebuilding” — a rebuilding that is always abandoned before any plus remnants of said rebuilding can be seen, only to be followed up with more rebuilding in moves that still don’t make sense.
Here is but a shortlist of brain-busting Bucco moves from recent memory:
- Signing Akinori Iwamura
- Dumping Nate McClouth (they did get McCutchen up quick because of this deal, but look for them to screw this up too)
- The Aramis Ramirez & Kenny Lofton for Bobby Hill, Jose Hernandez and Matt Bruback trade
- Drafting Bryan Bullington and passing on Prince Fielder, BJ Upton and Scott Kazmir
- Signing Derek Bell
- Paying Jason Kendall $10 million a year for SIX YEARS!
- Signing Raul Mondesi
- Drafting John Van Benschoten over David Wright
- Cutting Bronson Arroyo
- Picking up Matt Morris’ contract (worth $13 million)
This is just an abbreviated list; the full record of crimes against baseball committed by the Pirates’ front office are too many to present here. But I can tell you this: it will take an awful long time before such atrocities are remedied with the results of a winning season. I have no doubt about that.
But what about national health care, you ask? House Leader Nancy Pelosi says lawmakers are on the “verge of making history” with the strong possibility of a public option becoming a reality… very soon. Of course, they don’t say when, or how, considering the staunch stance of Republicans and soft Democrats blocking the way. So what are we supposed to make of this?
Look, I admit, the Democratic party has certainly had its share of Pittsburgh Pirate-like moments over the years. How else can one explain the incompetence of John Kerry and the loss of Ted Kennedy’s senate seat? But that doesn’t mean all hope is gone. Behind this political push to join the rest of civilized nations we do have a clear and just motive:
To stop penalizing people for getting sick.
As long as this continues to happen, I have a hard time believing in my country. This was my main concern when I went to the polls in 2008. The Obama Administration — while obviously not gifted with super powers like election propaganda may have led us to believe — has tackled this issue and tackled it hard.
And it can only get better from here… I think.
So hate me ‘cuz I still tout liberal ideals, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right about the Pirates continuing to suck.
Peace,
Jeff
(Image courtesy of Rum Bunter)
***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.
***Promotional materials relating to the Official Church of Pujols also welcome.
The Fickle Hands of Time
I hate changing to Daylight Savings Time. Yes, it ostensibly gives
me an extra hour of sunlight every day but losing an hour of sleep the day
it happens throws me off for more time than I earn back. I’m a simple
man. I like the hands on my clock to move a minute at a time, not swallow
up entire hours in a single bound.
Where is the sense in this anyway? Look at it this way.
A baseball game scheduled to start at one PM now starts at one PM Daylight Savings
Time. That means noon regular time. So, because of your ridiculous
need to include an extra hour of sunlight in the day, I’m sitting in the blazing sun as
it reaches its apex leading to a sunburn several shades brighter than it needed
to be.
There is only one reason I should have a sunburn. And
that’s because I’m on a boat:
Daylight Savings Time, consider this me putting you on notice.
-A
Red State Blue State
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