Sometimes ya just run in to somethin’ and have no choice but to say:
Hate me ‘cuz I made you look at that, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Image via Skull Swap)
Both Jeff and I are modest men and shy away from bragging about our prodigious talents. You may not know this but Jeff can play the entire 1812 Overture from memory on a recorder while simultaneously performing a self-choreographed interpretive dance based loosely on the 1885 World Series. If you haven’t seen him do it, you’re missing out.
Granted, neither one of us had the talent to become professional baseball players which is why we now write about baseball instead. But, that hasn’t stopped us from trying to explore the full range of our abilities.
And, to be honest with you, I felt pretty good about who I am and what I have done with what I was given….until I saw this:
The more I think about it, though, I see this as inspiration. And there’s really no reason to feel threatened. I mean, they may be able to carry a lot of beer and juggle foamy pints but can they do this?
-Video via 9gag
Of course you do.
Because Karrie from Chicago asked us: “So who would win in a fight between you two?” and Mr. Krause’s silly reply was nothing more than a futile exercise of imagination consternation.
“…a fight between me and Jeff ends with two big hits: me hitting him and
him hitting the floor. Boom, ship it!”
Certainly, I could stand my ground and explain to you that I am smarter, stronger and more charming than Mr. Krause, and that all those attributes would be more than enough to outduel him anywhere, anytime. However, I realize there is no way of proving that save kicking his real @s$. Mr. Krause — silly as he is at times — is still my friend, someone I would feel bad about murdering, so let us turn to some more concrete evidence:
Mr. Krause’s Strat-O-Matic card:
2 – Cries
3 – Yells “Mommy!”
4 – Runs away while the theme song to “My Little Pony” plays
5 – Hits self in face, bleeds, spits, passes out
6 – Puts on a dress and calls himself Ellen
7 – Cries, runs away while the theme song to “My Little Pony” plays AND yells “Mommy!”
8 – Dies… but not really
9 – Begs for forgiveness
10 – Sh!ts himself
11 – Puts on lipstick, high heels and sings “Memory” in a pristine falsetto
12 – Takes off his dress, gets on his knees and pleads for mercy…THEN Cries, runs away while the theme song to “My Little Pony” plays AND
Of course, Column 2 and Column 3 of his Strat-O-Matic card are quite similar, so I will refrain from posting the redundancy that is his inability to equal me in a match of pure brawn.
Just like his 2006 Detroit Tigers, Mr. Krause can’t handle my Wainwright-esque curveballs.
Hate me, Al! Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right!
Despite his status as one of the greatest talents of our generation, Alex Rodriguez continuously finds himself in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons. Sometimes it’s a to-do over his stratospheric salary. Occasionally it’s about his dalliances with the ladies. And of course we can’t forget the PEDs.
But if there has been one big knock on A-Rod the last couple years, it’s that he’s “bush-league.”
All competitors have things they do to get into the head of an opponent. But there are some things that are generally frowned on. You don’t purposely take out a guys knees because ending someone’s career is bad form. Unless you’re a professional wrestler, it’s generally considered poor sportsmanship to attack someone outside of the prescribed boundaries of the field of play. And baseball, being full of tradition and history, has many more unwritten rules.
For instance, you don’t yell at a guy when he’s preparing to catch a pop fly. Sure, you can do it and you might throw off his concentration so he drops it. But just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should do it.
Same thing goes with the pitcher’s mound. For a guy who’s out there all alone throwing 100 pitches a game, the mound is a sanctuary. And you don’t run across or through a guy’s sanctuary.
What am I trying to say? Well, let me take a step back and see if I can explain it a little better.
Have you seen the list? If you haven’t, your first step should be to take a look at it. And once you’ve read it and marveled at the unerring 3rd grade wisdom, you’ll realize that there’s one item missing from that list: #91 Bush-league b!tches. Welcome Mr. Rodriguez. Apparently you made the list after all.
Considering the Cardinals just dropped their first series of the year to a splendidly stellar Giants club that miraculously unearthed the early aught version of Barry Zito, I guess you are probably expecting a lament.
I ain’t got it in me.
But I did learn something very valuable over the weekend:
Hate me ‘cuz it’s Monday, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
So who would win in fight between you two? I’m sure this will be
You present an interesting dilemma, Karrie. The twin dynamos behind RSBS don’t really consider themselves individuals so much as a team which renders the question moot. Answering a question like this borders on offensive and is anathema to the RSBS concept. However, I’m going to go ahead with it anyway.
See, Jeff’s Cardinal Yin and my Tiger Yang form a union of sorts not unlike the union you see between baseball’s best batteries. Obviously our respective talents imply that I am the pitcher and Jeff the catcher but that doesn’t mean that he just crouches there as I pound it home. We have our disagreements but there’s an ebb and flow to writing a blog like this that fighting would disrupt.
Even if we were to accept the premise of this hypothetical fight, what would be the terms and how would it be carried out? Is it a war of words in which the winner’s superior intellect would cause the loser to become a dying star eternally folding in on himself? Or is it a physical battle where one person’s physical prowess would force the other into submission, crying out for mercy? A fight can mean many things and without knowing the type of fight, how could I answer?
Perhaps you wonder about a fight regarding our respective loyalties, that is to say that you want to know whose team would win in a pitched battle between the two. The answer throughout history has been a draw which once again makes a response complicated at best. If we were to instead base our judgment merely on the ferocity of the partisans of the teams, neither one of us could hope to claim that title as long as the city of Philadelphia and its psychotic fans exist.
I fear, Karrie, that your question goes further than you had intended, into an existential realm where a seemingly simple query divides and multiplies like a zygote on its path to consciousness. That being said, a fight between me and Jeff ends with two big hits: me hitting him and him hitting the floor.
Boom, ship it!
Jeff & Al
It’s good to see Bud Selig worrying about the important things in the game of baseball. Fix the All-Star Game? Nah. Rehabilitate Pete Rose? Nope. Police managerial fashion? Oh yes.
Now, maybe Selig has a reason for this. Perhaps it’s his version of the “broken windows” policy made famous by Giuliani in NYC. The idea is that if you crack down on the small crimes, the big crimes are less likely happen. But I’m really not sure how telling Joe Maddon that he can’t wear an MLB-branded hoodie would have stopped Mark McGwire from juicing.
It might be something else, something a little more personal. I think it comes down to the age old battle between the cool kids and the nerds. Selig may be rich but you don’t have to look at the two guys for long to figure out who has done better with the ladies. Selig could pass for a Dali painting of Bill Gates. SI’s Peter King apparently favorably compared Maddon to Spencer Tracy. Yeah, those are whole different universes on the looks scale.
So, what do the nerds do when they finally get power? They make the cool kids pay for all their previous infractions. Here’s the train of logic and I think you can agree it makes sense: Selig gets beat up in high school because his face is already getting droopy. 50 years later he sees Joe Maddon, equates him with the kids who beat him up and decides he’s going to finally get his revenge. Selig 1 – Baseball 0
I understand that baseball has to have rules surrounding dress. There needs to be some, uh, uniformity (if you’ll pardon the pun). But if instead of focusing on the much more real issues facing baseball this is where you’re going to fight your battles, you’ve just proven once again how unfit you are for the job Mr. Selig.
For the last man in the universe who still religiously employs the use of both suspenders and shoulder pads, the April 21st edition of the New York Post couldn’t have been too flattering.
Or could it?
Okay, so according to the Post, Larry’s wife (we’ll call her Shawn)* allegedly had an affair with his sons’ little league coach (we’ll call him Hector) but allegedly King — who, by the way, is a rabid Los Angeles Dodgers fan — didn’t really care ‘cuz he was bonin’ Shawn’s sister (we’ll call her Manny)** on the side.
And I must admit, I first heard of this story via that awful fear aggregator also known as The Drudge Report with the headline: “Little League Coach Claims Affair with Larry King’s Wife”.
At first I was really angry with Drudge (which is quite common) because I found that headline to be recklessly damaging to the institution of little league baseball — an institution that made me the sound, boisterous, STUBBORNLY CORRECT individual I am today. I thought, “Oh, okay, now Drudge is attacking little league. Let me at him!”
Until I read the story… and realized that it was little league baseball that brought them together. It brought them all together in one place, to interact, to make whoopie.
And it was at that exact moment that I realized the bar, the club, the beach might not be the ideal place to meet Ms. Right.
So if you need me, I’ll be at a little league ballpark near you hollerin’ at the single moms and estranged wives of the rich and famous.
Don’t worry, Mrs. Kucinich, I got ya on my radar. Muah!
Hate me ‘cuz it’s allowed, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*That’s her real name.
**I meant to write “Shannon” but was too lazy to change it.
I grew up in a very Christian house and I remember being tickled pink whenever one of my sports heroes would thank god after a big win. Every Lions fan knew that Barry Sanders and JC were tight. One of my earliest baseball memories is Frank Tanana on TV thanking the big guy for helping him win the game that clinched the division and got the Tigers into the 1987 ALCS with the Twins.
But I started to wonder a few years ago: How come god plays favorites like that? I mean, why did he help out Tanana that afternoon but then totally leave the Tigers hanging out to dry in the actual playoffs? Were the Twins fans just praying harder?
Finally I realized that it has nothing to do with god at all. If Dave Dravecky and Orel Hershiser, two incredibly (some might say fanatically) devout Christians, pitched against each other, god didn’t magically flip a coin and decide which one of his children would win and which would lose. Either they made their pitches and got run support or they lost.
I guess my point is that I’d like to see us get beyond all of this. Tim Tebow didn’t win a national championship for Florida because Jesus came down and guided his passes. He won because he spent hours on the field and in the weight room preparing for those games. I’m guessing Tanana did the same thing. In fact, if there’s anything that should make you wonder about the possibility of divine intervention, consider David Wells. How that man can launch that girth out of bed every morning, much less throw a perfect game, is the only evidence of miracles that I’ve ever seen.