“This is what happens when you leave home. You meet… people.”
Men, are you moody? Are you out of shape? Do your testicles feel weird? Of course they do. The Astros are leaving the National League and you miss them already.
Ladies, how are you doing? Are you okay? Is that new Lifestyles vibration machine doing enough to distract you from the tragedy of losing the Astros to the evils of the American League?
I understand. The Astros are packing their bags and their Shetland ponies are moving to the coast of west. From the National League to Africa to Turkey all the way to the American League. Don’t they know they’re moving from the farmhouse to the militia camp? They’re going on a pilgrimage, I guess. But, what I really want to know is…
Who’s gonna clean up all this crap when they leave?
This is a great chance for them to leave cornpone Texas all together and get a new start. Why stay in the Orange Juice Box, with that train and that moat? They might as well have a gator pit in left field complete with a Cloverfield monster. And what’s that weird uphill thing they got in centerfield? And what exactly are the Crawford Boxes? And those odd horsey fans who follow caballo Carlos Lee everywhere he goes… are the buzzy bees coming too? And who’s gonna take over the used book sale Drayton McLane held every year to raise money to bring back Roger Clemens?
Meanwhile, on a much sadder note, because of this whole league switch it looks like I’ll have to sell my timeshare in Houston. I’ll definitely miss the hot southern belles who I would lie to my friends about sleeping with when I was actually spending the weekend watching the Cubs.
Good luck, Asteroids. Good night, my friends. It’s off to the west for thee…
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And so in this Podcast brought to you by Lifestyles…
The RSBS crew celebrates its 30th episode by taking a stroll down podcast memory lane, remembering things that busted our (and hopefully your) guts. AIDS salad and Ron Santo’s memory get rehashed while new memories (like gay ponies v. horsicorns, an iguana named Dudley and how you can cure your foot problems) are created! Jump on board the RSBS crazy train! No stops til you question how you spend your free time!
Don’t forget to getcho Crown Royal and enjoy some happy time!
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Recorded Saturday, November 26, 2011
It’s a hard time to be an international baseball player. Of course we all heard about what happened with Wilson Ramos in Venezuela but as harrowing as that experience may have been, at least he came out of it alive. The same can’t be said of Seattle utility outfielder Greg Halman. Not only did he get stabbed to death back home in the Netherlands, it was his own brother who did it.
That being said, it’s a tough time in general internationally. Seif al-Islam Gaddafi went from being the reformed face of the Libyan regime to war criminal faster than you can say…..well, faster than you can say Seif al-Islam Gaddafi. And if you happen to be an Iranian nuclear scientist, it’s probably a good time to up that life insurance policy payout.
Luckily there’s one guy who always knows how to land on his feet. The most interesting man in the world, not content with just having a supermodel personal photographer, also appears to be branching out into the world of medicine:
Mr. Putin, I don’t know how you do it but you always manage to amaze us. You’ve even made dentistry pleasant, if that guy’s smile is any indication.
However there’s one title that even you haven’t managed to claim yet: RSBS‘s biggest fan. There’s still time, though. And as though the title wasn’t enough, you could also win yourself a pair of Oakley’s. C’mon Mr. Putin, show us how it’s done.
I have watched a lot of television. I won’t say that I’m an expert on what makes good TV but, like porn, I know it when I see it. That probably helps explain why things just haven’t been the same since I finished Season 5 of The Wire.
Don’t get me wrong, there are still quality shows out there. AMC’s raft of dramas – Mad Men, Breaking Bad and The Walking Dead – underscore this point and during their best moments, I sometimes forget about the Wire-hole in my heart. But then I see this and it all comes rushing back again:
I think the only event that came close to invoking the same sentiments that the end of The Wire made me feel is when Curtis Granderson left the Tigers for the Yankees. Sure, I didn’t know Granderson personally but it was like I had just lost a friend. The only real difference is that although I’d still love to have Granderson back, it’s good The Wire ended when it did. There’s something to be said for leaving them wanting more.
The Drah-mah in Bahhhh-ston
Leave it to the Red Sox to be all dramatified in the offseason. As if their 2010 free agent signing flop and subsequent September fail-to-the-finish that included video games, fried chicken and an “Adios, Tito!” (let’s leave the beer out of this, shall we?) wasn’t enough drama for one year, they had to go and add to the pile by involving Bobby Valentine in their managerial search. Don’t get me wrong. I love Bobby V and I really hope he gets the job ‘cuz he’s a bad@ss whose mere presence makes the league better (and more entertaining); but he also comes packin’ drama. And the fact that the owners interviewed him before allowing new GM Ben Cherington to have his say suggests that the drama between ownership and the front office will continue to rival that of its on-the-field representation.
Pepper Spray: “It’s a Food Product, Essentially”
Fox News host Megyn Kelly should consider a move to the Food Network. I think spraying Emeril Lagasse with a jumbo-sized canister of pepper spray would add some much needed tension to their programming. And besides, pepper spray is “a food product, essentially”.
At a time when a Lil Wayne-impersonating white dude from Pittsburgh is tops on the music charts — in effect CRUSHING my hope for a revival of real, genuine rap music — I would like to personally thank the Toronto Blue Jays for coming back to earth, for finally being real. When you have a classic look, there’s never a reason to change it. The Yankees have managed this. So have the Cardinals. Sure they update to keep up with trends, but the core design never changes. The Blue Jays had one of the classiest, cleanest, most memorable unis in all of baseball.
And then they changed it all for… black and gray?
It’s good to see them making good decisions again.
We have many reasons to be thankful this time of year. Of course Jeff is still aglow from the Cardinals winning the World Series and I still get a heart flutter when I think back to the final out between the Tigers and Yankees. Add in Verlander’s Cy Young and MVP awards and how could I not be a grateful person?
But more than that, we are thankful for all of our readers who make writing this blog so much fun. And of course, we’d like to show you how grateful we are by sharing our gift from the Pass the Crown contest. If you haven’t already sent a picture to RSBSblog@gmail.com showing why you’re RSBS‘s biggest fan, there’s still time to do so.
Happy Thanksgiving from all of us and please try to stay out of mom’s way unless you know what you’re doing.
Throw the Spaghetti in the Machine.
I’m a burning bush. I’m a wildfire. I’m singing in the rain and dancing again. Like Tim Tebow, I have a big god. BIGGER THAN ZEUS. I can put away my Club Confidential and stop pleasuring myself while crying. My iguana, Dudley, is beside himself too. We’re throwing confetti on each other, plowing through our best box of wine and eating marshmallows off the floor. For at least one week we’ll stop throwing flares at cars, getting arrested on our skateboards and falling asleep in alleys.
Because, for once, baseball took an unconventional route and picked fire-fire -flame-flame tapdancing bad@ss Justin Verlander as MVP. When we lost Buster Posey early in the season, Dudley and I had to act fast to find a baller we could have an unhealthy OBSESSION over; and Justin was our guy. He was the Hannibal Lecter to our Clarice. We even bought a special chianti.Dudley and I rarely missed a Verlander start. In between great Chrysler ads, he sat on my lap as we watched the Motown hero pitch deep into games, mystifying hitters, dropping jaws like change-ups. He was like Fast Eddie Felson in The Hustler when he came back to take down Minnesota Fats. Nailed every rail. Hit every spot. Geometry and speed to perfection. (Fitting that Minnesota is in the AL Central too. See what I did there?)
It would have been easy to pick an everyday player like Granderson or Ellsbury. Sure, they had splendid seasons. But this was the year where a starter — the first since Roger Clemens — gave everything needed and CARRIED a team to the playoffs.
While defense in football can be boring, pitching and defense in baseball… I LIVE FOR IT. I wasn’t around for Bob Gibson and Sandy Koufax. Wasn’t alive yet. But I love when the game offers pitchers whose starts you just can’t miss. When Pedro Martinez was in his prime I would’ve rather eaten my dinner off a urinal than miss a start.
And for next year? I’m looking at you, Stephen Strasburg. Throw the spaghetti in the machine and eat the children…
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When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the small minded bands that kept them from voting the same superhuman as both Cy Young winner and MVP, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.
Admit it. It may be Monday, but your mind is already on Thursday — Thanksgiving — the one day of the year where your sole responsibility is to eat yourself into a coma, sprawl out on the couch and watch football for 7 hours while catnapping as necessary.
You get all of that for the small price of being thankful.
And what do I have to be thankful for this year?
I’m thankful for the 2011 Cardinals. For the second time in six years I’m bragging about being a champion. And I got to be a part of it by going to the first two games. HOT DANG!
I’m thankful that, as always, whenever the Cubs triumph (Theo) they also manage to fail (Zambrano).
I’m thankful that Rick Perry has disappointed, that Herman Cain has self-destructed and Sarah Palin has invisiblized.
I’m thankful that I think I can get away with making up words.
But most of all, I’m thankful that I’ve never been punched by Mike Tyson.
Happy Thanksgiving Week Monday!