Yes, the sky is falling.  Pitcher Micah Owings pinch-hit a dramatic, game-tying homerun; Reverend Wright seems determined to ruin his own agenda and the agenda of Hope politicians en masse; Ronny Cedeno joined Ryan Dempster in predicting a World Series appearance for the sCrUBS; Hillary is still in the race; Roger Clemens can't get away from his tainted past; Bill O'Reilly is still on the air; the Cardinals -- winners of an NL best 10 World Series championships -- have won more games in April (18) than they have in any season previous and the media still ignores them; I have watched An Inconvenient Truth five times this week; Albert Pujols has reached base in every game so far this season -- every game; and my MLBlog partner Allen Krause -- a future ambassador for US Americans to the world -- wrote something that the most seasoned grammarian could not even begin to understand: 

"The closest thing I could come up with is that the enemy of the enemy of my friend is my friend. But, that's a pretty tenuous connection."
-- The Enemy of the Enemy of My Friend? April 29, 2008

Tenuous?  Maybe, if we could understand it.  Enemy of the enemy of my friend?  You were watching a Cubs/Nats game.  There was only one enemy (Cubs) of your friend (Me).  The enemy of the enemy of your friend would be the Cardinals?  But they weren't even playing.  The enemy of the enemy of your friend is your friend?  Is this the type of head-spinning verbal ping-pongy misspeak my taxes are paying to teach you?  Just for that, they should give me a $600 refund every year.

So since you brought it up, Al (or at least it I think you did), let me talk about the Cubs for a second.  Please know that my purpose is not to turn Red State Blue State into an all-out Cub-bashing forum.  I am smart enough (see Fulbright Scholar for more info) to realize that the Cubs have put together a solid team this year.  But for Sports Illustrated editors to plaster "It's Gonna Happen" on the cover and a tag line that says: "Fukudome can end the 100-year wait"? 

Excuse me while I go puke.

Fukudome can do it?  Really?  All by himself?  He's the key?  Really?  What about shoddy defense and crappy pitching?  That's what usually loses it for the Cubs.  They've been fielding big bats for a long time.  Lee, Ramirez, Soriano.  How is Fukudome going to come in and save a bullpen infamous for choking late in the game?  How is Fukudome going to stop some guy in the left field line seats from going for a foul-ball?  How will he then stop the lynching by drunken crazies?  Fukudome isn't the answer and he never has been. 

And oh yeah, we're only at the end of April, and the Cubs aren't the best team in baseball right now so let's start talking about them winning a World Series already.  Yeah, that'd be prudent.  Put it on the front page of a sports authority magazine and PRINT IT! 

Unbelievable.

Even more unbelievable is the fact that Chicago Tribune writer Rick Morrissey finally acknowledged that Cub fans might just be as obnoxious as everyone knows they are in this titillating article.  My favorite part is where Morrissey says: "It's not always the family atmosphere the organization says it seeks."

Really?  You mean cornering a guy wearing the opposing team's jersey in the bathroom and bashing his head on a urinal isn't what the organization seeks?  You mean Cub fans jumping the wall to attack their own pitchers isn't desirable?  What about throwing beer bottles at right fielders?  Is that conducive to a family environment?  Thank the gods someone in Chicago (other than me -- who can admittedly be a bit overbearing at times) recognizes the ridiculous frat party that Wrigleyville becomes during games.  I mean, these are the same family-focussed folks who brought us the "Cuck the Fardinals" t-shirts that show a Cubby bear performing sodomy on a redbird as well as the more recent Fukudome shirts that present a slant eyed Cubby bear donning Haray Caray glasses shouting "Horry Kow".  Wow.  What a nice way to welcome the man who you say is going to "end the 100-year wait". 

Yes.  Nothing says 'I love you' like racism. 

Don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.  Especially on this one.

Peace,

Jeffy

Sunday afternoon I had my first opportunity to hit the ballpark, soak up some rays, drink a few beers and enjoy watching the Nats as they entertained the visiting Cubs. However, as they say, sometimes the best laid plans of mice and men.....

Turns out that after a week of ridiculous heat and asthma inducing humidity, the weather gods decided to turn things on their head a little bit and go more for the mid-50's with mist sort of atmosphere. And I'm not going to lie. When you're sitting in the upper upper deck, way out in left field and that wind starts to blow off the Potomac, it ain't pretty. And it wasn't. But, I'm a trooper so I got decked out in my Sunday finest and headed for Nationals Park.

What can I say? It's a new-fangled ballpark. They serve mixed drinks, they have Ben's Chili Bowl and the seats aren't too nasty yet. The game was a close-fought contest and the Nats prevailed. There were a couple of spectacular plays by Reed Johnson of the Cubs in centerfield and Ryan Zimmerman of the Nats at third.

But in the end, although I love visiting new parks, there's really only one place that I consider home when it comes to watching baseball: Comerica Park. And yes, I know it's new and I know it replaced Tiger's Stadium which was a classic old ballpark. But you know what? When it comes to the Tigers, I don't think they can do any wrong. This is a team that made me accept Gary Sheffield as one of our own despite the fact that I still picture him in Yankee pinstripes. And I just don't have anything close to that affinity for either the Cubs or the Nats. The closest thing I could come up with is that the enemy of the enemy of my friend is my friend. But, that's a pretty tenuous connection.

So, as it stands, I'm just going to have to sit tight and enjoy baseball as I can. But don't worry. The Tigers come to Baltimore in July and I haven't been to Camden Yards yet. The Olde English "D" will be flying free in the Chesapeake Bay breezes. Of that you can be sure.

-A

Poor Barry Zito.  People are really tearing him apart -- as is expected because he has been awful -- but sometimes the human in me can't help but empathize.  Despite my sympathies, Bochy's plan is to yank him from the rotation and send him to the bullpen so he can 'work things out'.

If I'm Barry Zito, I'm loving this. 

How great would it be if I went to work tomorrow and my boss said: "Jeff, you're doing a lousy job, so we're going to allow you to not work so hard, lighten your stress, workload, etc. so you only have to work every couple of days or so in non-pressure situations.  Oh, and don't worry, we'll still pay you the salary you get paid now."

Eureka!  Sign me up, Boss!  I'll show up and sit on my ^ss for the first two thirds of the work day, practice making shaving cream pies and chew on sunflower seeds.  Just holler when you need me and make sure that the money is still in the bank. 

Yes, I'm being silly.  I know that Zito probably hates Zito's performance more than anyone else ever could.  But honestly, I wish things were so "awful" in my life that I got a guaranteed 100 million dollars coming my way whether I do good work ever again or not. 

Though I previously alluded to a theory that Zito's poor performance is perhaps rooted in his propensity for courting high-profile, high-maintenance divas, I am beginning to wonder if this isn't just another deserved consequence of dealing with the Devil himself (in this case, the Devil is Scott Boras, not Ann Coulter, though she is still the Devil too).  Seven years and $126 million?  That's a lot of dough.  Yet Major League teams are still willing to take on (and pay for) the inherent risks associated with any Scott Boras deal.  The J.D. Drews, Adrian Beltres and Carlos Beltrans of the world have been laughing all the way to the bank while not really living up to expectations, or their contracts.  So it seems that Zito may just be another chapter in this ongoing saga of moral quandaries teams face when dealing with the Devil.  I wonder if Boras represents Chinese speaking white dudes with an affinity for Asian antiquities?

On a lighter note, to quell the idea that I am a blatant misogynist proposed by a recent nameless commenter on a previous post, let me just say that, for me, it was hard not to notice that Zito's troubles started shortly after his frolic with Lizzie McGuire.  I'm a guy.  I analyze.  That's what I do.  And, generally speaking, I'm arrogant, but not rude.  I love my mother and enjoy spraying women's perfume in department stores when no one is looking.  So sue me.    

To prove that I am indeed a fun-filled philogynist at heart, I have included some lovely pictures of Barry's most famously attractive paramours.  It's hard to argue with beauty -- or attitude.
















While it's great fun and all, looking at these pretty ladies forces me to face a moral quandary of my own; therefore, I will say goodbye, for now, so I can come to terms with the situation.  In the meantime, please don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

"At what point in the season will you cry hardest: when the Cubs win the NL Central or when the Cards are mathematically eliminated from the playoffs? And which brand of tissue will you use to wipe your nose?"

-- Allen

                                                                                        

Such a pleasant surprise to see you stretch those muscles of intelligentsia by presenting me with such a highly researched question of moronic proportion, Mr. Krause.  Though I am not immune to dodging your loquacious prods that are ultimately meant to force my hand into an all-out rant with repercussions that would probably get me into a lot of trouble, in this particular case, I am inclined to take the high road and make you look like an idiot.  But since you're already an idiot, my job is just that much simpler.

Due to the fact that the foundation of your question is completely erroneous in itself, let me address it by quoting the infamous Jimmy Dugan:

"There's no crying!  THERE'S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!"

So there, Al.  Now that you know there is no crying in baseball, you know I won't be crying about anything.  But -- and let's just say I'm entertaining your idiocy here -- even if there was such a thing as 'crying in baseball', what in the world makes you think I would have anything to cry about?  Would I cry about a team that has already surpassed the expectations of every single baseball-follower on the planet?  A team that boasts a record of 16 wins, a half game out of first place as we come to the end of April?  A team that presents a spring of young, exciting, homegrown talent with names like Brendan Ryan, Skip Schumaker and Colby Rasmus?  A team that has arguably the best player in the entire game in A.P.?  A team that has won with a no-name starting rotation (ironically) named Wainwright, Lohse, Wellemeyer, Looper and Pineiro/Thompson?  A team that is a perennial contender?  A team that manufactures wins where other teams (i.e. the Tigers) just kind of give up after they find themselves down?  Yeah (*cue the sarcasm), I'm extremely disappointed in this team's performance thus far.  Yeah, I'm real upset that we're winning without a lineup full of underachieving, overpaid superstars and a pitching staff more volatile than nuclear fission who collectively find themselves at the bottom of the AL Central.  Yeah, I'm real upset about that.

And you're asking me -- in April -- which event(s) that may or may not happen in October are going to make me cry harder?  Ridiculous.  Absolutely ridiculous.  October is the furthest thing from my mind right now and you shouldn't even think about it at all because you'll just be setting yourself up for disappointment.  That's right, Mr. Krause.  What I'm more worried about is whether or not you'll become suicidal when my prediction of the Tigers missing the playoffs all together comes to fruition (and it will, so start the Paxil cycle now).  In fact, Al, you have a lot of nerve asking me such a question when your team can't seem to figure themselves out while the Sox continue to win and C.C. and the Tribe find their old game.  Hockeytown has never seen such implosion -- oh wait, yes they have (see the 2006 WS or any of their 100 loss seasons for more information).

What kind of tissue will I use?  Come on, Al, you're starting to sound like a Cub fan.  Really.  Next thing I know, you'll be creating racially insensitive t-shirts and selling them on the streets, getting drunk at 11 a.m., and knocking over little kids and their dreams to get your hands on a foul ball. 

Besides, real men don't use tissue.  They use their sleeves.

Don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

**Click here for the Jason Grilli ERA Watch Update. The Italian Stallion's back in the ring!

Despite any protestation that Mr. Lung may have to the contrary, I have always been and always will be a one team man. My team has always been the Detroit Tigers and always will be the Detroit Tigers. Granted, they could shake my faith by trading for A-Rod or by signing Barry Bonds but even in those extreme cases, I will still find a way to love and stand by my team. And this is why I don't support Hillary Clinton or Bill Richardson.

The other day as I sat checking my email, my muse (no, not Jeff) sent me a link to an interesting article. As I relished the thought of a Chavez-Richardson brouhaha, I remembered an airing of Meet the Press from earlier this year where Gov. Richardson tried to explain how he could be both a Yankees and a Red Sox fan. Now, although I realize that only a man who could try to logically justify the dialectical tension of simultaneously supporting the Red Sox and the Yankees could possibly have a chance at outwitting Senor Presidente himself, I myself am not so skilled as to be able to champion two forces so in opposition to each other. Perhaps I am just a simple man but I feel that truly supporting any team but the Tigers is a moral quandary to which I simply cannot subject myself.

Likewise, when the junior senator from the great state of New York claimed to equally support the Cubs and the Yankees, I failed to understand how this was possible. How can one person cheer for both the ultimate loser and the ultimate bully at the same time? It once again defies logic and leads to a moral quandary beyond the realm of my rationale.

However, my choice crystallized soon thereafter and as the baseball and campaign seasons rev up into full swing, I find solace in knowing that are still people out there who think like we do. There are people like my friend Jeff who will support the Cardinals even when they have dopers of historic proportions enshrined in their hallowed halls. There are people like myself who still love the Tigers despite their embrace of small-minded, bigoted, dirt base-stealers. And there are politicians who realize that you can't have it boths ways and to truly support the people, you have to make decisions like the people. And that is one of the many reasons that I whole-heartedly support Barack Obama. He may be a fan of the White Sox, a team that holds dear a man who conspired to throw the event we hold most sacred, the World Series. But, he made that decision and refuses the moral quandary. That, my friends, is a leader.

-A

As Allen's moral quandary comes to a close, I am left in a somewhat reflective mood.  His terse analysis of the character of Chicagoans was not only a fierce example of absolutism, but it was also a plain indicator of why he is so bitter and jaded towards life in general.  Having grown up in a small no-name Michigan town, then spending several soul-searching years in France, Chicago, Cameroon and New York City, it is no wonder why he knows not the real nature of his being -- except that it exists, even if just barely.  The Truth is, Allen Krause lives a pretty good life (obviously, otherwise he'd post more often) and yet he chooses to complain about it.  In reality, Allen's life could be much worse.

He could be me for example.

Indeed, my life has been tough this week.  My city was flooded by the gangs of New York, Hillary left Pennsylvania as victor, the Cubs have been on a tear, the Cardinals pitching staff has been showing weakness, the Sox haven't been able to outslug the Evil Empire and the Reds hired Walt Jocketty, whom I once wanted to honor by naming my first born (boy or girl) after him.  Oh, and I should probably also mention that I haven't been on a date since September.

Sure, it would be real easy for me to slip into the cesspool of sympathy-seeking sadness while feeling sorry for myself.  It would be real easy for me to put my teeth on a curb and ask an innocent bystander to stomp on the back of my skull.  But no.  No!  I am a U.S. American.  And one of the fundamental principles of our country -- what makes this nation stand out among the rest -- is our individual freedom of choice.  Yes, that's right, folks.  I have a choice: hate life or live life.  And who better to sum up American idealism than English gentleman and poet George Eliot (1819 - 1880) who said:

"The strongest principle of growth lies in human choice."

I choose to choose.  I choose to grow.  I choose to make Mike's Hard Lemonade out of the tree of lemons in my front yard.  I choose to analyze, scrutinize and ultimately pursue the right path.  But beware... many a moral quandary and philosophical pitfall await the anxious do-gooder.  And bad things happen to those who screw up (just ask the gatekeeper at Wrigley who wouldn't let the goat in to see the game). 

Mirror my example and take heed, for these choices were not easy to make:

Erin Andrews and ESPN or Kerry Sayers and Comcast Sportsnet:

Hmm.  Watch the world-class ESPN broadcast featuring the hottest woman in baseball or Hawk and DJ rehash the 'glory days' on CSN with mojo buzzkiller Kerry Sayers.  These are the choices I thought I would have when preparing to watch Wendesday night's broadcast of the Yankees versus the White Sox.  The Baseball Tonight teaser featuring Erin licking her lips and winking at me through the tube made it an easy choice; but DirectTV took the choice out of my hands and blacked out the ESPN broadcast.  I wrote my congressman and he assured me he would do absolutely nothing about it.  At least I wrote my congressman.




Write an Exposé on the Greatness that is Evan Longoria or the Greatness that is Eva Longoria:

I know, I know, seems like a tired joke already.  It's not.  This, like farts, will always be funny.   Longoria is a great future star who will be a staple of all my fantasy teams.  Respectively, Longoria is a great star who will be a future staple of all my fantasies.  Longoria is not just great, Longoria is perfect and Longoria is awesome and Longoria is the epicenter of my earthquake, the eye of my storm, the cow in my tornado.

Ah, Longoria.  Longoria Longoria Longoria.  Longoria Longing Longoria Longoria Long Longoria Lung... Eva Longoria-Lung.

Eva Longoria-Lung.

Mrs. Eva Longoria-Lung.

Nice.


Lead a Life of Fame or Lead a Life of Obscurity:

Now that the press has relaxed its death grip on my every move in favor of reporting on a much more successful, more "professional" MLBlog from a more attractive, more "informed" writer (Alyssa Milano) I have resorted back to the mundane existence I once lived.  Oh sure, the paparazzi on the 62/Archer bus can still be a pain and yes, I can't get into US Cellular Field without signing an autograph or three, but when we come right down to it: I am of the People.  Though my success has avalanched in recent weeks, I must keep a humble heart and leave such pompous and pedantic acts to my colleague/opponent, Mr. Allen Krause.  For I know what victory tastes like and my reservations will ultimately prove me to be the bigger man. 

I choose to sit on the couch, watch some ball and feel damn good about it.

Don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

It's strangely fitting that the Yankees and Mets are both in Chicago at the same time because it leads me to a subject near and dear to my heart. And that is my distaste for both New York sporting organizations as well as those of the Second City. Now, NYC is easy to dislike, especially since cheering for the Yankees is like cheering for Ivan Drago in Rocky IV. And the Mets, those once lovable losers, have now become the "it" team in the NL with their gaudy payroll and Johan Santana.

I once found a place in my heart for the Windy City but I have since realized that the inferiority complex worn proudly on the sleeve of all of its denizens is the ultimate turnoff. Yeah, Chicago is fun to visit and has some great history but ultimately, cheering for that town is like cheering for Kevin McAllister in the Home Alone movies. At first you like to see the little kid giving it to the bad guys but in the end you just wish he'd shut up so you didn't have to hear that whiny, nasally voice. I mean, I still remember native Chicagoans talking on September 12, 2001, about how another plane was headed for the Sears Tower but had turned away. Seriously. What kind of a town has such an inferiority complex that they wish an attack on themselves?

So, I find myself in a bit of a pickle. Who would I cheer for in these two series? On the one hand, I can't cheer for the Evil Empire, senior or junior. But, how do I cheer for the Tigers' division rival or the team that singlehandedly defines everything that is wrong with Chicago?

Luckily, the baseball season moves quickly and the Mets have already moved on to our nation's capitol where they do battle with the mighty Nationals. And I no longer have to deal with any sort of moral quandary. Now I can just go back to wondering how it all went so wrong for the Tigers.

-A

New Yorkers flooded the city today as the Cubs played host to the Mets up north and the White Sox welcomed the Evil Empire to the Southside.  This sudden influx of visitors was obvious as Mets fans and Yankees fans could be seen throughout the city stealing our cabs, spitting on our trains and jaywalking across major thoroughfares.  As a friendly gesture to our northeastern brethren, we Chicagoans went to a lot of trouble to make them feel at home by dumping our garbage in the street, being rude to strangers and talking loudly on our cellphones no matter where we happened to be.  It seemed to work quite well.  When I came home after work I found a wayward New Yorker sitting on my stoop with a brown paper sacked bottle asking if I wanted to "see a card trick". 

It was a really neat trick.

But after the cacophony of Bronx and Queens accents I heard today, none was more apparent (nor as obnoxiously entertaining) as the world's biggest Melky Cabrera fan, who somehow found a way to outbroadcast even the infamous Hawk and DJ combo during Comcast Sportsnet's televising of the Yankees/White Sox matchup this evening.  Now, let me just say that I have watched thousands of baseball games on television and never have I seen/heard/touched/loved something quite as mind-blowing as this guy.

I was having my milk and cookies (a baseball ritual for me) and the game was in the 4th inning.  Melky Cabrera stepped to the plate to battle against Sox pitcher Jose Contreras.  And then, out of nowhere, came the voice of a loud, obnoxious Melky fan -- the Melky Man.  Suddenly more audible than the commentary of Hawk and DJ, the Melky Man eventually drowned them out all together. 

"Melky!" he cried.  "Hey, Melky, it's me!" 

Okay.  No big deal, right?  So some fan got close enough to one of the on-field mics to be heard over the air.  Except this guy was loud.  Really loud.  "Melky!  Melky, he's gonna throw you a fastball!" 

Voom.  Contreras throws the fastball.

"Melky, Melky, watch the forkball this time.  The forkball!"

Kerrrrr-plunk.  Contreras throws the forkball.

"Another forkball.  Watch the forkball!"

Kerrrrr-plunk, Contreras throws the forkball again, Melky pops out.

And then it was over... until...

The 7th inning.  Melky came to the plate and we heard: "Melky, I'm back". 

If you watch closely, this time you can see Melky glancing towards the stands behind him when the Melky Man sends his salutations.  As if in an effort to thwart another long one-sided Melky Man conversation, Melky swung at the first pitch and knocked a basehit to left. 

By the 8th inning, when Melky came to the plate again, milk was shooting out of my nose from my spontaneous outbursts of laughter:

"Melky, sounded like a strike to me, Melky," said the Melky Man after a swing and a miss.

"Melky, it doesn't look good, Melky," said the Melky Man after Cabrera watched a ball go wide of the strike zone.

"That was a big swing, Melky," said the Melky Man after a big cut.

"Melky, the count is one and two, Melky," said the Melky Man when the count was 1-2.

Like myself, the Melky Man seemed to be really good at pointing out the obvious, pounding redundancies into the ground, and annoying the sh*t out of anyone within earshot.  In other words, the Melky Man is a genius and if you go back and watch Melky's ABs, I guarantee you'll be snorting milk out of your nose and laughing your ^ss off too. 

But what was even more hilarious than the Melky Man himself was CSNS' complete disregard for its broadcast being hijacked by an outspoken lameball fan in the stands.  Is this a common occurrence in New York?  If so, I might have to tune in to more YES Network games and pass on the usual Three Stooges marathons.

And hey you, Melky Man, don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

MLB writer Scott Merkin got a little ahead of the times today in his story on how dandy it would be if the 2008 World Series became a Windy City Classic.  Here we are, three weeks into a six month-long season, already breathing air into the pipe dreams of those who embrace cutesy coincidences.  I don't blame Scott for writing this story.  The man has to eat and I expect that someone over at MLB in charge of selling fantasies pushed him to write another what-if speculation story to conjure up the dreams of the masses.  But I can't just sit back, smile and nod at these shenanigans.  I have a real problem with uncreative, dainty MLB story lines that serve one purpose and one purpose only: to drive sales.  I mean, come on... The I-70 Series?  Seriously?  Cardinal/Royal fans could care less. 

And now we're talking about a Northsider v. Southsider World Series.

Excuse me while I puke.

It's April.  April.  April and we're talking about the World Series already?

Would a Cubs/White Sox series be entertaining?  Sure.

Would a Cubs/White Sox series be good for the city?  Definitely.

Would a Cubs/White Sox series lead to senseless violence?  You bet.

Is it too early to be bringing something like this up through the MLB newswire?  Absolutely.

Save that intercity match-up story for the back-to-back weekend series in June.  Then, and not until then, let's see where the two teams stand.  In June, I won't be upset at seeing a flowery story about what-ifs and intercity rivals. 

See, I don't think Scott Merkin quite understands what kind of fires he has started in my neighborhood by writing this story so early.  Mark Buehrle was exactly right when he said: "There would be a lot of fights and a lot of bad stuff...".  No kidding?  When I moved to the Southside, the first question my new neighbors asked me wasn't what's your name, it was are you a Sox fan? with suspiciously violent eyes.  Buehrle would go on to say there would be "good stuff" too, but let me tell ya, the bad will overtake the good and will steal the majority of headlines.  You can count on that.  Riots in the street, gang shootings, violence towards goats, these will all come with a Chicago WS because while Yankees and Red Sox fans hate each other, Cubs and White Sox fans want to kill each other.

If the two teams meet in October -- which is such a far-fetched idea at this point that I am only commenting on it to seal up a thought -- you'll be able to find me in the Oppenheimer war bunkers under the University of Chicago with a six-month supply of baked beans and canned pineapple.  I'll be out in time to see the Bears' allegiance to mediocrity.  By then, most of the fires will be out, broken bones healed, and oxygen levels back to normal.

Or so I hope. 

Don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

Earlier this week, MLB was making a big deal out of David Wright being just a homerun shy of hitting for the cycle. Was this just a marketing ploy to get more people to watch the game or is hitting for the cycle really that big of a deal?  In other words, is it really an achievement of great baseball prowess or is it just a silly coincidence that happens to be somewhat interesting? Keep in mind that guys like César Tovar, Vic Wertz and Randy Hundley (hardly household names) have hit for the cycle, yet no one seems to care.

--Jeff

                                                                                        

Interesting question, Mr. Lung. And I must say, I'm of two minds on this. First of all, if a guy is able to pick up 4 hits in a nine inning game, that's pretty good. And if three of the four are four extra bases, that's even better. I only wish the Tigers could start doing that on a regular basis. And I'm talking as a team here, not just any individual player.

However, I have to say, and I'm sure you agree with me here, that hitting for the cycle is in and of itself nothing more than a fluke. Why should we care more about a guy who gets a single, double, triple and homerun in one game than we should about a guy who hits four homers in a game? The simple answer is that we shouldn't.

Now, I understand that as the salaries of ballplayers continue to rise and as parks are charging more and more outrageous prices, MLB wants to get it's cut and that means getting more people interested. Sometimes that means hyping something that really isn't that big of a deal. And why not pick something that has a somewhat esoteric name like, "The Cycle?" I respect that.

But any true baseball fan can see through the hype and pick out what's behind MLB's ploy. It's money, pure and simple. And this brings me to something even more important than Reyes and Wright and their ball-thumping theatrics.

This past week we saw Evan Longoria, the Rays soon-to-be-star third baseman, sign a long term contract for less than he probably could have gotten if he waited for free agency. And he also waived his arbitration rights. Now, I know that some members of the player's union are up in arms over this move but I like it. I think baseball players deserve what they get paid (although this is a topic for another time) but I also think that the situation needs to be pulled back into shape. The line between team loyalty and getting what you deserve has been distorted in the last few seasons and something had to be done in order to bring it back into somewhat of a stasis. Longoria's contract, although it's just a small part of the trend, could help with this correction. And to be completely honest with you, I think that when the average fan sees a ballplayer acting like an average guy instead of a prima donna, that's going to be the best marketing MLB could have asked for.

-A

The title to this post is not meant to be directed at Mr. Allen Krause, though it certainly could be, because he most definitely is obnoxious (see his malcontented swipe at the Show-Me-State for more info -- or don't, you'll be happier if you don't).  Obnoxiousness ad nauseum, in this case, is a perfect summarization of the Cubs faithful who show up game after game to get wasted and occasionally look up to see who's playing. 

I know, I know.  Not all Cubs fans are like that -- and you're probably right -- but it only takes one to create the illusion that they're all alike.  Marty Brennaman sure got that impression when bleacher bums (*synonym for alcoholics) threw 15 baseballs on to the field after an Adam Dunn homerun yesterday.  Whether it's heaving baseballs, trash (*exclusive video here), beer bottles at Jacque Jones' head or dashing on to the field in an attempt to destroy Bob Howry, Cub fans are great at getting out of hand.

During the season, I try very hard not to be in Wrigleyville if I don't have to be when games are going on -- unless I'm actually attending the game.  When I do go, I make sure to wear layers and pack hardcover books under my shirt (to ward off any stabbing attempts).  Two weeks ago I had to be in the neighborhood.  I happened to be wearing a pink shirt that day because I look good in pink and I'm proud to say it.  I got out of the cab and before I could take two steps towards the curb, some drunken idiot with an Aramis Ramirez jersey gave me a violent push to the chest saying, "Get out of here, F^g."

Nice.  Real nice. 

I hope they rename it "Moronville Field".

Don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

Why does nobody talk about the Cardinals? Three words and an abbreviation: St. Louis doesn't matter. Missouri doesn't matter. That's why KC was only mentioned when they beat the Tigers and no one cares anymore. I'm sorry Jeffery, it's just the truth. And trust me, I feel your pain. Until the Tigers started paying like the Yankees, we were in the same boat. I think you and I were the only people in the U.S. watching the 2006 World Series.

But, now, we're on the map and not necessarily in a good way. When you pay like the Yankees, you're expected to play like the Yankees. And, although the Tigers have won three straight and finally started scoring runs like they were supposed to, there's a long ways to go before they're at the level where we expect them to be. But that's the great thing about being a Cardinals fan. No one has any expectations for the Cards so if they do well, great. However, the fact remains, no one cares.

Now, it's entirely possible that the Cards will continue to pitch well and come up with timely hitting. And monkeys might fly out of my butt. I'm just saying.

But, I'm happy for you. It's nice to have a little ray of sunshine in the otherwise bleak lives of the denizens of the flyover states. So, enjoy it. Eat it up. Because, once Pujols hits his slump and Wainwright sees his ERA start climbing, it's over. But don't worry. ESPN won't notice that either. That's the beauty of no one caring.

-A

Zito Happens

I sure hope that Hilary Duff hookup back in February 2007 was worth it for Barry Zito because he hasn't been the same pitcher since.  While most people would like to point out his faulty mechanics and the pressure to perform after landing a fat paycheck as the reasons for his meltdown, I know better.  It's the ladies.  They can be nagging after all, and if you have to go home to someone who is way more successful than you are -- a hottie who played a girl named McGuire (wink, wink at the Bay love connection) -- it's easy to see how difficult it could be to throw strikes. 

In the second inning of today's loss against the Diamondbacks, Zito couldn't find the strikezone with a Sherman tank full of maps.  He walked the bases loaded and on a 2-0 count to the until-then hitless pitcher, Brandon Webb, he threw a fastball and gave up a two run single.

As a friend (a Giants fan no less) recently told me: "Zito Happens."


The Evolution of Hillary

As much as Obama tries to make this about the issues, Hillary just can't let go of the "same old politics" and she is embarrassing me as member of the Democratic Party.  In tonight's debate, she said:

"I may be a lot of things, but I'm not dumb."

Well I'm not dumb either, Hillary, and I think it's pretty clear what path we U.S. Americans would be taking if you become our Democratic nominee:

I live in Chicago's Southside neighborhood of Bridgeport.  We're famous for being a pleasant,  working class area made up of cops, Mayor Daleys, Italians, Mexicans, Chinese and one Cardinal fan.  We don't get a lot of press or recognition because we're a quiet folk who routinely go to work, pay our taxes and get raped by our government because our leaders won't make universal healthcare a top priority.  We do this because we have to, not because we love to.  But despite the hardships, we tend to be quiet about them and take joy in a simple stroll through the park or taking in a baseball game.  We don't riot in the streets; we write our Congressman Dan Lipinski (who doesn't really get us because he's Polish and they mostly live west of us).  So that's Bridgeport.  Imagine how exciting it is when we hear public figures praise us for our work ethic, good manners and fantastic restaurants.

This afternoon during the AM 670 broadcast of the White Sox victory over the A's, Steve Stone (one of Chicago's finest) raved about a Bridgeport restaurant called Ramova's Grill.  My ears perked up and a smile cracked as Stoney's caramel voice spoke unyielding devotion to this Southside gem.  He told Ed Farmer that he went to Ramova's for breakfast this morning and was tempted to order the most famous dish on the menu: Ramova's Chili. 



This would've been a good time for Stoney to go on to a different subject -- like the hit and run or the squeeze play or Ed's favorite Chicago restaurant... anything would have been better than chili for breakfast because we were all thinking what Stoney said next:

(Paraphrasing)
"I figured you and the guys would have a real hard time sitting next to me in the booth and then on the flight to Baltimore if I had ordered the chili.  Whew.  Wow.  No, that... if I would've ordered the chili, whew..."

No matter how old I get or how much wiser I may become, fart-jokes will always be funny.

But some broadcasters wouldn't be able to deliver this type of bathroom humor, or any humor at all for that matter, and get away with it.  I have already professed my allegiance to the greatness that is Steve Stone, which explains why I think he is the exception, but there are some White Sox broadcasters that people absolutely detest:

"I really hate the Sox commentary team. Really hate them."
-- comment by Russell, A Common Goal, April 15, 2008

I point out Russell's comment because this is something that has a life of its own -- a complaint that I have heard ever since I was a kid and still frequently today, even here in the Chi.  I assume he's referring to Ken "The Hawk" Harrelson and Darrin "DJ" Jackson, the White Sox television broadcasters who seem to anger all types of viewers, including White Sox fans.  Harrelson is known for his southern drawl and signature phrases like "He Gone!", "Duck Snort" and "You can put it on the booooaaaaarrrrrd, YES!" not to mention other favorites like "Sacks full of Sox", "Big Hack, No Contack", "Ball Four Base Hit" and "Dadgum Right".  I find these catchphrases pretty amusing myself, but I know many people are infuriated by them.  But why?  Is it the fact that Hawk is a no-holds-barred redneck with a voice that sounds like an out of tune trombone?  Do people across the country think he is representative of Southsiders as a whole?  Or is it that Hawk and DJ maintain an extreme bias against all things non-White Sox, sometimes going too far?  I must admit, at times even I find their banter ridiculous, like Hawk's recent third grade expletive rant: "Doggone it ball.  Stay fair!  Doggone it!  You dumb ball.  You dumb ball!  Jeesh, you coulda stayed fair."  He said this after a Jim Thome foul ball missed being a homerun by about four feet on Sunday.  It's just one example, but when you spend 3 hours saying things like this during a broadcast, I can see how people might be ticked off -- like these guys, who are trying everything in the world to get rid of him.   Russell, if you want to get really angry, spend a few minutes reading this website.   It might just make you laugh.

I grew up listening to the gravel-pit voice of Jack Buck (who was great) alongside a drunk Mike Shannon (not so great, but we love him anyway), so I'm used to hearing strange things from the broadcast booth.  In fact, Shannon still refuses to believe that somebody (or somebodies) other than Abner Doubleday invented the game of baseball, even though history has proven the Doubleday tale to be pure myth.

In the end, I have to say that I love that these guys say what's on their minds, dumb or not, and I always have the power of hitting the mute button.

Don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

It's no secret, folks.  As a Cardinals fan living on the Southside of Chicago, when it comes to American League baseball, I align myself with the only team whose fans love to hate the Cubs more than I do: the White Sox.  Besides our distaste for the Northsiders, we share many things in common: we are Winners (see 2005, 1917, '06 for the Sox, see 2006, 1982, '67, '64, '46, '44, '42, '34, '31, '26 for the Cards) and the Sox, under Ozzie Guillen, tend to play a little faster, smaller game reminiscent of the National League style.  I get to see my Redbirds when they come to Wrigley each season, but because the idiots who made the schedule this year decided the Cubs/Cards series wasn't important enough that they should maybe play a set in Chicago before August, I have to whet my appetite with the team just blocks from my home.

On Saturday, I woke up still hung over from the onslaught of fan-mail and paparazzi chasings resulting from MLB's recognition of Red State Blue State.  The rain was falling at a steady pace creating gloomy shadows on my plans for the day, but the Tigers were in town (I could smell their stink from my house) and nothing would please me more than to see the Good Guys beat the Bad Guys.  There was no staying home.

Fighting my way through the crowd outside 29th & Poplar Ave, I managed to meet the #8 Halsted bus just as it was arriving.  I got on and kept my head low; it wasn't until we reached 35th St. that someone finally recognized me:

"Hey, aren't you that guy from Harry Potter?" some kid said.

"No.  That's not me."

"You sure?  You look just like Harry Potter."

"No, you probably recognize me from Red State Blue State, the MLBlog made famous by--

"Shut up.  You're Harry Potter.  Can I have your autograph?"

I signed the autograph.  I signed it "Eat Me" in big block letters and was off the bus before anyone noticed.

A brisk walk later, I was standing in front of the glory that is The Joan (aka U.S. Cellular Field, The Cell).  At first sight, it was a dreary picture:



I did have to take a moment and pay homage to the commemorative 2005 sculpture out front with bronze likenesses of Ozzie, Paulie, Crede, Dye & Co.:

Tommy LaSorda is fat.  I mean really fat.  So is John Kruk.  Which current ballplayer or manager is most likely to become grotesquely obese like these two men?

--Allen

                                                                                        

Due to the recent developments and growing notoriety of Red State Blue State, it is certainly arguable that I may have lost any sense of humility I once had.  My attorney has advised me to remain silent on this issue, so I will; however, I cannot stop myself from pointing out the increasingly shallow nature of my colleague, Allen Krause.  After much deliberation, my agent has advised me to go ahead and tackle this insensitive inquiry despite the possible repercussions because "there is no such thing as bad press."

So, Al, my aura and I will now address your lowbrow turn from inquisitive, thought-provoking debate:

Yeah, Lasorda is overweight.  Kruk is overweight.  A slew of baseball folks easily fit into that dangerous weight category.  But you know what?  That's just one of the many reasons why I enjoy the game of baseball more than any other sport.

How many competitive sports do you know where a 300 pound man without muscle tone toting around a big, paunch beer belly can be considered a real athlete?  Sure, the NFL has 300+ pound men all over the field, but those guys work out and look good (for the most part).  Meanhwile, big slobby-lookin' dudes like David Wells, Bobby Jenks and David Weathers thrive as dominant athletes... well, Wells (used to) and Jenks (does) anyway.

I find it quite satisfying seeing an everyday-lookin' joe like Jenks or Kruk achieve all that success with such a corpulent physique.  It reminds me that baseball is a game that anyone can play -- fat guys included -- so it creates the illusion that even I, a 29 year old, 5'8, 155 lb. Mandarin-speaking white guy with a 48 mph fastball and a slider that always hangs, could possibly make it to the Big Leagues.  Okay, maybe I'm totally wrong on that... but you get my point.

Of course, this isn't what Mr. Krause wants to hear.  What he is really asking is which current manager/player is most likely to be the face of NutriSystem, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig. 

My response? 

That is the dumbest question I have ever heard, Al, and you should be ashamed for taking up such precious MLBlog space by asking it.  The 2008 season has begun, your team stinks, my team is in first place, the Jason Grilli ERA Watch has dipped considerably (8.44 at the time of this publication), the Diamondbacks are the best team in baseball, the Sawx v. Evil Empire series is in full-force and all you can muster out of that skinny little head of yours is 'who will be the fattest person in baseball?'

Shame on you.

I see what you're trying to do: you're trying to paint me into a corner, force me to make a fool of myself and talk about something else so we will be distracted from the atrocities of the Tigers and your point of view.  Mr. Krause, I will not subject our readers to such shallow diatribes. 

But I will post some pictures of my favorite plus-size ballplayers, past and present:

Friends.We gather here today to mourn the passing of two spirits who never had a chance. But, although they might be gone, their memories will live on in all of us.

The Hopes of the 2008 Detroit Tigers
It's always sad to see a flame snuffed out before it truly had a chance to flourish. However, the once brilliant blaze that was the hopes for the Detroit Tigers appears to have flickered out. Now, please don't misunderstand me here. Despite the apparent lack of life that characterizes the Tigers at this point, I still refuse to accept their demise. I mean, people come back from the dead all the time in the movies (although usually they're either zombies, vampires or part of some secret plan that involves injecting them with a serum so they appear lifeless and an evil scientist comes by during the night to squirrel the corpse away to a secret hideout at which point he reanimates them). I mean, anything is possible.

But, if we go merely by appearances, one would have to believe that the injection of fresh talent and the millions of dollars spent on creating a colossus to deal with the Yankees and Red Sox of the world was merely a horribly informed experiment. And so we grieve but yet we hope. I mean, 2-9 is better then 0-11, right? Right? Someone? Anyone?

The Humility of Jeffery Lung
However, it is our second spirit for whom I mourn the most. Ladies and gentlemen, when humility dies, we all suffer. And today we suffer immeasurably. I still remember the young man who came to me with an idea for a blog and the dreams we both had for where it would go. I remember that he promised to remain a man of the people. And I remember the day this all died. Ah, Jeffery. You were so young. It didn't have to be this way. But here we are and this is how it goes.

So, as we remember Mr. Lung's humility, fickle spirit that it may have been, and the hopes of the Detroit Tigers, as promising as they may have been, we leave them here and hope to see them again one day on the other side. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

-A

So Alex Rodriguez makes more money than the entire Florida Marlins team.  Must be pretty hard to live up to such high expectations - especially in a bullying market like New York.  Until recently, I couldn't even begin to fathom what that kind of pressure is like.

...and then I (we, Allen Krause and I) became famous.

Sure, it all started out quietly, you know, like that hushing wind that breezes across the plains accompanied by purple skies right before the big storm.  So the Detroit Tigers/Hillary Clinton comparison I made was masterfully quoted on the MLB.com homepage - big deal.  Just doing my bloggin' thang... fillin' the role I was meant to fill because all my sliders hung and I couldn't get around on a 65 mph fastball.  Some are born to play ball, some are born to rant on ball. 

And then it happened.  At 5 a.m. this morning I got the call:

PHONE CALLER GUY: Hey, is this Jeff Lung?

ME: Yes.

PHONE CALLER GUY: Whoa, it's really you?

ME:  Yes, it's me.  What do you want?  It's 5 in the morning.

PHONE CALLER GUY:  Wow, I can't believe it's really you.

ME:  Who are you and what do you want!?!

PHONE CALLER GUY:  Your picture is on MLBlog's homepage and I just wanted to pick your brain about what it's like to be on the internet underneath Jose Reyes?

Life hasn't been the same since.

I walked out of my Southside apartment this morning to a deluge of paparazzi.  I smiled and nodded, answered some questions from my fans but I must be honest: it was tiresome, and I still have a day job, so I had to punch (WHAM!) one of them (one of the paparazzi, not one of my fans) to get away.  

On the 29/State bus it was the same: mobs of people begging for my autograph, picture, a Jason Grilli ERA Watch report.  I obliged but I gotta admit, it was tiresome, overwhelming and downright stressful.

It couldn't have come at a worse time.  Tomorrow I am going to my first game of the year: White Sox v. Tigers at the Joan.  Fearing more of the same mob mentality from those who come within ten feet of my aura, I will do my best to 'fit in' tomorrow by wearing a disguise and I will certainly not make any public statements.   I'm sorry, but even a guy like me needs a break once in a while. 

In fact, afterwards, I'll probably have to go to Evanston -- to take a breather and get away from it all.

So, while I'm relaxing, don't hate me 'cuz I'm beautiful...or because I'm right.  Please?  Okay, pretty please?

Peace,

Jeffy

Excuse me, Mr. Krause, I didn't know that you were stumping for office.  You see, I must admit that you indeed fit the mold.  You are quite good at flip-flopping positions and sighting "literary technique" as an excuse for your haphazard quips and careless backstreet follies.  Let's face it, Al.  You're wrong and I expect you to start rolling up your sleeves and kissing babies any minute.

So while you do that, let me play the role of *high-road pundit and pull back the *proverbial curtain on your shortcomings.  (*These are literary techniques used to ridicule and embarrass.  You see, there is no such thing as an 'high-road pundit' and 'proverbial' references a really groovy book in the bible.  These are techniques that *slick willies [oops, another literary technique known as senseless name-calling] like Allen Krause use when trying to *pull the wool over our eyes [just a dumb cliche].)

"...fans, especially new ones and for better or for worse, are much more willing to pay money to see home runs than they are to see drawn out pitchers duels. Do you like the new Busch Stadium? Do you think it would have been built if the Cards would have had Greg Maddux instead of McGwire? Yeah, I think not."

--Allen Krause, The Incredible Lightness of Being...obtuse

First of all, the Atlanta Braves did have Greg Maddux and I'd say he was an integral part (if not the part) that shaped and revitalized an otherwise dying franchise during the 90s.  That new stadium they got built down there during his tenure as their posterboy?  Uh, yeah, I'm pretty sure the Atlanta fans like it a lot and owe much of its existence to Mr. Maddux himself.  So to say fans can't/won't appreciate superior pitching because they want more *bang for their buck (literary technique) makes you the blogging equivalent of Michael Dukakis in a tank --  it just don't make sense. 


Secondlly, would the Cardinals have a new Busch were it not for McGwire?  I think the bigger, more important question is would any team have a new ballpark (or fans for that matter) without McGwire.  And I include the fantasyland amusement park known as Comerica in there too.  You see, if it weren't for that magical summer of '98 when Mark and Sammy brought the game back to the fans after years of bitterness and neglect, we might be talking about the lackluster Reno Tigers rather than the Hockeytown Tigers that are stumbling along right now.  For that egregious error, you owe a humble apology to both McGwire and Sosa... and me, of course.

My suggestion for you is the following: in the future, instead of trying to hyperbolize to make a point, try to simply *analyze instead.  (*This is yet another literary technique called 'rhyming' which is often used by Shakespeare, leprechauns and Method Man with varying levels of success.  In fact, it was Method Man himself who once said: "Can't forget Bobby if I did I feel gip, like my sandwich ain't a sandwich without Miracle Whip.")

Don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

P.S. Pop the champagne!  The Tigers finally won a game!  But they're still 5 games behind the Royals.  And for all of you who demand the Jason Grilli ERA Watch, it now stands at 19.29.  Whoa, watch out!  He's on fire!

The score that matters: Cardinals 6, Astros 4

Look who's in first place. 

Note to Brandon Backe: don't mess with the best, pal.

Mr. Lung. Jeffery, if I may. It seems sad to me that I have to use all these electrons to explain to you the elementary literary technique of hyperbole but unfortunately, it appears this lesson in remedial form is necessary. Hyperbole, as I'm sure you once knew, is the technique by which one makes a point by exaggerating to a ridiculous degree. This is by no means a technical definition but it should be one which triggers those neurons you once used to use so well.

Now, why is this important? Quite simply because it is a method used quite often in all matters of discourse, especially in the arenas of sports and politics. When GW Bush says that electing Democrats to office means the terrorists have won, he doesn't really mean that the terrorists will win because Nancy Pelosi is now the Speaker of the House. He's using hyperbole to make a point. Similarly, when I say that Mark McGwire is flexed up steroid freak who single handedly ruined the game of baseball, I don't really mean that Big Mac destroyed major league baseball. I'm just making a point.

To extrapolate further on this point, when I compare the entire NL to gay p0rn, I'm not really saying they're making gay p0rn over there (except in the case of Kazuhito Tadano. Although, to be fair, he is actually in the Indians organization). And I actually agree with you that having the pitcher bat makes for a much more strategic game than does the DH. But baseball, like all sports, is based on making money. And fans, especially new ones and for better or for worse, are much more willing to pay money to see home runs than they are to see drawn out pitchers duels. Do you like the new Busch Stadium? Do you think it would have been built if the Cards would have had Greg Maddux instead of McGwire? Yeah, I think not.

So, here's what I'll say. I appreciate now that your initial filibuster question was a rhetorical question. And you can now appreciate the hyperbole that ensued. This way we both embrace our use of literary technique and move on to more important issues. Like, when are the Tigers going to win a freakin' game? Seriously, this is just embarrassing. But, more on that later.

-A

If I were a Tiger fan (ahem, Allen Krause) I would go the airport, buy a ticket to the most remote war-torn nation, find a spot of uninhabited land, dig a hole, get in it, and light myself on fire.  Okay, maybe I wouldn't take the time to dig a hole, but I would certainly light myself on fire.  At the very least I would kick down Dave Dombrowski's door and demand he give me a refund for my hard-earned money, hopes, dreams.  Because as much as the Tigers stole the headlines away from the evils of New York, Boston and L.A. during this past offseason, they sure are reneging on every dime invested.  Yeah, yeah, I know.  There are still 155 games remaining in the season but their lackluster performance and the sheer absence of urgency in their play proves to me that their season is pretty much in the can.  I suppose they'll get hot at some point and make a little noise but by then it will be too little too late.  In essence, the 2008 Tigers are the baseball equivalent of the Clinton campaign -- great resume, great talent, would probably do a decent job, but so far behind there is no possible way they can win it all.  So do us all a favor and get out of the race so we can concentrate on the important stuff, like the teams that are winning.

What surprises me is Leyland doesn't seem to be too upset.  Where's the screaming and yelling?  Where's the blow-up at the press conference?  Where are the cigarette burns on Jason Grilli's rubber arm?

Bench Magglio.  Sit Cabrera.  Weld Granderson's hand back together.  I know it's not the popular thing to do.  I know you didn't spend 140 million dollars to sit your franchise players -- but you sure didn't spend 140 million to be the only team in the Majors without a win thus far.   Tick people off.  Light some fires under some tooshies.  Get 'em motivated for crying out loud. 

The Royals are motivated.  They beat the Evil Empire today to go to 5-2 on the young season, even with the White Sox, who (ahem), destroyed the Tigers on national television Sunday night.  Heck, even Baltimore's fired up.  At 6-1 they probably feel like they're cheating their fans by actually being worth the price of admission.  Allen could've been one of those fans, but he said he would eschew the whole Oriole scene because they were "terrible".