I'm trying to remember what I did in high school. Most of it I have thankfully forgotten but what sticks out in my mind is the teachers I liked and random words of advice. Oh, and Avogadro's number. What I don't seem to remember is my weekly juice session. Of course, that's probably because I'm not Alex Rodriguez.

Yes, I know I promised I was done talking about him but how can I let this pass? I understand that sports have become increasingly competitive and you have to show promise at earlier and earlier ages to even get scouted. But this would have happened around 1991. For a better frame of reference, George H.W. Bush was still president. I guess you could call A-Rod precocious or avant-garde but seriously, man, "25 pounds of muscle between his sophomore and junior years?"

I'd love to play the whole "Think of the children" card but the fact of the matter is that steroids are so widespread at this point that it's not even worth it. What I will say is that this just keeps getting better and I can hardly wait to see what comes out next. My guess? A-Rod is actually the illegitimate offspring of an alpaca and Mork from Ork. It would at least provide some context.

-A

"I have found myself increasingly at odds with the Republican Party."
        -- Sen. Arlen Specter, Pennsylvania

Welcome to the club, Arlen!

Folks, this is a big deal.

HUGE!

Imagine: a Cardinal fan rooting for the Cubs, a Red Sox fan pledging allegiance to the Evil Empire, a Dodgers fan embracing Barry Bonds while chanting "GO GIANTS!"

As crazy and fantastical as those scenarios seem, longtime Republican (albeit a moderate one as he opposed Clinton's impeachment and didn't get along with Dubya so well) has done just that by crossing back over the visible division line to find his rightful spot among US Americans who pine to progress, lean to logic, veer to victory.

Ahhhhhh snap!!!

No more filibustering power for the GOP?

You betchya!  Guess from now on those smattering political diatribes of malcontent will be reserved for Fox News and the Vatican.

And while this obvious jockeying crossover amuses me like Gary Sheffield's defensive capabilities, in all honesty, I hope it does not become a trend.  I mean, besides needing a multi-party system with checks and balances, I am afraid that without Republicans, I would not have any material to rouse fuming arguments on this site, family reunions or bathroom walls.

Let's face it: we Cardinal fans could not survive without the incessant, whiny yappings of hopeless Cub fans every year.  As much as we hate to admit it, ours is a symbiotic relationship built on mutual antipathy, fundamental dislike and drunken slander -- all for the love of the game.

Dear readers, before making such a monumental switch, remember to chickity-check yo self before you wreck yo self 'cuz wavering loyalties are, ultimately, bad for yo health.

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

Peace,

Jeffy

(Specter image courtesy of the US Government)
(Cardinals/Cubs image courtesy of Deadspin)

Word on the street is that the NFL is seriously discussing holding the Super Bowl in London sometime in the near future. Now, this should probably be taken with a grain of salt since the commissioner apparently has no knowledge of these negotiations. However, to be fair, the amount of stuff that Goodell doesn't know could fill a couple oceans.

It just goes to show how global sports have become, though, even sports that we consider inherently American. The World Baseball Classic illustrated this a couple months ago and the coverage of Olympic basketball last summer outshone everything except Michael Phelps.

But if you ever had any doubts about the true worldwide saturation of sports, perhaps this will change your mind:



Yep, "Stick a fork in them, the run is over." I couldn't have said it better myself.

-A

Credits:
-Video via Deadspin

There is no stat for tenacity, no quantitative analysis for bark, no computation for grindership.

But if there was, you could be damn sure that A.J. Pierzynski would lead the Major Leagues in all of three of them -- every year, all the time.

Late in the White Sox game against the visiting Blue Jays Sunday, the score was tied with two men on base when a Jays batter hit a knuckling dribbler down the third base line.  Everyone at Sox Park was thinking the same thing as A.J. while he all-out-hustled after the ball: Let it be foul.

Eventually, the ball found its way over the white lip, into the grass, foul ball.  The crowd sighed in harmonious relief.

But instead of simply picking up the ball, Pierzynski, with his glove, slapped it violently towards the home dugout with the type of ferocity more often seen from 1980s era offensive tackles loaded up on juice.  He let out a hellacious "ARRRGGGHHH!" then stared down the anxious baserunners with that A.J.'s-gonna-kill-you-in-your-sleep-and-eat-your-children-raw glare. 

It was awesome.

Say what you will about A.J. Pierzynski, but with fierceness like that, the dude is an instant and absolute asset to his team.  It's only April and on every single play he's grinding like it was Game Seven of the World Series -- as if his life, his country, his freedom were on the line.

That's someone I want on my team -- if not for his competitiveness, then for his uncanny foray into the wild world of comedy:



Love him or hate him, A.J. is the Polish Prince of Pertinacity.  You'd have to kill him to make him go away; and if you do kill him, you still better watch out because I bet zombie A.J. would be much scarier, much more lethal than alive-and-breathing A.J.

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

Peace,

Jeffy

The rumor mill abounds with talk of Brad Pitt and Demetri Martin starring in the upcoming Steven Soderbergh film adaptation of Michael Lewis' Moneyball.  Movie buff and baseball lover that you are, does this project even have a realistic chance of being good?

--Jeff
__________________________________________

Every year movie studios sink millions of dollars into adaptations of books that received either critical or commercial acclaim. This year alone we've already seen Watchmen hit the big screen and Dan Brown's prequel to The DaVinci Code, Angels and Demons, comes out in the next couple weeks. However, the one thing that most of these adaptations have in common is a plot, some sort of narrative device to push the story forward.

I enjoyed reading Moneyball. Michael Lewis, although I may not always agree with him, has a Malcolm Gladwell-ish quality about him in that he is able to present a quantitative side of a game that often goes unnoticed. But I have no idea how you turn that into a movie. It's like Fast Food Nation. It's an interesting book. It has interesting ideas. But a movie? No.

Now, the wild card here is the artistic team. I do love me some Brad Pitt and I find Demetri Martin amusing in small doses. Soderbergh obviously has legitimate directing bona fides. But how do you turn a book like Moneyball into a movie? I suppose you could have David Mamet rewrite the script and turn it into some profanity-laden, baseball-centric version of Glengarry Glen Ross but I don't see that happening.



No, most likely they'll strip all the baseball egg-head information from the story and make it into a movie about the unlikely but ultimately successful partnership between a former jock and an up and coming nerd. Throw in a little Brokeback for good measure and maybe they strike gold. But I doubt it. Let's just say that this project is a little more Shelley Levene than it is Ricky Roma.

-A

Round two of the Cubs/Cardinals rivalry kicked off Friday night and once again the game wobbled in the unsteady hands of each club's respective bullpens. 

Ryan Franklin was a success.

Carlos Marmol was not.

Here's why:


If you don't know by now, Albert Pujols is a baseball god.  He hits for average.  He hits for power.  He steals bases.  He motivates his teammates.  I would rather donate half my salary to the Republican Party, sit on Rush Limbaugh's lap and make out with Ann Coulter while listening to the entire Barry Manilow catalogue than piss off Pujols.

No wonder Franklin got the job done.

As for Marmol, well, can anyone blame him for yet another failure?  His manager hates him.  He has no clearly defined role on the team.  And he just found out that General Motors is pulling the plug on the Pontiac line!

Life just ain't fair; I couldn't be happier.

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

Peace,

Jeffy

(*Base images courtesy of the Associated Press)

Despite their usual relegation to fodder for debates on controversial testing and (disputed) lack of souls, animals have recently clawed themselves into the news for other reasons. For instance, you had to have been living under a rock to have missed the news about the new dog in the White House. Economic meltdown and Limbaugh inspired populism be damned! There's much more important news to be discussed.

But it seems that our quadrupedal mammalian friends take an interest in more than just politics. Various baseball curses have been blamed on various animals over the years and considering the superstitious lot that seems drawn to baseball, it should come as no surprise. And recently these curse carrying vehicles of diabolical providence have once again reared their frightening and yet oh so soft and fluffy heads.

On opening night at Citi Field, a cat stole the show as the Mets fell to defeat and fans wondered if perhaps this was a sign.

But even more disturbing for lovers of felines and haters of curses was the way a similar situation was handled at Wrigley Field this past week. Of course the video is no longer available as MLB, in its infinite wisdom, forced it off of YouTube but the controversy has continued as some objected to the handling of the animal by Wrigley Field security.

No matter what your thoughts might be on the rash of streaking cat incidents, it seems clear that these are not isolated events. Perhaps Douglas Adams had it wrong and it's not the mice who are in charge, but rather the cats and they are trying to give us a sign. Either way, we here at RSBS will keep you posted on all important cat-based developments in baseball over the course of the season.

Happy Friday!

-A

They say lightning never strikes the same place twice; but when it comes to the self-loving oft incoherent Twitter musings of one Coco Crisp, it strikes just about every hour.  Don't believe me?  See for yourself:

i dont know how i did it but i slept from 1am til 2pm and the last thing i remember b4 i woke was winning a horse race and i was the jokey
5:00 PM Apr 22nd

any of yaw'll out there know bout dreams... let me know what that means.
5:01 PM Apr 22nd

Well, Coco, I am certainly no psychiatrist.  Nor do I claim to have actual dream interpretation abilities.  But my contemporaries do consider me to be the lone Freudian voice in a world of mother-loving MLBloggers, so let me try to help as best I can.

You seem to be perplexed by your mastery of slumber, Coco.  I concur, sleeping for 13 hours straight is serious business.  I completely understand your bafflement.  I slept for 13 hours once during my college days and while from that experience my first inclination is to warn you about dangers of binge drinking, I think that, in your case, you're just lazy.  So set an alarm next time.  You'll be good to go.  I promise.

Now, if the last thing you remember "b4" you "woke" was winning a horse race, well, gee, Coco... that's great!  Congratulations!  Honestly, I believe this was your own mind's ominous foretelling of the brilliant pitching performance later delivered by your perennially underachieving teammate Brian Bannister.  You see, you have powers, Coco.  Use them.  Don't abuse them.  If you feel like you're going to get a good pitch to hit, you probably are, so make sure you swing away.  Follow your telepathic signs.

Swing away.

Of course, this brings us to the most troubling portion of your experience, Coco.  Sure, you won the race, but in the end, you were the "jokey".  Man, let me tell ya: I've been down that road too and we both know it ain't no fun.  No way.  To basque in the glory of triumph, to feel the ecstasy of victory, only to realize that you are indeed the "jokey" -- the one everyone is laughing at -- whew.  Man, let's just be honest, Coco, that su<ks.  And I can't help you.

But maybe some of "yaw'll" (a puzzling, elongated abbreviation created by Coco himself, used to represent the shortened "ya'll" as in "you all" but taking the time to type out one extra letter) can.

Like Coco's pal, Barry Zito perhaps, who after somehow ditching his dead-arm persona actually managed to throw seven innings of scoreless baseball yesterday!  Following his surprising performance, Zito had this to tweet:

F__k yeah baby! Let's take this show on the road.
Apr 22nd

Sitting in my hotel in AZ, just ate best cab cakes ever at Cheesecake... You all are great, thanks for the nice comments...
Apr 22nd

Really wanna kill these D backs this weekend and go into Dodger series with momentum..
Apr 22nd

3 hrs sleep... should have partied. Traces of adrenaline still in body, gonna go for a walk before the mercury hits triples digits in AZ
9:03 AM Apr 23rd

F__k yeah, Barry!  I, too, am quite fond of "cab cakes"... they're much tastier than urinal cakes and besides, they tend to be both sweet and savory!  And of course, there's nothing quite like killing D'backs to get momentum going into Dodger stadium.  I mean, think of how scared the Dodgers will be knowing you just killed an entire baseball team!  I was wrong about you, Barry.  You aren't a softy; you're a hard^ss. 

But Barry, just be careful.  Those aren't traces of adrenaline in your body; those are traces of Hilary Duff and Alyssa Milano.

The itch.  Tough to cure.  You know this.

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

Peace,

Jeffy

*Follow RSBS on Twitter *here*
 Follow Coco Crisp on Twitter *here*
 Follow Barry Zito on Twitter *here*

Wherever the Chicago White Sox fan-in-chief goes, you can be sure that some part of the American polity will find a reason to complain. And so it has been over the past couple weeks as President Obama visited England for the G-20 summit and then headed to Trinidad and Tobago for a sit-down with his Latin American counterparts.

The funny part about these dust-ups with certain personalities, though, is that they have little or nothing to do with the President's actual policies and everything to do with his actions. Actions, I might add, that were very open to interpretation.

First, we had the apparent broach of royal protocol when Michelle Obama put her arm around the queen. But is it really a faux pas when the queen is the first to break with tradition and put her arm around our First Lady? I'm going to have to go with a big fat no on that one.

And then some people called foul on what looked like a bow as the President approached King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia. Was it a bow? Possibly. Probably. Does it matter? No. In fact, I don't really think it's such a bad thing if we show a little respect to our "special" partner of the past 50 years. There's a reason we pay less than three dollars for a gallon of gas and the rest of the world pays over five.

And speaking of gas, the event that really has the punditocracy up in arms and ready to revolt was a handshake between Obama and Hugo Chavez of Venezuela. Yep. A handshake. Imagine that. He actually attempts some sort of rapprochement with one of our top oil producing partners, a country with whom relations have been very strained lately, and the response is derision and cries of treason from the chattering class.

Seriously, I think the only thing worse than being President would be managing a baseball team. Can you imagine being Joe Girardi as your team gives up 14 runs in one inning? Or Manny Acta every day of the season? How about Grady Little after you left Pedro in the game in the 8th? Nope, none of that sounds like fun to me.

In fact, he only way it would even kind of be worth it to have such a high profile position is if you could just go a little crazy with it. Like Mark Cuban. Or Isiah Thomas. Or how about the President of Iran? You have to be someone special to make Mel Gibson seem sane by comparison. But even he has his problems. Don't tell anyone, though. It's a secret!



-A

When a Major League Baseball team fires the majority of its relief pitching staff and restocks it with a fresh cast of bumming bandits headlined by the ubiquitously underachieving journeyman Kip Wells (of all waifs), you can be certain that that team has hit its absolute rock bottom.

Congratulations, Washington Nationals!  You are the burnt toast of our nation's capital.  We are going to eat you up.

Of course, picking on the Nationals is a lot like kicking a quadriplegic -- it does get old after a while -- and since my indomitably fatalistic colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, already did a good job of slamming the organization for all its follies, I would like to propose a more optimistic approach to gibing this laughingstock of a team.

But first, let us agree that whether Nationals' manager Manny Acta is responsible for the team's atrocious play or not is, at this point, quite negligible; because, just like a Kyle Farnsworth fastball to the number eight hitter, Acta is gonna be outta here.  And after two miserable years and countless futile attempts at corralling the motley crew of ex-cons, high profile free agents and drug addicts, Acta probably won't mind taking his rightful place in the unemployment line.

So I -- humble paragon of hope that I am -- would like to offer the D.C. brass some friendly advice on who should replace Acta at the managerial helm.  Let's face it: right now what the Nationals need more than anything is a fiery, go get 'em, gnarly skipper who won't take crap from anyone -- someone who eschews personal dignity and goes right for the jugular! 

Mitt Romney comes to mind.  He's in the D.C. loop.  He's Mormon (synonymous with "scary").  He supports blowing up people if they don't agree with him, which is evident in his recent remarks that President Obama is a "timid advocate of freedom" for trying to conduct a sensible dialogue with Latin American leaders rather than walking into the meetings strapped with an AK-47 and a briefcase full of Zyklon gas. 

Then again, like the Nationals, Romney can be better summed up as a simple loser. 

I hear George W. Bush is looking for a job.  And though he is most known for his stints at drunk driving, mismanaging war and ignoring a city in peril, I must admit he did do a pretty decent job during his baseball days in Arlington.  Still, something with Dubya will always be amiss.  He just doesn't have the necessary flair it takes to rally a country, let alone a hapless baseball team.

If not these men, then who, dear readers, can lead the way?  Who has the guts, the guile, the zip, the zap, the unadulterated masochism, the uncanny madness... who has what it takes to whip those gutterball Nationals into a state of frenzied affirmation and show them what real success tastes like?

There is but one answer.  One man (boy?).  His name is Fred.  And Fred is awesome.

Send Fred into the Nats' clubhouse -- just once -- and I guarantee Elijah Dukes will never screw up again.  Don't believe me?  See the wrath of Fred (without his medication no less) for yourself...



...just don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, failure becomes inevitable. For instance, the Detroit Lions. Seriously, was anyone surprised that they lost all 16 of their games? Not me, that's for sure. And the rogue's gallery of inevitable failures includes many other hallowed names like Michael Dukakis, Bill Buckner and the entire city of Cleveland.

But it's always amusing and somewhat awe-inspiring when you get to see one of these failures in the making. And this year, we have that opportunity. This season, the Washington Nationals, despite the acquisition of Adam Dunn and the re-signing of Ryan Zimmerman, are currently on pace to lose 161 games. I assume they'll pick up another one or two wins along the way but this is a team that just seems built to lose.

And it's not just the losing. The Nationals also consistently find new ways to humiliate themselves. I mean, Elijah Dukes didn't start yesterday because he showed up late on account of his signing autographs for little kids! And it gets better. Giving up four runs in the ninth to the Marlins is one thing but not even being able to get your team's name correct on their uniforms is a whole new level of failure.

Despite all that, I'm not completely convinced that the Nationals have claimed their place in the pantheon of losers. Have they achieved Cubs level futility with that ignominious 100 year drought hanging over their heads? Are they really 2008 Detroit Lions terrible? Frankly, I have to admit that the Nats haven't quite earned those comparisons at this point. Their failure isn't epic like the Cubs and isn't quite as pathetic as the Lions. But, they do have company:



Yep, that seems about right.

-A

Credits:
-"Natinals" photo via FanIQ
-"Boxer" video via Every Day Should be Saturday

During the past week we watched the opening of two new multi-million dollar stadiums in New York City and during this time MLB and the major sports channels more or less ignored everything else going on around the league. Was the opening of the new Yankee Stadium and Citi Field really such important news or was Heath Bell accurate in saying that ESPN and other providers are completely focused on a few teams to the detriment of the rest of the league?

-- Allen
__________________________________________

Pardon me for being a-holishly frank, dear readers, but I think it is pretty damn sad that it took Heath Bell (of all reinvented people) to bring the media's obvious love affair with New York and Boston into the public domain.  Nothing against, Heath, who has now become my own personal savior for his ESPN remarks, but we here at RSBS as well as myriad Joe Six-Packs in sports bars galore all across Anytowns, US America, have been harping on this oh-so-blatant injustice for years now. 

Years.

Heath Bell said:

"I truly believe ESPN only cares about promoting the Red Sox and Yankees and Mets - and nobody else.  That's why I like the MLB Network, because they promote everybody. I'm really turned off by ESPN and 'Baseball Tonight.'  When Jake Peavy threw 8 1/3 innings on Saturday, they showed one pitch in the third inning and that was it. It's all about the Red Sox, Yankees and Mets."

True story, Heath.  True story.

Just for the record, regarding the two new ballparks in New York (one of which cost $1.5 billion) let me just say that I don't remember there being such a fuss over the new Busch Stadium or PNC Park or even Nationals Park for that matter.

Yet all week long I have been bombarded with information I could care less about:

• The first homerun in new Yankee Stadium.

• The first multi-RBI game at CITI Field.

• The first blab-hole jerkazoid kicked out of new Yankee Stadium for using foul language and fists to explain his innermost self-loathing while watching the Indians score 14 runs in one inning.
  

I don't care. 

And I ain't alone.

The good news is, Heath Bell's voice was heard and ESPN reacted quickly by having him on Baseball Tonight.  Shortly after that, the once monopolizing baseball program introduced it's 30 Team Ticker, which offers tidbits of information on all 30 teams at the bottom of the screen while the analysts blab on about how much they love the Red Sox, Yankees and Mets.

But just like the leaderless GOP of 2008 desperately trying to reinvent its image after devastating the public by dropping the ball in New Orleans and Iraq while allowing the economy to collapse over and over again... it was just too little, too late.

Folks, we have a choice.  Join Al and I; heed Heath Bell's call.

Switch to the MLB Network.  Enjoy equal coverage.  Play the RSBS Harold Reynolds drinking game.

Just don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

For those of you anti-technocratic individuals stuck in 2005 where MySpace is your second life, Andruw Jones is your homerun leader and The Emancipation of Mimi rocks your screenless iPod Shuffle, let me tell ya: it's time to get with the program.

Join us!

And by us I mean Red State Blue State -- on Twitter, the hottest albeit most meaningless social networking site that has all the kids goin' crazy.

If you do not do it to keep up with the immediate updates of flamboyantly flippant posts authored by my oft misunderstood colleague, please do it for the comedy gold that is Covelli "Coco" Crisp.

And do it now.

Not convinced yet?

Here is but a small sampling of prolific "tweets" by the Royals hot off-season acquisition (read them; you will laugh):

i saw a guy at todayz that looked like the deformed dude from Goonies, i have to tell yah i got a weak stomach. He was over where i was
9:18 PM Mar 29th

signing autographs b4 the game and i thought it was gonna b game over for me, but i made it... PHEWW signed his ball and all. that could
9:21 PM Mar 29th

have been the weirdest moment of my life!!! 4real. Anywayz bout 2 watch Golden Child, "I want the knife..._... Pleassse"
9:25 PM Mar 29th

oh yeah b4 i log i went 3-4 today and we won
9:26 PM Mar 29th

red bull is amaZing
12:29 PM Apr 3rd

Got n 2 KC last night. That plane ride was by far the worst i've ever been on. i thought fasho i was a goner. The last 5 mins of the the
9:41 AM Apr 10th

of the flight the plane was movin like a Wakefield knuckleball lol. i just new that was it 4 me... us but we make it.
9:41 AM Apr 10th

ANOTHER VICTORY! John Buck had an awesome game. Right now tryin to make a mix tape 4 after we win, what we've been playin is terrible
11:54 PM Apr 14th
(*note: it seems Coco was just as surprised as us that the Royals won again)

i guess when i get back of this road trip ill check out the night life. im bout 2 check out im hella tired Gnite.
10:59 PM Apr 15th

You see, dear readers, sometimes the creative mind is no match for stream of consciousness junkets created by extremely talented yet severely uneducated athletes.

Amen to that.

And go ahead and hate me 'cuz I take cheap shots at verbally challenged yet outspoken outfielders... just don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

P.S. You can follow Coco *here* on Twitter.  You can follow RSBS *here*.  You can follow the yellow brick road *here*.

It's finally a nice spring day in DC. The sun is out, the birds are chirping, the Canadian geese have taken over everything. Oh, and the Nationals are already six and a half games out of first place. That can only mean one thing. It must be April.

I love this time of year. There's still hope for the Tigers and still hope for my fantasy baseball teams before the long slog toward September and mediocrity. It's warm during the day but not so warm that it's uncomfortable. The end of April is really one of the best times to be a baseball fan.

But this time of the year is also special for another reason. In the next few weeks, as the drama begins to build around the early season fortunes of various teams, drama also starts to build at movie theaters around the country as the first wave of blockbusters hit the screen.

But really, on a Friday afternoon like this it just feels good to sit back and reflect on making it through another winter (residents of southern California and other warm states are exempt from this contemplation). But, as we wait for all the inevitable drama about to unfold, it's also a perfect opportunity to appreciate the drama inherent in life. Not sure what I'm talking about? This should help:
 


Happy Friday!
-A

Credits:
-Video via The Daily Dish

Unlike Ernest Hemingway's poignant parlay into the world of non-fiction, mine hath not the slightest utterance of death today... unless, of course, you consider the thousands of Cub fans who felt stabbed through the heart after their sloppy loss to the St. Louis Cardinals.

For today was a celebration, not only for the Redbirds' ultimate triumph, but also for good company.  Indeed, dear readers, I have friends who don the Cubby blue, like one soon-to-be-wed Adam Marshall -- talented author of Our Man In Los Angeles -- who was crazy enough to arrange for 22 Cub fans and one Cardinal fan (me!) to stake our claim amongst the bleacher bums at Wrigley Field on what may have been the most beautiful day of the year.

My first stop was to pay homage to the wondrous artwork to the right, found at the Addison Red Line stop, depicting heroic Hall of Fame icons Ryne Sandberg and Ozzie Smith in a too-close-to-call play at second base.  I scrounged through the melee of already drunk Cub fans and snapped this amateur photo, hoping it would bring me good luck.

It did.

Dear readers, I have been going to Major League Baseball games my entire life and I have never, ever caught one ball, be it foul, fair, or B.P.  Never. 

Once inside the cathedral dump also known as Wrigley Field, I went straight for the beer man, bought myself a cold one and swarmed through the slew of drunkards to find an open seat.  Entering to an onslaught of "F*** your mother", "Go back to St. Louis", and "Cardinals su<k", I did my very best to make sure my Bud Light did not spilleth over.  While perfecting this baseball ballet, I noticed the crowd around me take to a chorus of oohs and ahhs, duck and spread.  I looked up and there it was: a ball coming straight towards me at a rifling speed.  With no time to react, I simply stuck my chest out, felt a thump, looked down, and in my left hand was a baseball!

After 30 years, folks,  I finally caught one.

A Colby Rasmus batting practice homerun at Wrigley.

And my beer did not spill one drop.

From there I knew it was going to be a good game.

And it was, if you consider sloppy defense good.  In fact, Cardinals left fielder Chris Duncan put on a clinic of how not to play the position.  Then again, so did Alfonso Soriano.  And in the end, Duncan's bat powered the Redbirds to a win.

Of course, no Cub game would be complete without crying; and Milton Bradley came on late with the bases loaded, looked at six straight pitches without swinging the bat, then whined like the spoiled brat child he is before getting tossed.

Cards win.  Cubs lose.  I live.

Oh, and those crazy bleacher bums oft known to take an afternoon dip down the urinal trough?  They were out in full force.  There were a few tiffs and tussles, some skiffs and struggles.  They were loud.  They were obnoxious.  They were obscene.  Business as usual... like this clever diva who scribbled out some nonsense on a piece of cardboard and passed it off as truth:

(If you look closely, you'll see it says: "Cardinals su<k nuts")

Apparently she was too intoxicated to realize that the Cardinals won the game... or the fact that Wrigley Field's peanuts are quite savory and that any Redbird would be a fool to not at least try them... just once.

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

Peace,

Jeffy

Now, when you read that title you probably thought I was referring to the well-reviewed, over-hyped and altogether underwhelming book written several years ago by Ms. Arundhati Roy. But that's not it. In fact, I hate that book. Seriously, it's a two minute story that takes her 200 pages to tell. The girl died and India has a lot of problems. Why not just say that? I mean, get to the point all ready. You're not Proust and I'm not impressed....uh, where was I? Oh, right. The god of small things. See, in my world this refers to something much simpler: the joy that can be taken from seemingly insignificant events that come to mean something more.

The past week has been replete with these sorts of happenings. As a fan of the Tigers I can't help but be tickled by Brandon Inge's early season heroics. Homeruns in each of the first three games? Stellar defense? What's not to love? I don't expect this continue all season long but these small things keep us going.

Similarly, despite my intense dislike of the Yankees, I still enjoyed Nick Swisher's inning on the mound. It doesn't hurt when the deficit is double digits and the Rays are going all Dresden on the Yankees' sorry ^sses. But I enjoy watching a guy like Swisher volunteer for an unenviable task like that. The fact that he ended up with far and away the best ERA on the team only adds to my enjoyment.

Even little things like knowing how much Jeff must have been squirming while the Pirates beat up his Cardinals on opening day gives me a thrill. However, my plan today is to return the favor, to introduce you all to the god of small things. And here it is, courtesy of YouTube. You don't have to like the song or the format but you can't help but smile when a dowdy, middle-aged woman who only asks to be given a chance finally gets it. Enjoy!

-A

Credits:
-Video via The Daily Dish

Verily!  Every baseball season I, Jeffery Lung, walk through the valley of the shadow of death... also known as Wrigley Field.

I have been punched in the back of the head.  I have been called a f^g.  I have been kicked in the legs while relieving myself in the men's room in between innings.

I have been told my mother will rot in hell.  I have had beer thrown on me.  I have been spit on.

So it is certainly no surprise to me that a bunch of Wrigleyville yahoos placed a severed goat head atop the infamously scary Harry Caray statue on the corner of Sheffield and Addison yesterday.

The curse of the billy goat -- still haunting the not-so-friendly-if-you-wear-Cardinal-red confines -- lives on, dear readers; and apparently, people still take it seriously.  Very seriously.

They take it so seriously that they are willing to act like bigger a-holes than they are already perceived to be.  

But such is life as a "lovable loser", I suppose.

Impressed was I last year, before the National League Division Series, when the Cubs went for a more subtle approach to ending their poor luck: praying to God.  After the Greek Orthodox Reverend Father spread holy water throughout the clubhouse, Ryan Dempster responded by quickly walking seven batters; and the Cubs went on to lose three straight lackluster games to the Los Angeles (perhaps Holy) Dodgers.

Guess God don't like no posers, ya'll.

I was just thinking, Cub fans: perhaps ye should combine thy wasted efforts into one successful go-for-all.  Call on Bishop Tom Burns and his iconic regimental mascot (a goat no less) to bless thy dump of a field in that oh-so-vigilante neighborhood and ask him to pray for your forgiveness -- for all thy slander-slinging, grudge-grovelling and curse-coveting. 

Couldn't hurt, right?

Well... nah... I just realized, when your fan base is more known for this...



...than winning baseball games, you really don't have a prayer, do you?

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

Peace,

Jeffy

Produced, shot and edited by Atonal Studios.

Special thanks to Theo Roll.

Very special thanks to Sam Adams, for getting us where we wanted to go.

And yes, to answer your question in advance: I had an itch.

(For best playback results, watch in High Quality)

Today baseball says goodbye to one of its greatest voices.

You will be missed, Harry.

Jeff & Allen

On Thursday, former New York Yankee disaster, Carl Pavano, made his Cleveland Indians debut.  In just one inning plus of work he allowed 9 runs on 6 hits (including 2 homers) and three walks.  Cleveland was not happy.  But Pavano is just one of many pitching phenoms gone sour.  If you had to put together a pitching staff of current players designed, destined and determined to fail, who would you choose and why?

-- Jeff
__________________________________________

The problem with this question is that it's punditry in it's most basic form. No matter what pitchers I name, you already have your mind made up and you've already decided that I'm wrong. It feels like I'm being forced to play Colmes to your Hannity. But, because I'm a good sport, I'll do it. I will become Alan Colmes.

Any baseball team needs a quality starter, decent middle relief and a closer who can get the job done. So, it makes sense that our bizarro all-star team would want just the opposite: a starter who never fail to implode, a middle reliever with whom no lead is safe and a ninth inning finisher who puts the "lose" in closer.

It would be relatively easy to staff the entire squad with last year's Tigers but at this point, only one of them truly deserves that roster spot. Last season Dontrelle Willis managed to single-handedly redefine the concept of crashing and burning and this year seems to be more of the same. How bad is it? Well, D-train is currently cooling his heels on the 15-day DL with the frighteningly worded injury, "Anxiety disorder." For those escapades, Dontrelle, we make you our ace.

But every starter needs a stopper. Although, in our case I guess what we're looking for is more of a porous sieve. And there are plenty of them out there. Just today C.J. Wilson of the Rangers gave up four quick runs in relief of Kevin Millwood and managed to throw away what had been a shutout up til that point. But has anyone fallen as far or as fast as Eric Gagne? I mean this guy was lights out a couple years ago but now just mentioning his name around Red Sox or Brewers fans might get you punched out.

However, and I think it's probably no surprise to anyone, the dirty lump of coal in in this torn stocking of a rotation has to be old friend of RSBS, Kyle Farnsworth. And he really deserves this honor on so many levels. Don't just think of it as a reward for his incredible meltdown against the White Sox this past week. No, this is truly a lifetime achievement award. Farnsworth is the Mariano Rivera of blown opportunities and for that we salute him.

When it comes right down to it, though, I don't know if anyone can really out-Pavano Carl Pavano himself. Seriously, how is this guy still pitching? When will GMs learn that he truly is kryptonite, anathema to the very idea of pitching. On the bright side, he is playing for the Indians and that makes me a little more optimistic for the Tigers chances this season. Hey, it's Easter, a time of resurrection and rebirth. We all gotta' hope, right?

-A

Pope Benedict XVI's Good Friday address was what most of us expected it to be: warming, inviting, aggressive.  And since my esteemed secular colleague, Mr. Krause, already achieved his annual civic duty of offending the Catholic church, I will refrain from continuing such questioning threads... except to say: WHAT?!?!

Acknowledging the world's escalating progressive temperature towards logic and science, the Pope warned the masses that Western society is currently collapsing into "a desert of godlessness".

Godlessness? 

I think not.

Admittedly, I am not your typical religious type; yet I do have the propensity to ponder the existence of higher powers.  One need only examine the current state of the greatest game on earth to realize that indeed, something "other" is at work:

Kyle Farnsworth still has a job.

J.P. Ricciardi still has a job.

And Bartolo Colon is pitching today.

Overcome by such paramountcy, I find that I have no choice but to go and see for myself.

Yes, dear readers.  Today, Comiskey is my church, Colon is my vehicle and baseball is my savior.

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

Peace,

Jeffy

It's a little strange. Here we are, late Friday afternoon, and despite the Tigers playing their home opener during "holy hours," the city of Detroit did not burst into flame nor did the world end. It's almost like, well, maybe the whole thing was a minor incident blown way out of proportion by a vocal minority.

You know what's even more strange, though? We're five games into the season and the Tigers have won 40% of those games. I know, I know, it's not great. But considering the all-but-certain World Series contenders were 0-5 at the same point last year despite opening the season with four games against the Royals, well, you can see why I might be feeling all right. Not only that but Galarraga showed that his decent outings last season were no fluke.

But, this being Good Friday and all, I think a little sacrilege and blasphemy are in order. After all, why else do you keep coming back to RSBS unless it's to be alternately offended and amazed?

I'll start with the Pope. Now, he hasn't had an easy go of it so far but it really doesn't help when he continuously manages to make GWB look like a model of reservedness and diplomacy. Exhorting the words of early church bigots? Denigrating the one thing that has brought a killer epidemic under control? Is this really how he wants to be remembered? There's a lot to be said for the rapprochement that John Paul II effected between Catholics and the rest of the religious world but Benedict seems determined to make a hash of it.

Now, I'm not saying that Catholics have some sort of monopoly on ignorance. Lord knows the Protestants, the Jews, the Muslims, the atheists and every other religious (or anti-religious) groups have their fair share of moments, too.

That's why I think it's important to bring things full circle to something we can all agree on. And today the thing that we can all get behind is the continued brilliance of Tracy Morgan:

As if the world wasn't overflowing with enough bad news already, Iranian officials came forth on Thursday to boast of their newly installed 7,000 centrifuges, presumably to scare we evil US Americans into bowing down to their racist demands or else.

During the kangaroo court adminstration of 'Lil Bush and Smokin' Dick Cheney, this clear and present danger would have been immediately dismissed like a young Dubya D.U.I. arrest.  Unfortunately, Iran is not North Korea: they are not just playing around.  And thankfully the Obama adminstration is making a sincere effort to work out these serious issues.

That being said, the topic of nuclear weapons is not what interests me on this day; rather, it is the centrifugal technology behind it that leads to such scary development.

For it is this exact same technology that the Baltimore Orioles and Toronto Blue Jays are currently utilizing to trick their fans in to thinking they have an actual shot at competing this year.  After one series apiece, both teams find themselves with more wins than losses.

The Orioles?  Well, they just got lucky.

The Blue Jays?  They played the Tigers.

And it's gonna be all downhill from here because let's face it: centrifugal force is and always will be a pseudo-force -- one that originates from within and does not interact with other, real forces.

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

Peace,

Jeffy

Our most sincere thoughts and deepest sympathies go out to Nick Adenhart's family, friends and loved ones.

You are not alone. 

You are never, ever alone.

Jeff & Allen

The last couple days have been rough for the city of Detroit. The practically hometown Spartans were annihilated by UNC's modern day version of George and Lennie, Ty and Tyler, while the Tigers have once again managed to open the season with consecutive losses. And if the losses weren't bad enough, Detroit's big offseason acquisition, Brandon Lyon, has so far proven to be a huge bust.

But, it's time like these when I like to remind myself that it could be worse. At least we no longer have to deal with Kyle Farnsworth.

In his first outing of the season yesterday, Farnsworth managed to blow a great outing by Gil Meche when he dished up a three-run, game-winning homerun to Jim Thome with two out in the eighth. Now, to anyone familiar with Farnsworth's body of work, this certainly came as no surprise. I used to watch him throw BP during the eighth inning of close games back when I was living in Chicago in 2003. But when it happens to a team that will in all likelihood end the season 20 games under .500, well, you just feel kind of bad.

For the team and the fans that is. For Farnsworth? Hell no. He's baseball's living embodiment of the Peter Principle. As Phil Rogers points out in his column in today's Chicago Tribune, "[Farnsworth] throws hard. He can't be trusted. But teams can't stop thinking that they are going to be the one to make him into a top-of-the-line setup man, if not a closer." Just ask the Cubs, Yankees and Tigers how that worked out for them.

As an unrepentant realist, here's how I see it. Farnsworth should not play above triple-A, the Tigers are not going to the playoffs and Michigan State never had a chance. But, I'm not opposed to looking for the silver lining. For instance, at least I'm not a mouth-breathing, inbred okie. So, there's that. And there's this:



-A

...and that's only if the 2009 lackluster beer-league softball team of a Cardinals bullpen wants to equal last year's pathetic mark.

And let me tell ya, folks, they're well on their way.

For if Opening Day is any indication as to what we Cardinal fans can expect this season, we are in for a long, painful, vomit-inducing ride.

In fact, I'm still cleaning up the mess I made yesterday.

Thank you, Jason Motte.

But more thanks to you, John Mozeliak, our miserly GM who spent the entire off-season ignoring the Cardinals' biggest problem: the gaudy, bloody mess of a metastasizing bullpen.

Sure, having a healthy, strong, productive Adam Wainwright and Chris Carpenter in the rotation is great and all.  And yes, we will take a lot of leads into the sixth inning; but unless we find a way to get Albert Pujols on the bump for the 7th, 8th and 9th, we are in line to fall apart every single night like Amy Winehouse at an open bar mixer.

In both cases, the result will be the same: lots and lots of puking.

And though I am impressed with Jason Motte's blazing fastball, it's not really all that impressive when that's all he throws (that slider that doesn't slide doesn't count).  I'm sure Jack Wilson was thinking the same thing when he sat back and ripped that game-winner.

Dear readers, if running a baseball organization was a democracy, the revolution would have long been over by now; and the ominous, towering, domineering statue of John Mozeliak would be lying in ruins.

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

Peace,

Jeffy

Produced, shot and edited by Atonal Studios.

Special thanks to Theo Roll.

Very special thanks to Albert Pujols -- the only man who can make Jeff wobble like a newborn calf.

(For best playback results, watch in High Quality)

The Pittsburgh Pirates managed to lose a game the other day to a local community college. Granted, it wasn't their best players on the field that day but they did still lose to a community college. Now, we've spent a lot of time talking about the highlights we expect to see in the upcoming season but what are some of the bloopers and sob stories you are looking forward to as well?

--Allen
__________________________________________

The Pirates' saving grace (after losing to a community college) is the fact that they themselves are a team better suited for the community college circuit.  Boasting players most of us have never heard of like Nyjer Morgan, Brandon Moss and Ross Ohlendorf, is it any surprise that the perennial underachieving Buccos start the season picked to win a mind-blowing 65 games?  I think not.

But as my sludge-dredging colleague, Mr. Krause, so coyly alludes to, this will be just one of the many "sob stories" we baseball fans are looking forward to in 2009.  Now I am no soothsayer; nor am I blessed with magical powers allowing me to predict which gaffes and gripes will take centerstage this season; but let's face it: some things are just a given.  For example:

The Orioles and Blue Jays Will Simply Disappear
If they haven't already, by the time we hit the month of May, I foresee that all relevance of baseball in Baltimore and Toronto will cease to exist.  After a steady diet of Yankees, Red Sox and Rays is slammed down our throats, who will care that Brian Roberts is a shining star in a sea of apathy or that J.P. Ricciardi is single-handedly destroying what was once a proud baseball organization?  No one.  That's who.

Cub Fans Will Be Whining About Something
They always do.  They always will.  They never stop.  Whether it's invoking the spirit of Cub castaway Steve Bartman, repeating ye ole circa 2003 mantra: "Prior and Wood, Prior and Wood, Prior and Wood" or just getting too drunk to know what's actually going on during the game, Cub fans were born to lose.  And in personifying their joyous moniker of "Lovable Losers", they love to whine.  Sure.  They'll win the division.  How can they not?  But they'll find a way to blow it in the playoffs and we sane baseball folk will be subjected to yet another lengthy offseason of wouldas, couldas and shouldas -- a century old Northside tradition.

Gary Sheffield Will Say Something Stupid
Happens every year, folks.  He might even box someone too, that is, if he can find the strength to walk from homeplate all the way out to the mound.  And if he plays in more than 114 games, there's a good chance that he'll add even more guts and gore to that Phillies/Mets rivalry we've all come to enjoy over the last few years.  Sheff is certainly setup to give new meaning to the phrase "choke artist".  All Cole Hamels has to do is open his mouth.

Joba Chamberlain Will Try His Luck with Erin Andrews -- Again -- and Fail Miserably -- Again
I know, I know.  Ms. Andrews said it was nothing, but we saw the video (which has conveniently been erased from the entire interweb) and let's face it: Joba struck out like Adam Dunn after an all-night bender.  Having been in that situation myself, and being a guy, I think it's safe to say Joba will go there again.  Men are stupid.  Ladies, am I right?

Yet looking into my crystal ball, dear readers, the one blooping gaffe that is bound to come up again and again this season is almost too easy to call:

Kyle Farnsworth Will Be the Laughingstock of Major League Baseball
They hated him in Chicago.  They hated him in New York.  They hated him in Detroit.  If the Royals had any fans, they would hate him in Kansas City too.  But at the end of the day, no one can deny that Farnsy has become the whipping boy of baseball sadists all across US America.  When a kind-hearted She-Fan openly in love with her beloved Yankees rips the man to death in her best-selling book, it is safe to say that Kyle Farnsworth is and always will be fair game.  He should've known better: "There's no crying in baseball!"

Hate me 'cuz I can be an ^ss, just don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeffy

Ty Cobb could not play baseball today. Oh, maybe he had the skills and the guts to succeed but you wouldn't find him in the majors. There's one simple reason for this. Bigtime sports depend on marketing and it's really hard to market a racist ^sshole. Just look at John Rocker. Say the wrong thing to the wrong person and soon enough you're signing baseball cards at convention centers instead of trotting in from the bullpen.

Now, it hasn't always been this way and the fact that a guy like Ty Cobb is in the Hall of Fame shows that sometimes those lesser angels of our nature don't disqualify you from everything in life. But in the last few years, as baseball and other sports have become more dependent on the revenue generated by the family friendly aspects of the game, it has become rarer and rarer to see someone go off and really call it like they see it. That's why I want to remind us all of some of the more glaring instances in a segment I like to call: Holy Sh!t! Did he really just say that?

Gary Sheffield:
I begin with my hometown Tigers and an homage to our recently departed designated hitter. Now, Sheff has been a fount of inspired insanity over the years and everyone knows about his comments regarding Latino players. He also famously said that Derek Jeter wasn't "All the way black." But the genius of Sheff can only truly be summed up in his response to a question about fathering two children before he was old enough to vote: "That was part of my plan. I didn't want to be the typical athlete who's single all his career." Sheff shows that racism comes in a rainbow of colors.

John Rocker:
Quite possibly the biggest homophobe and xenophobe to emerge from baseball since Ty Cobb, Rocker once remarked, "The biggest thing I don't like about New York are the foreigners ... You can walk an entire block in Times Square and not hear anybody speaking English." Even his annual apologies provided nonstop fun. Only Rocker could manage to understate the severity of a situation by starting out "My comments concerning persons afflicted with AIDS as well as various minority groups have left people wondering if I am a racist." However, he also manages to retain the power to confound his critics and proved it once again by taking up with the beautiful Alicia. You stay classy, John Rocker!

Norm MacDonald:
However, nothing quite tops this video of Norm Coleman hosting the Espy's a decade ago. Do yourself a favor. Even if you can't quite sit through the entire eight and a half minutes, fast forward to the 7:53 minute mark and prepare to be amazed by the absolute sadistic ruthlessness with which he builds up Charles Woodson and then cuts him off at the ankles. It ain't pretty but it gets him a spot on RSBS:



Happy Saturday!

-A

Yes, dear readers, those are the black tears of death running down the face of Kansas City Royals' franchise juggernaut, Mark Teahen.  As a proud member of the Royals, Teahen obviously experiences a lot of down time.  So instead of wallowing away in the wasteland that is the Royals' prospects at winning this year, Mark appears to be flirting with his death metal alter ego Marduk Two-Bagger.

In an effort to boost his fettered teammates' moribund morale, Teahen also recorded an album featuring some quality head-thrashing tracks that aim to electrify underground metal clubs all across US America and inject fear into the ripped-out hearts of AL Central foes.  Some of the more titillating featured titles from this album are:

Skulling Tony Pena

Thrash and Mesh Gil's Misanthropic Meche

Goliath Killed David's DeJesus

Nequaquam Vacuums and CoCo Crisps: Eat Them and DIE!!!

and finally...

Crucify Kyle Farnsworth

Something tells me Kyle won't have any problem doing that on his own...

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

Peace,

Jeffy

(Image Courtesy of the Associated Press)

*The above story is completely false... and by false I mean it's true... in my own little fantasyland.

In life there are two topics one should never discuss in polite company: Politics and religion. Well, I think you'd be hard pressed to find someone willing to refer to the blogosphere (god I hate that word) as polite company so it seems kind of odd that this is the first time that RSBS has managed to stray into such contentious territory. Apparently there are quite a few baseball loving Catholics out there.

Now, I don't think that either Jeff or myself have attempted to hide our obvious political and religious leanings. Even our nonstop chatter during last year's election season didn't bring about quite the same amount of vehement commentary as did my friend's entry yesterday.

But, despite the risk involved with wading back into that fray, I have to say that I think he hit it right on the head. Why should the Tigers not play their home opener on Good Friday at 1:05? As one commenter noted, there's basketball on Christmas Day and some sort of sporting event pretty much every other day of the year. Why not Good Friday, too?

Here's how it breaks down. I used to live in New York City and on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, half the city didn't show up for work. But you know what, they all took personal days. The hundreds of thousands of Muslims who live in this country receive no preferential treatment during Ramadan when they are fasting from sun-up to sun-down. Have you gone 12 hours without eating or drinking while trying to work a full day? For a month? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Why should it matter if the Tigers play their game at noon or 7PM? If you want to go to church, do like the millions of people in this country who aren't Christian and make that choice and the accompanying sacrifice.

Here's the theology part of it. The Jesus of the Bible took almost sinful delight in ridiculing the Pharisees and their incredibly strict interpretation of Abrahamic law. At every possible opportunity he poked holes in their ostentatious piety and continuously pointed out that he had come to show a new way to god. It was no longer about rigid doctrine and observance of the law. Instead, Jesus focused on a personal relationship that also prescribed personal choice. It wasn't about showing up for services. It was about showing who you were in your daily life. The freedom from orthodoxy meant that religion became a personal choice and free will took over from blind observance of laws and traditions.

And that leads us right back to the decision that Tigers fans will have to make in a little over a week. Do they go to Good Friday services or go to the game? For some people, that might be a really tough choice. But you know what, you're going to have to make that decision for yourself. And that probably also means you're going to have to make a sacrifice. But when you think about it, that should sound kind of familiar.

-A

It may not be March, but there's still plenty of madness to go around ya'll.  Check out the Max Blog and vote for RSBS to move on to the Elite 8!

We feel your pain!

Jeff & Allen

Jesus was a cool dude.  He talked to anyone and everyone, from hookers to farmers to gladiators to fisherman.  I bet he'd even talk to Cub fans. 

He had long hair.  He had no earthly possessions.  He was nice to everyone.  He was compassionate, well-spoken and he didn't judge others based on their ideas or actions; he left that up to his daddy.

So after two thousand years I have to ask: where did all those ideals go?

Catholic church, I think it's about time you get over yourself.

The Tigers' home opener is on a Good Friday, during holy hours?  This offends you, Catholics?  Whaa whaa whaa!  Cry me a river so I can walk on it and impress my friends with my mad Jesus skillz.  What!?! 

Exactly.

Your hardline is just as insane.

Take it easy on the Tigers, will ya, Catholics.  They're in terrible shape and the last thing they need right now is a religious scandal scarring their opening day attendance.  Besides, have you taken a look at the empty industrial shell known as the city of Detroit?  Do you think the city or the team actually cares about what offends you and what doesn't?  The Tigers organization (and I can't believe I'm defending them here) is a business. Business.  How many other businesses will close during your precious holy hours just because you think they should and you will be offended if they don't?  Will McDonald's close its doors?  How about the crack dealers?  Will there be a moratorium on rock sales during the holy hours?  Will you police that if they don't?  And what about Little Caesars?  Do you think they'll shut down shop during your holy hours?  No, sir, not while there are $5 pizzas that taste like crap to sell in order to pay off Gary Sheffield's walking papers to the tune of some 14 million bucks! 

But the story doesn't end there, does it?  You're always in a tiff about something.  Whaa whaa whaa, we don't want Barack Obama, the leader of the free world, to give a commencement day speech at Notre Dame because he supports stem cell research -- an effort that only aims to help people, heal people, give people hope.  You don't want Obama on your campus because he promotes progressive thinking, the freedom to choose, the American dream... and I guess all those awful, terrible ideals just don't have a place in the rigid backwardness of the Catholic church, do they?

No, not as long as your higher-ups continue to challenge the existence of the Holocaust; not as long as your bishops suggest more Catholics died during the Holocaust than did the Jews; not as long as your elders continue to diddle little boys and get away with it.

Ask yourselves this, Catholics: What would Jesus do?

I'm pretty sure Jesus would say: Play Ball!

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

Peace,

Jeffy