Post-Podcast Pizazz!
We interrupt this pennant chase to bring you a special collection of non-baseball-politico related punk-jazz awesomeness from our podcast engineer and all-around cool cat, Keith Carmack.
ENJOY!
Tangible Intangibles
Although both political candidates and baseball teams have spent hundreds and thousands of hours working on strategy and trying to put together the perfect roster to bring home a win in November, there’s just no way they can prepare for the intangibles, what Donald Rumsfeld would call the “unknown unknowns.” For the sports teams, there’s always the specter of injury as well as the impossible to predict quality of “getting hot at the right time.” In politics, the things that keep campaign managers up at night include supposedly off-the-record comments and the fickleness of the “undecided voter.”
Guess that means it’s time to spend another couple hundred hours on strategy.
-A
Things Still Fall Apart
Like any good book, the baseball season unfolds as a series of intriguing stories. Mike Trout. Bryce Harper. The Baltimore Orioles. The Boston sell-off. ROIDS!!! These are all striking plot lines that draw us in, forcing us to check Twitter and MLB Trade Rumors and MLB Tonight as often as Mr. Krause uses a 5-year old picture of me looking like a goof.
Yet, at the end of the season, after the World Champions have been crowned, the champagne has been drunk and Ozzie Guillen has said something unintelligible on live television, I firmly believe that the biggest story of the year could be the complete reversal of what up until a few weeks ago looked like a major headline grabber.
That’s right. I’m talking to you, Pittsburgh Pirates.
Not even International Talk Like A Pirate Day could save loyal baseball fans in the Steel City from wanting to bring back the brown paper bags from the last 19 years.
With the losses on Wednesday and Thursday, the Pirates find themselves back where they belong, with a losing record.
It’s sad, right? I guess. No. I know. It is sad. But for a realist like me, it was also predictable. The Pirates doing well would be a surprise. Seeing them sink back into loserdom is not.
Speaking of losers, you are not one today, my friend. In fact, you just won! What did you win? Well, I can’t leave you feeling so sad on a Friday… so here are 18 glorious minutes of bloopers from The Office.
Happy Friday!
Jeff
Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury…
The other day my good friend and colleague, Jeffery, publicly mocked me for not being tuned in to Anibal Sanchez’s at-the-time no-no. In his screed, Jeff notes how he sent me text, a text that compelled me to call him and find out what was going on. However, when you read a little more closely, you realize that this all happened on Saturday.
Now, I’m sure I don’t need to point this out to any of our RSBS readers but this past Saturday also happened to be a day chock-full of various other sporting events including some important early-season college football games. Being the sports enthusiast that I am and due to the Tigers’ increasingly erratic play, I made the decision to focus on college football.
What happened next is the very definition of what you are not supposed to do when a no-hitter is in the offing. Jeff texted me a vague, leading question which demanded a response. As I called and Jeff picked up the phone, Sanchez let loose the the pitch that would end the no-hit bid. Now, I ask you, members of the jury, who bears the blame for this unfortunate series of events? Is it Allen, the attentive friend, responding to his buddy’s inarticulate and unclear question? Or is it Jeff, the person who set these events in motion and instigated the fateful phone call?
The answer is clear my friends. And if Johnny Cochran were here with us today, this would be the point where we’d hear him say: “Texting is key, Jeff’s guilty.”
-A
State of the RSBS Union
Superstition is not something I find myself drawn to ordinarily; however, certain recent circumstances have led me to question even my own staunch stance in reality. On Saturday, while witnessing Anibal Sanchez’s no-hit bid against the lowly Indians, I thought to myself, surely my obstinate and beleaguered colleague, Mr. Krause, is enjoying this little bit of history-in-the-making.
To be sure, I sent him a simple (non-superstitious text) that read: You know what’s happening right now, don’t you?
Unfortunately, as the baseball gods shook their invisible heads in shame, Mr. Krause responded with a phone call, to ask me what I was talking about, and as soon as I answered the phone, Carlos Santana drove a deep drive over Austin Jackson’s head and the drama was dead.
Good job, Mr. Krause. Seems to be quite the formula for the Tigers this season: flashes of brilliance followed by complete disappointment. How long will the White Sox stay ahead of the Tigers? Until the end of the season. That’s how I see it.
As for me and my Cardinal fanatic family, sure we’ve been victimized by the same sort of blasé play lately; but never fear… our SAVIOR will be HERE… FRIDAY.
Hate me ‘cuz it’s Monday, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Peace,
Jeff
Malarchuk, Theismann and McCarthy: A Humbling Triumvirate of Danger
One and a half times. That is how many times I have been able to watch the Brandon McCarthy play where a darting Eric Aybar comebacker destroys the Oakland A’s pitcher’s skull. Holy mother of invisible friends, that hurts.
The first time I saw it my stomach dropped and I got real dizzy. When the replay was shown again — this time in slow-motion — I anticipated the skull crushing but still wasn’t able to get through it. I thought I was going to be sick.
I was sick the first time I saw Clint Malarchuk get his neck sliced by a Steve Tuttle’s skate back in Buffalo too. In fact, I remember asking my dad if it was even real, hoping that the spewing, rhythmical blood staining the ice might be some cute Hollywood trick designed to draw in more fans. Sadly, the situation was quite real.
As was Joe Theismann’s career ending leg snap, courtesy of Lawrence Taylor. Even Homer Simpson had a hard time stomaching that!
The truth is, as much as we enjoy our professional sports, they do carry with them an incalculable element of danger. Even with all that open space in Oakland, a ball can still easily find one’s head. It found Brandon McCarthy’s, and it will find someone else’s too someday. It’s all a part of the game.
Which reminds us that these people we watch and cheer and boo, they’re real people. They bleed too, just like us. And while they may have more zeroes in their bank accounts, they are putting themselves in danger for our enjoyment. I think it’s important to remember that.
A baseball, a skate, a weakside linebacker, they can all become deadly weapons, at any time.
Get well soon, Brandon. And here’s to hoping you get that threesome someday.
Peace,
Jeff








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