Results tagged ‘ Adam Dunn ’
It’s Math. Don’t Fight It.
Clint Hurdle isn’t here to save you and lead the White Sox to 20 wins in a row to finish out the season a la the Rockies in 2000 whatever year that was. Jim Thome isn’t walking through that door to be the anti-Adam Dunn. I’m sorry. Just accept it.
As of Tuesday, via Baseball Prospectus, the White Sox have an 11.8% chance of making the playoffs. The Detroit Tigers have an 86.8% chance. If you’re a Sox fan and want to hold onto that 11%, that’s your business. I just don’t want to hear about it. I know they’ve been just good enough in this awful division to keep us interested, but it’s over.
TOO STRESSFUL. THIS TEAM GIVES ME CHIGGERS!!!
If I have to listen to one more smelly Sox fan chewin his Kodiak, botherin me while I’m TRYIN TO PEE, sayin stuff like “Hey der guy… we’re goin sweep these next few series and we will be der in the end… darrrrr…”
Well, you know what? BITE ME. CUZ IT’S OVAAA…
This team started out so bad that the whole inching their way back up possibility almost felt real. I even got on board, thinking that at some point they’d stop winning three games and losing four. I assumed Adam Dunn would have to, at some point, regress to the mean and start hitting again. I even thought Alex Rios and Gordon Beckham might stop resembling human bowel movements.
As for Ozzie Guillen and Kenny Williams? Those two guys are pathetic. A once great union of minds is now in complete ruin. They go back and forth at each other like a homeless man’s Martin and Steinbrenner. Word is the Sox have already started looking for managerial candidates and compensation from the Marlins for Ozzie. I know sometimes the Oz man sounds like an ignorant mofo, but he’s a hell of a manager if the Sox can keep him. But if there’s any chance of Guillen staying with the team he and Kenny have to stop being Lindsey Lohan and Samantha Ronson.
Follow Johanna on Twitter!
One reason why I’ll never tire of my inanimate life partner (her name is baseball) is because every time I watch a game, I have the chance to see something I’ve never seen before. Or, as was the case Wednesday night at Sox Park, I might see 18 somethings I’ve never seen before.
The Yankees were in town. My buddy Mike had sweet tickets on the 100 level. And I was craving the sort of breeze only Adam Dunn’s wiff-n-miss bat can provide.
It didn’t take long for the game to get out of hand. In fact, the game STARTED with something I have NEVER seen before: back-to-back bunt basehits, thanks to Brett Gardner and Derek Jeter.
In fact, Jeter went 5 for 6 in the game, only the fourth time he has ever collected five hits in one game (the third being his epic 3K performance just last month) and yes, that’s something I’ve never seen before.
I have also never seen a White Sox pitcher (Brian Bruney) enter a game, record ZERO outs, give up 2 hits and 2 earned runs and still not be the worst performer of the night. Like my buddy Mike said: “When you put Will Ohman in in the third, it’s already a disaster.”
And, of course, nothing spells disaster like the 2011 version of Adam Dunn.
But hark! Baseball games always offer something new; and I hadn’t been to a Sox game all season where Adam Dunn didn’t strike out at least once, BUT, lo and behold, Dunn went 1 for 4 with NO strikeouts! Hallelujah! Champagne for errrrrrrybody!
Dude still can’t hit an 11-run homer though. At this moribund point, I’m thinking that might be the only thing that could save his career.
But that stopped around May.
They are just an infuriating lot to watch play baseball.
“All in” my @$$.
Since I enjoy the weekends almost as much as I enjoy watching the sCrUBBIES plummet to 21 games under .500, I better get rid of all this heat-induced angst now, so I can enjoy the next two days in peace. That means y’all better get ready for some STOP ITs!
In the old days, being a Big Leaguer meant being the best you could be. It meant putting forth maximum effort, doing things the right way and positioning one’s self to win. After all, that’s the goal in baseball. To win. Of course, you could also be lame, like a very comfortable Aramis Ramirez, who is more inclined to settle for being a creaky cog in a wheel of crap at Wrigley Field than go somewhere his talents could actually be of some use. He cites his “family” as the reason, but that’s stupid. It’s two months. And you’re a friggin’ millionaire, dude. So STOP IT! Just STOP IT! Go win something. Nothing infuriates me more than talented people wasting their talents.
The White Sox
Speaking of stupid, how long will Kenny Williams & Co. allow the $14 million strikeout machine to clog up any and all paths to winning?!? Letting a marquis player work through a slump makes sense when the slump is… y’know, a slump. But when it’s AN ENTIRE SEASON it’s time to make a change. STOP IT, White Sox! You bombard me with your 2011 slogan of “All In” and the only thing you’re “all in” to is a giant, heaping pile of suck.
I love how we Chicagoans complain all winter long about how cold it is, then when summer comes along people are suddenly surprised they’re frying eggs on the sidewalk. Chicago in the summer is HOT. It has always been hot. So stop acting like you didn’t know this. Same thing goes for baseball players. It’s been hot during the summer for the entirety of baseball history. In fact, the old timers (REAL baseball men) used to wear WOOL UNIFORMS so STOP CRYING ABOUT IT, baseball players. You make millions of dollars playing a game I’d do Precious for to play, so quit bitching about the heat and just concentrate on doing your job.
And, as if all of the above isn’t enough, apparently we here in US America can’t even get our own pastimes right. No, I’m not talking about baseball. I’m talking about pizza.
Yeah, our pizza experience has been outsourced to India too. And, surprise, surprise… they do it better:
Lot of talk about weiners, Weiners and Weiner’s weiner the past couple weeks. This is nothing new in the sports universe, though, especially in the NFL. However, which MLB player do you think will most likely find himself involved in some sort of similar scandal?
Big Rapids, MI
As is the case with most famous weiner (and Weiner) related exposés, the following will certainly be an exercise in self-restraint, as I think we all know the immense public propensity to go for the easy male-member joke. But the easiest joke here, as far as I can tell, is that the Rep. Anthony Weiner scandal is even a scandal at all!
I am not saying we should give the guy a medal of honor or anything, but, what exactly did he do to warrant a public scandal of such magnitude? So he donned a swaggering internet persona and talked dirty to some chicks online… and then didn’t have sexual relations with any of them? Um, okay, if this illegal then somebody come lock my @$$ up!!!
Yes, Rep. Weiner is a creepazoid. So what? Aren’t most politicians? From my vantage point, Weiner didn’t break any laws. He didn’t physically hurt anyone. He is only guilty of being stupid — of being aloof and naive a la John Edwards to mistakenly think the interwebs are a completely private domain and that interacting with folks in a lewd manner outside of his marriage would never be revealed by the parties involved.
Like our future 45th president alludes, the online lust-quest has become common for modern man; and this “scandal” is really something that should be left between Rep. Weiner and his wife. Unless he’s Marv Albert-ing these women or wasting tax dollars on callgirls, I don’t see how any of this is of public interest.
But since you asked, Eric, what MLB player would most likely find himself in the same Weinerific situation, I gotta say, right now, it would have to be Adam Dunn.
I mean, come on… SOMETHING is eating at the Big Donkey and it ain’t Ozzie Guillen! When a perennial homerun monster like Dunn suddenly lives under the Mendoza line with only a handful of bombs while playing his home games at launching-pad Sox Park, and it’s mid-June, something ain’t right.
Hmm… you thought I was gonna say A-Rod, didn’t ya? Well, A-Rod probably does take lewd photos of his “attributes” with intentions of sending them out to virtual partners; however, I think his tenacious love for himself would force him to keep such images for his eyes only.
Hate me, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
**Have a topic you want to see us Filibuster? Want a free pimp for your blog? How ’bout coaxing Allen to go back to living as a woman? Send us your Filibuster questions by emailing firstname.lastname@example.org or by commenting below.
Some days, when I leave my office dead to the world in the evening, I have a baseball itch that the television and computer just can’t fix. Yesterday was one of those days. So, following the drill, I raced home, changed into more comfortable gear and headed straight for Sox Park.
My friend, Pie — a semi-regular on the RSBS Podcasts and an all around Tiger lovin’ fiend — came with me.
And boy were we in for some treats.
Not only was the weather perfect, but so was Brent Morel’s glove skills and Carlos Quentin’s stroke. The game moved along at a nice, brisk pace… except when young Tiger hurler Andy Oliver was busy walking the bases loaded and giving up cheap runs. But perhaps the most satisfying part of this early summer contest is that it bore three firsts, something baseball is apt to do.
For example, last night Adam Dunn got his very FIRST hit off a lefty this season! And it was of the slow dribbler infield variety, proof that the baseball gods love extended metaphors even for big
burly worthless(?) free agent signings!
Also, this game featured a homerun by none other than Juan Pierre! Only his 15th career homerun in 11+ seasons, I had to ask Pie if I was dreaming when he pulled the ball up and out of deep right center as it was the very FIRST homerun I’ve ever seen Juan hit with my own eyes.
And, with the White Sox ultimately winning the game, last night presented to me the very FIRST time I’ve ever seen a disgruntled fan (my friend, Pie) take his scorecard — the same scorecard he meticulously filled out in detail during the entire game — and throw it away.
He threw it away!!!
I cried. A little. I hate to see a good scorecard die the same death as chewed gum, empty water bottles and hot dog boxes. But in this case, I am just filing this one away with the rest of the extended metaphors. May they extend until they can extend no more…
Hate me ‘cuz you can, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
And so in this Podcast brought to you by Lifestyles…
Jeff and Johanna kick the season off by trying to name every Jewish baseballer ever known to man before PodMaster Keith let’s The 8:08 (from harried Undercast fame) into the studio… from there on out the wheels come off in one great big ball of awesomeness that includes Dodger takeovers, Hawkisms galore, goofy games that may or may not include a sexual innuendo (or fifty) and much, much more… all to make you excite!
– – –
Subscribe to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*
Subscribe via iTunes by clicking *HERE*
– – –
Recorded Wednesday, April 27, 2011
You don’t have to be a White Sox fan to let this badass commercial affect you:
Of course, if you are a White Sox fan, you probably feel a little more charged than those who aren’t but still, the theatrics of it all are pretty universal. Baseball is coming.
And it’s gonna rock our worlds.
In the second grade, I was asked by my teacher where I wanted to live when I grow up. While most most kids in the class answered with a city name, or, next to their parents’ house, I calmly replied: “anywhere that is walking distance to a ballpark.”
Well, I certainly made that dream come true. It may not be St. Louis’ Soulard, but Chicago’s Bridgeport neighborhood (where I make my home) is definitely a great place to live, especially in the summer time. There really is nothing like coming home for work, changing into comfortable shoes and walking down to New Comiskey to scalp some tickets to take in a game on a whim.
And ya never know… ‘cuz in any given game, anything could happen.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Oh, don’t pretend like you haven’t thought about what your walk-up music would be. Me? Depends on the mood, but right now it’d be the first few bars of Cats, Van, Bags, or anything by Slayer.
For others, it may be something more tributary. I fondly remember getting out of my seat and dancing every time Eli Marrero came to the plate with his uptempo salsa music blasting the stadium. And how could I forget my first Adam Dunn walk-up? Allen was there with me. We were both in awe by his slow Phil Collins inspired saunter!
But I just plain don’t like it when politicians try to adopt songs from pop culture. I didn’t like Bill Clinton’s use of what was once a great Fleetwood Mac song (mostly because of how it affected Al and Tipper, which subsequently made me throw up in my mouth, a lot) and I am not very fond of the current GOP’s outlandish claim to the Carrie Underwood song “Undo It”.
Hold on a sec…
* * *
Okay, I’m back. I had to go break some s***.
Undo it!?!?!?!? How about you undo the notion that the previous band of politicians wasn’t fairly elected to make some big @ssed decisions that we — the friggin PEOPLE — asked them to make.
This whole running a country thing… it isn’t a game. It’s not something to be taken lightly. So I propose that the new majority spend less time thinking about what they want their walk-up music to be, and more time finding out how to pay for health care; because I think I broke my hand a minute ago breaking some s*** and now I need to go to Urgent Care.
Also, Carrie Underwood is too damn sexy to be associated with… Glenn Beck.
Hate me. I don’t care. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
My morose and oft despondent colleague, Mr. Krause, recently addressed our mutual passion for the sport of long distance running, and in doing so, alluded to the fact that such passionate loyalty requires a certain tolerance for pain.
Indeed, running begets pain. But said pain often calluses the soul, prepares it for the ultimate fight — whether physical or mental — and breeds a certain unparalleled toughness that can guide one through any hardship. This I know.
Pain is a binding precursor to ecstasy. Without it, we wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit us in the face… which, would be ironic in this case, because — depending on what the object hitting us in the face is — that could possibly hurt.
But I digress.
Perhaps the following irony deficient examples will help better illustrate my point:
(aka Nipple Abrasions — minor yet aggravatingly debilitating)
Congratulations, Washington Nationals, on signing Alfonso Soriano 2.0! No, seriously, I really am happy for you. I mean, y’all have had some painfully troublesome moments in your six year history… y’know, like, sucking and all. Then Strasburg went down… Dunn got away… and now you dole out $18 million a year for SEVEN YEARS to your division rival’s 32 year-old third fiddle. Um… okay. The bad news is: you got screwed. The good news is: it’ll be over in seven years. By then you will be so learned, so deteriorated, so callused by anguish that every little victory will seem colossal. Maybe you’ll even smile. Maybe.
(aka Plantar Fasciitis — excruciatingly biting, often chronic)
Eight years of Dubya. A war in Afghanistan. A war in Iraq. The continued waste of an asinine war on drugs, on poverty, on progression in general. The complete upheaval of congress from one extreme to another, to another, then back to where it started again. We don’t have healthcare, we do have healthcare, we don’t have healthcare. We’ve no jobs. Our farmers are forced to grow crap crops to make corn syrup which is then injected into all your food so that you are prone to overeat, become obese, get diabetes and die. Yeah. That’s some real pain right there; makes Canada sound like the Playboy Mansion. Ms. Teen South Carolina, you with me?
The Pittsburgh Pirates
(aka Hitting the Wall or “Bonking” — worst case scenario your body loses the ability to function due to depleted glycogen stores)
Two words: Matt Diaz. Wow. Just… wow. Dear readers, when signing Matt Diaz is a big deal, you know your team is in trouble. In the Pirates’ case, they’ve been in trouble since 1992, they show zero signs of improvement, and life is just gonna get more and more painful for the handful of baseball fans left in Pittsburgh.
“Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”
My advice? Go Steelers!
Hate me ‘cuz I bring da pain, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.