Results tagged ‘ Broadcasters ’

The RSBS Podcast, Episode 6: MLB’s Chimeras… and Other Stuff

rsbs podcast photo 7.jpg

Click ME to Listen!!!

And so in this Podcast…

Jeff and his Cub-lovin’ pal Johanna Mahmud put their heads together to find out what’s wrong with Joe Buck’s face… they also talk about a slew of other important stuff, including (but not limited to) Andre Dawson being a bad@ss, why everyone hates Cleveland, Pete Hill of the Negro Leagues, Matt Capps’ ginormous noggin, the Lou
Piniella Mailbag and much,
much more… all to make you laughy time!

Holla!

P.S. Language definitely rated R on this one. We let ourselves go a bit… but it’s a lot of fun (trust us).

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Subscribe
to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*

Subscribe

via iTunes by clicking *HERE*

*Special

thanks to Keith Carmack — our engineer, director, editor and
all-around sound guru.  His Undercast
podcast is a must-listen (listen to it!).  It’s available on iTunes and
is posted regularly at Undercard

Films.

Recorded Saturday, July 24, 2010

The RSBS Podcast, Episode 5: Bonilla’s Bonus Button… and Other Stuff

rsbs podcast photo 3.jpg

Click ME to Listen!!!

And so in this Podcast…

Jeff, Al & that rock-n-rollin-Cub-lovin’ sage Johanna Mahmud take on all things ‘Merica, including (but not limited to) Rinku and Dinesh, Carlos Zambrano, The Hills (seriously? that happened?), the All-Star Game, the Lou
Piniella Mailbag and much,
much more… all to make you laughy-laughy!

Holla!

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– -

Subscribe
to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*

Subscribe

via iTunes by clicking *HERE*

*Special

thanks to Keith Carmack — our engineer, director, editor and
all-around sound guru.  His Undercast
podcast is a must-listen (listen to it!).  It’s available on iTunes and
is posted regularly at Undercard

Films.

Recorded Monday, July 5, 2010

The RSBS Podcast, Episode 3: The Stat Zombie’s Death… and Other Stuff

rsbs podcast photo 2.jpg

Click ME to Listen!!!

And so in this Podcast…

Jeff and Johanna welcome a paragon of baseball intelligentsia, Mr. Paul Lebowitz — the one and only Prince of New York!  If you aren’t already reading the Prince’s daily column *here* or *here* then you probably should get on that.  Like, right away.  Or else.  And if that ain’t enough, you can certainly follow him on Twitter too.  To be honest, the man is too ruthless and too unfettered for you to not be paying attention to him… so the RSBS crew made sure to get him at his best.  Among the titillating
topics of discussion: Jason Bay’s UZR, men left on base (LOB), Keith Hernandez’s hunches, BRAINS!!!!… the Lou Piniella Mailbag and much, much more!

Holla!

-
– -

Subscribe
to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*

Subscribe

via iTunes by clicking *HERE*

*Special

thanks to Keith Carmack — our engineer, director, editor and
all-around sound guru.  His Undercast podcast is the bomb shizzy, by the way.  It’s available on iTunes and is posted regularly at Undercard Films.

**Image by Annette T.  (Thanks, Annette!)  Check out her sweet@ss blog!

Recorded Saturday , June 12, 2010

Ernie Harwell: “He Took His Cut, and Now He Takes His Seat”

It’s easy to explain what Ernie Harwell meant to the everyday working man.

Ernie Harwell was the everyday working man.

He was also the guy who’d pull over and help you change your tire.

The type of gentleman you’d want to have stand up at your wedding… for those of you who get married and stuff like that.

Ernie Harwell was many things to many people, but no one can deny that Ernie Harwell was baseball.

Rest in peace, brother.  Rest in peace.

ernie harwell.jpg

The Talented Mr. Costas

bob costas.jpgTip back that beer, rip off those clothes and go runnin’ through the streets, dear readers!  The Winter Olympics are here!

Yes.

That was a lame attempt at fake excitement for an entire world of sports I could care less about it.  At least I know I’m not alone.  In fact, a very tiny minority of US Americans actually know anything about ice dancing, mogul jumping and figure skater beating (see Tonya Harding meets Nancy Kerrigan circa 1994).

Even NBC has a pretty good idea that the next two weeks are gonna just plain suck, which is why whoever inked Bob Costas to lead that whole Olympic thing ought to get a raise.

You have heard me rave about Costas before, so I won’t bore you with any more bromantic praises for my mental doppelganger (at least, not now anyway); but I would like to present just one example of why Bob Costas is the bomb.

We all saw Costas buzz McGwire and stick handle Dubya, but have you ever seen him prod a foreigner towards the Dark Side?  Then you will enjoy this:

Ichiro is, of course, hilarious in this clip, but Costas’ body blasting reaction at the 25-second mark is just priceless.

And you know I’m right so don’t hate me.

Happy Friday!

Jeff

Harry Reid and Al Campanis Sittin’ In a Tree…

harry-reid.jpgNo matter what magnitude of socio-political strides are made in US America, if you wait long enough, some belligerent old white guy will eventually send us back a few decades by saying something un-politically correct.  And whether such belligerence explodes during a live interview with Ted Koppel or simmers in the pages of a newly published book that most people haven’t yet read, one thing is absolutely clear: evolution could use a little help in the humanoid self-censor department.

To me, what is most peculiar in the case of Harry Reid saying our country “was ready to embrace a black presidential candidate, especially one such as Obama — a ‘light-skinned’ African American with no Negro dialect” is that he was quoted as saying this some time ago, presumably knowing it would eventually show up in a public forum, somewhere.  I find that just a bit less forgiving than telling a live, nationally televised audience that “blacks may not have some of the necessities to be, let’s say, a field manager, or, perhaps, a general manager,” which is exactly what Al Campanis said when donning his ignorance cap back in April 1987.

In both cases, someone in power — a white someone in power — said something offensive, something abrasive, something that nicked at years and years of progress; and for that, we cannot allow ourselves to just be silent.  We have to say, do, discuss something

al campanis.jpgCampanis’ remarks got him fired.  Reid’s probably won’t, though that is not to say they shouldn’t.  I’m not the racism czar, so I don’t really know, and I’m glad that I don’t have to make such decisions. 

But I can say that the time for social readjustment is always now; it’s always relevant.  Reid (and Campanis before him) said out loud what many people still believe to be true.  Far from ideal, this country (and its people) still have a lot of learning to do.  Remember, it took our species thousands and thousands of years to finally realize the earth is round, not flat.

And the only way we can come to a mutual understanding of the truth is to work together.  So yeah.  Let’s do that, shall we?

In the meantime, this racially charged hiccup does have a fulfilling footnote.  Reid’s comments came to light through the publication of Mark Halperin and John Heilemann’s new book entitled Game Change.  And if you go to Game Change‘s Amazon.com entry, scroll down to the critical reviews, you will find a ginormous gem of a quote from Barack Obama:


“This s*** would be really interesting if we weren’t in the middle of it.”

Agreed, Mr. President.  Absolutely agreed.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

Hangin’ with Mr. Met

mr. met upside down.jpgDear readers, let me tell ya: Phillies fans definitely know how to party.

I had the good fortune of spending this past weekend in South Jersey with some of the hardest of hard core Phillies fans one will ever meet; and I have a barrage of UDIs* to prove it.  My host, Bill, CEO of MyTeamRivals.com and co-author of the Phightin’ Phils Phorum has one of the coolest baseball man-caves I have ever seen, touting a full bar alongside every Phillie autograph you could imagine plus stunning memorabilia including a Mickey Mantle signed bat hanging proudly on the wall. 

Like Chico Escuela, “Beisol been a bery, bery good to me.”

No doubt.

Without the interwebs and blogging baseball for the last two years, I would have never met Bill.  In fact, through writing about my obsession, I have become good friends with so many cool, interesting, like-minded baseball fans that sometimes I just have to pinch myself at how neat it all is — that I could become good friends with people I have never met who live all over the world, from Tokyo to London to New York to L.A. to Denver to Houston to Boston to Philadelphia and everywhere in between.

And on Saturday night, while the Phillie faction was deep into a heated discussion about Ruben Amaro’s sanity, I was drawn to the poor Mr. Met effigy hanging upside down at the end of the bar, and more importantly to the fella sitting in front of it.  His name was (still is) Mike.  Mike, the lone Mets fan.  We got to talking about baseball (what else?) and before long it was revealed that Mike was at Game 6 of the 1986 World Series — perhaps the greatest World Series game ever played.

EVER.

I explained to Mike how that game (and that World Series) was the key component to my baseball fanaticism going from casual to die-hard at the speed of a first base-side groundball through the wickets.  And the St. Louis Cardinals weren’t even involved.

Of course, I was only 7 years old, but I remember the hype, the hoopla, the buzz about the Red Sox finally one game away from a title and the unruly and wildly charming bad boyz from Queens standing in their way.  I sat alongside my father and my grandmother, watching every pitch.  And as the game approached the bottom of the 9th, I clearly remember thinking that this was finally going to be the Red Sox’ moment, that they would finally reach the top after years of disappointment.

In those days, if the Cardinals weren’t in the World Series, I took my dad’s side in rooting for the National League team, no matter who it was, for according to him, the National League’s was the better game — the way it was supposed to be played. 

And I remember, as the Mets’ magic unfolded and Ray Knight crossed home plate to the tune of Vin Scully’s “And the Mets wiiiiiiin it!”, that I, too, went nuts with excitement.  I jumped up and down and ran around the house with the type of joy that is best defined by youth — a little boy’s bliss brought on by the simple idea that you can do anything if you work hard and never give up.

At that exact moment I decided that that was what baseball was all about — and that life was a game of baseball: full of drama, full of hope, full of solace, full of emotion.

Mike was there.

He knew what I was talkin’ about.

Anyone who has ever called him or herself a baseball fan knows exactly what we’re talkin’ about.

And that, to me, is power.

So, y’know, don’t hate me.  ‘Cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

*UDI = Unidentified Drunken Injury

holiday party 2009.jpg(From left to right: Bill, Me, Mr. Met, Mike and Christine — a Tigers fan no less! — in Bill’s epic baseball man-cave; more specifically, at the bar in Bill’s epic baseball man-cave)

Winter Meetings: Ante the Hell Up Y’All

Major League suits are set to invade US America‘s baseball-less Indianapolis this week… and they all have one singular goal: move that paper.

For those of you dear readers who respond better to visual metaphors, here’s one for ya: John Mozeliak (Ernie), Kermit (Peter Gammons), Cashman and Epstein (the Yip-Yips), and many more are all gittin’ down to ante up:

*Strong language may not be suitable for children unless your kids are related to Busta Rhymes in which case this type of language is as common around the house as naked women and blunts for breakfast*

It’s true.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

RSBS Postseason Awards Show: Part II

With Major League Baseball and various publications handing out their end of the season awards, RSBS has
decided to follow suit. Sure, our prizes may not come with any
financial reward and they may not trigger any clauses in the affected
players’ contracts. But, it is our civic duty. So, without further ado,
we present Part II of our two part Postseason Awards Show. Jeff, take it away.

__________________________________

adam wainwright.jpgMost Prolific Snub:
Adam Wainwright
Come now.  No Cy Young Award for the anchoring, go-getting horse of the Cardinals pitching staff?  Oh.  Okay.  Look, I get it.  Lincecum is good.  He’s really good.  But in 2009, Wainwright was better.  If you don’t agree with me, well, go get high, eat some Doritos and listen to Beck.


Most Alarming Faux Accusation:

That I had anything to do with the Erin Andrews peep-show tape
Ha ha ha, y’all.  Very funny.  As soon as news broke that some dude took nudey video of Ms. Andrews while she undressed in front of her hotel boudoir, my phone blew up with texts, tweets, calls and restraining orders.  It wasn’t me.  I swear.  I wish it was… sorta.


Allen Krause.jpgMost Consistent Whiner:
Allen Krause
Oh, waa-waa-waa, the Tigers blew the season; waa-waa-waa the Lions are awful; waa-waa-waa I don’t like hockey and Bill Laimbeer slept with my girlfriend.  Whatever, dude.  Be like those who used to live in Detroit and just leave it… and its sports teams.  And know that you’ll never live up to Bill Laimbeer.  Don’t you remember that gimp mask?

Most Laughable Pre-Season Prediction:
That the Cubs would win the World Series
Up until early August of this year, I was still hearing the precocious murmurings of this being the year for the Cubs.  Those individuals would say something in defense now but they can’t because their heads are stuck deep in the sand.  Milton Bradley.  Carlos Zambrano.  Alfonso Soriano.  One has the mentality of a child.  One saves his best game for the Gatorade cooler.  One can’t lay off sliders in the dirt.  Get over it.

And finally…

chip caray fisted.jpgMost Disgusting Broadcast Catch Phrase:
Chip Caray

“FISTED!!!”

We at RSBS are at least grateful that we don’t have to deal directly with Chip Caray and his fisting fetish.  Well, let me say that I am grateful.  I cannot speak for Al on this subject.

Hate me ‘cuz you can, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

The Filibuster

I know you guys are both baseball fans so you’re enjoying the drama of
the postseason but isn’t it hard for you to get into it when your team
is no longer in the running? Allen’s team choked and didn’t even make
it and Jeff’s team made it but then choked. I know it’s still baseball
and I know it’s still the playoffs but doesn’t it kind of take
something away when you’re watching as a fan of the game instead of as
a fan of a team in the game?

-Dakota
Ames, Iowa
____________________________________

shocked.jpgJust for today, I will put aside my pretentious baseball ego and do what politicians do: answer a question with a series of questions.  This is also what mathematicians call “proofing”; it’s what women I’ve dated call “being obtuse” — what I call “playing mind games.”

If your local pub didn’t offer a Maccallen 32 year, would you tell the bartender, “Nah, no Johnnie Walker for me, I’ll just have a soda water”?

After a long night of partying that has left your stomach growling for sustenance, would you not eat Taco Bell because it isn’t “authentic” Mexican cuisine?

If you couldn’t get behind either party’s presidential candidate because they both made promises they didn’t keep would you simply not vote for the lesser of evils?

On second thought, forget that last one.

Just know this: Baseball is baseball is baseball is baseball… and a couple weeks from now, I (and a whole lot of like-minded baseball nerds) are going to be suffering from a supreme lack of entertainment.  This will be when I start looping the 1982 and 2006 Commemorative World Series DVDs; when I reread Tim McCarver’s Baseball for Brain Surgeons; when I pop in the VHS tape of Morris v. Smoltz — Game 7 of the 1991 Fall Classic — and salivate over every pitch, even though I already know what’s coming.

Yeah, yeah, yeah… it’s too bad my (our) team(s) isn’t (aren’t) in contention.  Boo hoo.  But baseball is the religion, the individual teams merely saints.  I can live without my saint but not without my religion; and you can bet that those who follow the religion of baseball (thoroughly) are way more wacky than any suicidal jihadist or hypocritical evangelical.

And yes, I do see a therapist about this… from time to time.

Hate me ‘cuz I teeter on the cliff of instability, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

***IMPORTANT PROGRAMING NOTE***

Suggested to us by the always hilarious Jonestein at BABL, Mr. Krause and I will be competing in a World Series Metaphor Competition — a Metaphor-Off… yeah, let’s call it that

Why?  ‘Cuz we can.  And we will.

But we need your help! 
As you know, Al and I champion ourselves as masters of the meandering
metaphor; and we need your suggestions.  What do you want to see
metaphorized?  (Yes, that’s a word. I made it up.)  It could be
something as simple as an individual player, a team, a rule, a concept,
whatever.  We want your ideas.  Email us at kraulung@gmail.com, Twitter us at @RSBS
or kindly comment on a post with your suggestion.  After selecting a
trio of your topics, Mr. Krause and I will then post our metaphors
during the World Series and YOU the reader will vote for the winner in
this best of three competition.

Don’t just sit there…. suggest, suggest, suggest!

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