Results tagged ‘ Cheap Shots ’
First off, I’d like to point out that I was pretty much dead on with my predictions in this past Sunday’s filibuster. Verlander started the game. Prince won the derby. Cabrera won the MVP (Melky, not Miguel but still…). And Mr. Lung, although he may not have done so in public, disagreed with me and was soundly spanked (much like a typical Saturday night in Mr. Lung’s love life).
Despite all the brilliance flowing from the pages of RSBS I’m sure that some people out there are trying to find fault with this performance, especially as a result of Verlander’s performance. Number one, shut up. Number two, this is exactly why the All-Star Game shouldn’t count towards anything of importance.
That being said, I’d like to go back to Verlander’s “debacle” and take a new look at it in light of recent scientific input. Yes, it’s probably fair to say that Verlander melted down but as the article points out, when the speed of the ball is approaching the ridiculous speeds at which Verlander throws, well, friction leads to uncontrollable fusion which leads to nuclear mayhem. We’re just lucky that only Verlander imploded and didn’t take the rest of the stadium with him.
Any predictions for the All-Star Game?
A few weeks ago, umpire Greg Gibson found himself on the wrong end of the following headline:
Which obviously begs the question, should Gibson now change his name, perhaps considering the following as an option?:
All kidding aside, umpires have a crappy job. Pretty much the only time anyone notices you is when you blow a perfect game or get nailed in the ‘nads by a Strasburg steamer. With the advent of the home run review system, the job got even crappier. As radar guns and pitch monitors get ever better, it’s probably only a matter of time before people start making noise about taking that responsibility away from the umps as well.
Today, though, on the day after Memorial Day, I just want to take a minute to salute the men in blue who put life, limb and the ability to procreate out there on the line everyday. Now, get yourself a pair of glasses, get back out there and try not to give this game away, too.
Every once in a while my friend Jeffery comes up with an idea that surprises me in its intelligence. Granted, his “I’m voting for Ron Paul because the gold standard is shiny!” moments tend to overshadow his more lucid thoughts but I’m the type of guy who gives credit where credit is due. So, when Jeff advocates for the one-year contract, I have to applaud his chutzpah. Sure, it will never happen for a legion of reasons but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea. Unlike this:
Just because something is a good idea doesn’t mean it’s right, though. For instance, paying less money for gas seems like a good idea to most of us. And oil speculation seems like a bad idea. But if you take a look at this and this, you might just start to realize that cheap gas doesn’t make so much sense and oil speculation might not be so bad.
Just like traders buying “future” barrels of oil, baseball players’ salaries are simple speculation. You pay A-Rod a quarter billion dollars because you think he’s going to be able to continue putting up the same numbers for 10 years. Same goes for Pujols and all these other guys with monster salaries. You hope that by giving an extended contract, you’re actually avoiding paying less than what the market will say that player is worth and you’ll wind up with a profit. That’s pretty much “speculation” in its most basic form. And just like buying future oil, it’s not necessarily a bad thing.
For the rest of us, the options are a little more limited. I don’t have major league skills. I’m never going to make a million dollars because of my ability to hit a ball or throw a ball or pretty much do anything with a ball. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to speculate. I’ve even got my eyes on a pretty spectacular opportunity. Anyone want to throw in on an asteroid with me?
With summer temperatures slowly creeping up on us, the potential for flop-sweat induced wedgies at the ballpark is on the rise, making an afternoon or midmorning rain shower a pleasant respite for anyone wanting to spend some serious time unstuck at the game. Though it is not widely known, making it rain isn’t quite as difficult as one might think. Here are three simple methods:
1. Be Different
As my doleful and oft unctuous colleague, Mr. Krause, taught us, sometimes, making it rain is just a matter of doing the opposite of what’s expected of you.
2. Be Ignorant
This is an easy method for rain-making, especially for those US Americans who reside in the realm of absurdity. I recall Focus on the Family asking their invisible friend to make it rain in Denver, to drown out the “changes” being outlined by Obama at the 2008 DNC.
3. Be Livan Hernandez
This is the easiest, most economical way to make it rain. In fact, I’m doing it right now… to the guy in the cubicle next to me.
Hate me ‘cuz I makes it rain, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Over the years, I have fawned over several accounts in order to make SUPER-HAPPY-FUN TIME. Coco Crisp’s was golden. Barry Zito’s was embarrassing (before he blocked me from talking to him). And I’ve probably cried more laughing at the hilarity of Fake Ned Yost than I have all the times I’ve watched Braveheart combined (stop judging me).
But these days there’s a new mang in town (somewhere along I-5 between Los Anaheim and Orange Angeles County).
BEHOLD: ANAHEIM ALBERT!
He waxes on performance:
Hey Angel fangs, I have a friend who mightwant to know how to cork a bat. Is for a friend. You guys dont know him. Let me know…Is not me
— A. Pujols (@AnaheimAlbert) May 1, 2012
Dee dee call last night ang said AJ beng going round school telling kids that his dad is Matt Carpenter. Who the hell is Matt Carpenter?
— A. Pujols (@AnaheimAlbert) May 4, 2012
Dee Dee says the Sang Luis Dick’s Sports selling my Cards shirts for $1.99She thinks they making fun of my batting average.199? I wish!
— A. Pujols (@AnaheimAlbert) May 9, 2012
Compares himself to others:
You stupid Cards fangs cant compare me ang Carlos Beltran.He gets to bat right handed ANG left handed.
— A. Pujols (@AnaheimAlbert) May 9, 2012
Today, God was like “Hey Albert, Ing ready for you to hit a home rung…but first, I want you to look stupid striking out”. And so it was.
— A. Pujols (@AnaheimAlbert) May 7, 2012
Just heard about Josh Hamilton….Someonge should tell him dat nobody likes a show off.
— A. Pujols (@AnaheimAlbert) May 9, 2012
And provides sultry details to his odd albeit professional relationship with his agent Dan Lozano:
Back at Dan Lozano’s house. Blood, trash, Broken bottles. Dan sleeping. Two girls passed out ong couch. Starting to think Dan skipped church
— A. Pujols (@AnaheimAlbert) April 30, 2012
Lozano was sleeping on da driveway wheng I left da house today.
— A. Pujols (@AnaheimAlbert) May 6, 2012
Dan Lozano ang the house keeper throwing a Cinco party today. Donkeys, chickens, gunshots. Take me back to the Scott Spezio days. Crazy shit
— A. Pujols (@AnaheimAlbert) May 6, 2012
Extra mad points for that Scott Spiezio reference. He’s another man whose heroics are shared by both Halos fans and Redbird Nation.
Speaking of Spiezio, where’s my scotch… and the strippers??? ALBERT!!!!
Hate me ‘cuz I made you L-O-L, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
We learned many things from Jim Joyce, Armando Galarraga and the infamous Imperfect Game of June 2, 2010. We learned that throwing beer bottles at the wall may cause significant DAMAGE (to the beer bottle, possibly the wall too). We learned that styling one’s facial hair after the Pringles man cannot disguise MISTAKES. And we also learned that the best way to avoid controversy, is to AVOID controversy.
So when Philip Humber threw that wild 3-2 breaking ball two feet off the plate on Saturday and Brendan Ryan checked his swing, I felt all of the fury, all of the tension, all of the RAGE from the Imperfect Game ALL over again. Except homeplate umpire Brian Runge called it a swing, AJ Pierzynski threw the ball to first and the celebration began.
OH BUT THE CONTROVERSY!!!
In my house, I had a hard time celebrating Humber’s gem because I was already seeing the asterisk-calling headlines, I could already hear Mariners fans (all three of them) flooding the sports talk shows with vitriol. And as Brendan Ryan argued with Runge about the call, I knew it was time for me to go outside to get some fresh air before my phone started to blow up with imperfect texts.
Except… none of the above actually happened. Brendan Ryan dropped the subject. He tipped his cap and moved on. The networks — as if taken over by an Orwellian machine of greater good (a fantasy in itself) — didn’t even show the replays of Ryan’s checked swing. The Wizard said “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain” and I — WE ALL — gleefully obliged, even though it sorta felt dirty doing so.
We owe that guilt-stained dirty feeling to Brendan Ryan. In fact, whether it is a good thing or not, Philip Humber’s perfect game will live on unscathed by controversy because Brendan Ryan simply let it go. He shut his mouth. He went about his business. And now we are to forget.
For a guy who was labeled as “a distraction” and a “clubhouse cancer” during his St. Louis Cardinal tenure, it’s nice to see Brendan being recognized for something else. Admittedly, I never would have bet it’d be for saying… nothing.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
If you have a stomach strong enough to stand the neverending barrage of political headline craptitude, then you might already know that the Mitt Romney camp is eager to point out that Barack Obama ate dog as a child. Obviously, this is pretty important stuff. As the Republicans know, you are what you eat (is Astroglide edible?), and no doubt, Obama’s youthful ingestion of doggie treats certainly makes him unfit for a job as demanding as the presidency.
Which got me thinking about my favorite baseballers and what they eat. Sure, some probably go for too much hot dog and not enough arugula salad, but let us examine to make sure. The interns have graciously prepared some slides.
McPizza. Right? Weighing 300 lbs. as a baseball player ain’t easy, but when you only pitch every once in a while and you eat crap like the above, then it’s easy as McPie.
Baby Ruth. Duh.
Nothing??!! Dude is about to disappear!
And finally (you probably knew this was coming)…
The known universe.
To be exact, this idea references a fascinatingly disturbing thought theorized by famed astrophysicist, Neil DeGrasse Tyson. One could look at it the way he explains — that an entire universe could be within each and every one of us. Or, you can think (like me), that dude doesn’t get that large unless he eats everything in the entire known universe.
Either way, don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Sunday was my first opportunity to get to the ballpark in 2012, so I grabbed a friend, put on some summery clothes and headed to Sox Park for Jackie Robinson Day!
I’ve seen some great baseball on Jackie Robinson Days past, all of which were pitchers duels (my drug of choice), but with a Rick Porcello v. Chris Sale matchup looming, I wasn’t expecting much. The pair would end up surprising me, but that wasn’t all:
- This was the FIRST April baseball game in Chicago I have ever attended where a hat, gloves and scarf were not needed. No joke. I was in a t-shirt. Sweating at times.
- Miggy can play D. I hung two stars on my scorecard for him, including a barehanded grab-and-throw that nailed a speedy Alexei Ramirez at first.
- I understand the importance of Jackie Robinson Day and all, but is it necessary that EVERY player and EVERY coach wears the same number 42? It is a scorecard junkie’s worst nightmare! Every time I looked up I had no idea who was doing what.
- And those ugly throwback ’72 Sunday home game red-pinstriped White Sox unis didn’t last past the 70s for a reason. They are HIDEOUS. Throw them out! Along with Alex Rios!
- It was a day game. Sure it was a bit overcast, but there was sunlight. Plenty of it. But that didn’t stop the White Sox personnel from turning ALL the stadium lights on like it was a night game! There was WAAAAY too much light. WASTED light! I know ‘Merica is a nation of excess, but good grief.
- Despite the new uniform, Prince Fielder is still fat.
Hate me ‘cuz I take tedious notes, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right!