Results tagged ‘ Front Office ’
[Lennie] said gently, “George… I ain’t got mine. I musta lost it.” He looked down at the ground in despair.
My dear little Cubs… so cute… so adorable. I just want to pet you and stroke you and love you… and pretty pretty pretty rabbits… DONT MAKE ME RIP YOUR HEAD OFF!!!!!
Pet the rabbit. Pretty rabbit. Snap the rabbit’s neck and do odd things to the stable boy while you’re at it.
This isn’t love. This is obsession.
Why did he give out such terrible contracts? That’s a lot of money for crazy people.
This monstrosity is Hendry’s lasting legacy on a life wasted in futility. Thanks a lot, Jim.
What I would give for some stoicism on this team. There’s no leader from top to bottom of this rotting corpse of a franchise. There will be no Pujols. There will be no Prince.
AA meetings feel like a Las Vegas night club compared to the atmosphere of this dogged out team. I’m going to water seal my deck now and then auto-erotic asphyxiate without touching myself. Too much work. SEX WITH A LAWNMOWER.
After Carlos Zambrano’s latest outburst of craptitude, it’s obvious even the manager can’t do anything about this self imploding behemoth.
And Quade is Bruce Kimm with better hair. “Well I guess they’ll figure it out, and we’ll try and win games and stuff kinda?…” After Z’s comments, Quade said he’d let his teammates deal with it. WOW. He couldn’t control the team’s play at all or improve it, but now it’s obvious he has no control over the players either.
You know what? Just say we stink. Don’t call out your fellow players for throwing the “wrong” pitch. Pitch selection is being questioned? Unbelievable.
“Theriot can’t hit a fastball well.” Except if Marmol throws a better slider, Theriot is out.
“We stinks” [sic] was the only worthwhile and (entertaining) thing Z said.
People who like what Carlos did, hey, are you out of your damn fool minds?!? Its b.s. It might make the fans feel better, but it ain’t gonna do jack.
Z will waive his no trade clause, but it doesn’t matter.
The Cubs’ primed days are over. No farm system. Just beat me sadistically so my brain goes to sleep until the NBA season starts again in… January??? (gahhhhhhh!!!!!)
I would love to hear Z’s thoughts on other problematic issues like… Paul Revere: “What are you doing running around with that green lantern Paul?” The Japanese nuclear plant issues? “That’s not the concrete pump I would have used.” Health care reform bill? “Yea? Well your death panel sucks.”
The team is in a total free fall. The best thing Tom Ricketts can do is be one of us. But he has pissed it all away by scuttling the true point that the team sucks and injuries aren’t the only problem.
How about hiring a president that knows how to hire a real GM.
Good afternoon, real “Cubs” fan Colonel Ricketts. What’s you’re fricking plan?? It’s impossible to build without a farm. And no money. So… either borrow more money from Daddy Warbucks or do a little research and get a real living person who knows how to run a baseball team.
*I have a screen grab of Carlos Zambrano’s face I wanted to include here as one of the photos; unfortunately I was naked and some/most of me is also in the picture.
Alms for the Poor (or Trying to Feed 10,000 Voices)
I like Mike Quade. I really do. I just wish I could identify at least ten players on his team. I’m having a hard time recognizing my Cubs. The disabled list is filling up like the Titanic. Is Tony Campana an actual professional baseball player!?! Is Blake DeWitt!?!??
I’m a Cubs fan… but I don’t talk about it in public. During Cubs games, I often find myself calling an old friend, folding laundry, reading a book, picking up new hobbies like bird watching.
The Ricketts bought the team hoping to make money and they’re… NOT. They keep trying to borrow money, but that’s not working either.
Between the b.s. landmark status they can’t get around, Alderman Tom Tunney’s rooftop issues and the fact that they STILL don’t have their own TV station, the Cubs can’t make any money to save their pinstripes. Stupid decisions keep being made because Hendry is baseball-impaired, so I say we at least grab some damn coin somewhere.
Cut down the ivy and put up billboards. NO ONE WILL CARE. JUST DO SOMETHING.
Because people aren’t coming. They can’t do it anymore. Most of us would prefer hanging out at the filling station or a Mexican carwash.
Do the Cubs really think money will just show up like Kreskin would will it in his mind?
Maybe they should just sell some Ohio State college football memorabilia instead.
Your Weakness Is Strong
The Pirates never stop being pathetic. After eighteen years of suckitude, it’d be refreshing for the fans if their ownership had some sort of a sense of humor about this sailing sloop of crap.
If I were a fan, I’d be the first to stick my peg leg in their rumholes. Incest sounds more fun than Pirate baseball, church a more rewarding experience for me.
A bar in north Pittsburgh, in a bit of high comedy, has offered a special on pitchers of beer. For every Bucs loss, the bar will take a nickel off the pitcher price.
Pirates brass has asked that fans boycott this bar. The executives should be ashamed of themselves. It’s already been documented that the team has been ripping off fans for years, but now this? The private yachtsmen who own this team are a joke and should shut the eff up if a bar of REAL fans is having a little bit of fun dwelling in misery with a bucket of cheap@$$ beer, otherwise the most fun Pirate fans have to look forward to is the Rapture!!!
Come on! Don’t do Michael Keaton like that! The man’s only worked like twice in the last ten years.
If the 13+ year friendship with my gloomy and oft perfunctory colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, has taught me anything, it has taught me that the pipe dreaming, star chasing default drive of my youth would be better served with a hard, double dose of good old fashioned realism.
Because despite my enthusiasm, the reality of the situation is this:
Erin Andrews isn’t going to sit on my lap. Lucy Liu isn’t going to give me a full body massage (with a whip). And Albert Pujols might not be a Cardinal forever.
I hate it.
I hate all of it.
I want what I want ‘cuz I’m human and needy and, from time to time, self-serving. I don’t want to be that way, but sometimes I just can’t help it.
The hard truth right now is that negotiations between the St. Louis front office and Albert Pujols’ representatives aren’t going too well. Or, to be more accurate, they’re not going… at all.
And in times of realistic despair it’s best to take a step back and assess the situation:
What can I, Jeff, the Cardinals fan, do about any of this?
Nothing. I can do absolutely nothing. Sure, I can wait anxiously and dream and hope and yearn… but in the end, I can really do nothing that will have any affect on the outcome.
I can only control myself. No one else. That’s it.
And the most successful, most respected people I have come to know in this life all seem to have a pretty good grasp of that idea — that the only thing you can control is you yourself.
I know this: I was a Cardinal fan before Albert Pujols. And I’ll sure as hell be a Cardinal fan after Albert Pujols, whether his number is retired on the Busch Stadium wall or hanging high at Wrigley Field on a background of Cubbie blue pinstripes.*
So with that admittedly uncalled for bit of uberpessimism, I implore you, fellow Redbird crazies, join me… take a deep breath… and picture a hole at first base. Pretend the baseball gods are drunken a$$h0les and Chris Duncan somehow made it back to the ‘Lou… his Lurchian frame is manning first base. Every. DAY. Yeah. It’s true. Picture it… see it… cry about it for a while (I will)… but know that it won’t be the end of the world… we are the St. Louis Friggin’ Cardinals and our birds-on-the-bat laundry is worth more to me, to you, to the entire city of St. Louis, then one single person. That interlocking “S.T.L.” incorporates a lifetime of emotions. It has always been there for me. Like a good parent, or a best friend, it has never let me down, because it always shows up and it always gives its best.
And if the greatest player I’ve ever laid eyes on can’t be a part of that anymore… then, so be it.
Like any tough breakup, it will hurt like holy hell. And I mean really, really hurt. But… life will go on, time will numb the pain, and something better might even come along.
Otherwise I’m gonna look like a real dick.
Hate me, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*Yes, I vomited. Many, many times after writing that sentence.
The front office of the minor league St. Paul Saints definitely has a sense of humor and I like that in a baseball organization. Too often baseball brass comes off as overly conservative and deftly bland in their everyday business of running a ballclub, getting fans to the park and making a playoff push. But we are US Americans, and there really should be no limit to our creativity, especially when it comes to special promotions.
And that is where the Saints have definitely gone well beyond Bill Veeck’s “Disco Demoliton Night” when they gave away Larry Craig Bobblefeet to the first 2500 fans who came for the May 25 game against the Fort Worth Cats. According to The Smoking Gun:
“…the polyresin giveaway depicts an occupied bathroom stall (the
inhabitant’s pants and shoes can be seen below the stall’s panels).
When the St. Paul Saints’s “bobblefoot” is shaken, one of the
spring-loaded feet taps.”
Ah, the infamous foot tapping for sex in an airport men’s room of Republican Larry Craig. These classic reports of prominent US American leaders finding themselves in a world of scandal never get old do they? And heck, if it will get people to the ballpark, why not promote the hell out of it!
In the wake of this paradigm shift for baseball front offices I have proposed three other promotional bobble packages for MLB:
Senator John L. Burton BobbleHand Night at San Francisco’s AT&T Park:
In lieu of allegations that former Sen. Burton made sexually charged comments while miming a lewd masturbatory act with his hand at a female aid, the Giants will be giving out these BobbleHands to celebrate the pride of California politics.
Governor Elliot Spitzer BobbleCallgirl Night at Washington D.C.’s Nationals Park:
After admitting to having a problem with paying for sexual services, Gov. Spitzer and his wild times will be celebrated in the district where he got caught, much to the chagrin of Washington Nationals fans who, let’s face it, really have nothing else to be excited about. *Note: This BobbleCallgirl does more than just bobble.
Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick BobbleText Night at Detroit’s Comerica Park:
As if Mayor Kilpatrick couldn’t get himself in any more trouble, this whole extramarital affair with a female aid came into focus once the Detroit Free Press reported more than 14,000 lewd text messages between the two using city funded cell phones. Nevermind the lewdness. Who in their right mind would ever write 14,000 text messages!?! Call her next time, Kwame! In any case, to celebrate this timely scandal and to get fans’ minds off the fact that their underachieving Tigers are really bad this year, the Tigers will be offering these BobbleText replicas of cell phones that bobble back and forth. Special attention was made so that each fans’ BobbleText is unique and extremely offensive no matter what it might say.
These are just a few ideas, folks. You’ll probably notice that the special promotions above are all for terrible teams that really need a reason for their fans to be excited. Of course, I’d be happy to offer more ideas, but I don’t work for free…
…so until I see the dollar $ign$, enjoy the Memorial Day holiday (with a special shout-out to my late grandfather Larry Hocker who served bravely in the Korean War) and don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.