Results tagged ‘ Hyperbole ’
Simplistic campaigns to hunt down public enemies (like Kony 2012) are all the rage these days. When will you all be launching Selig 2012?
It is no secret that the authors of these pages hold no love for the staunch bureaucratic policies and seemingly never-ending reign of King Bud the Nosepicker. Indeed, we’ve ripped the man’s decisions in every which way and have even gone as far as to say that George W. Bush would make a perfect Commissioner in comparison (no joke here, we really do think Dubya would be perfect for the job). But to compare Bud Selig to the heartless, maniacal, baby-raping mass murderer Joseph Kony? Um… that’s a bit much.
But just a bit.
The good news is, people are getting educated on Kony’s crimes. And they’re doing something about it (unless *this* derails it). However, when it comes to the tyranny of King Bud, we already know about the bevy of shenanigans. There’s just nothing we can do about it.
If I may break from the usual ‘ol crotchety me for a moment, I would like to point out that, in my opinion, the overall state of our national pastime is as good now as it’s ever been. Seriously. If you turn your head from the silliness that is King Bud’s All-Star Game, and if make yourself forget about that whole Ryan Braun cheating thing, and pretend like the overall muscle bulge of the 90s and early aughts was caused by “supplements” that can easily be purchased at your local GNC, then you might conclude that, indeed, baseball’s vibe is very good right now.
The networks are fighting to get in on the expanded playoffs. Parity is slowly squeezing its way into all divisions. And the Pirates still suck!
More than that, people are still paying money to watch Adam Dunn play. Erin Andrews is still showing up in dugouts. And Tampa Bay seems to be in the playoff picture every year now, despite the fact that no one in Tampa Bay seems to care.
But most importantly of all, the St. Louis Cardinals are World Champs!
So for now, I can take a couple more years of bassackwards politickin’ from the usurping Milwaukee millionaire.
But I swear, Brad, if he reigns for more than two more years, you, me, Mr. Krause and the entire baseball universe are taking to the streets with Louisville Sluggers and Molotov cocktails (not to be confused with pet names for Kevin Millar).
Hate me. I don’t care. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
_ _ _
If you follow this blog, you know that I am not a fan of pink baseball caps. I pretty much feel the same way about them that Rick Santorum feels about anything that smacks of fun: it’s a sin. I can get behind pink bats for breast cancer awareness and maybe even pink bases for one day. But people who show up to baseball games wearing pink hats? Nope. That just isn’t appropriate.
I’m not sure what it is about pink hats that annoys me so much. Almost every club has alternate caps that they wear from time to time to switch things up. However, the alternates tend to reflect the official colors of the team. In reality, alternate caps and jerseys are just a way for teams to generate revenue and that’s a brand of capitalism I can get behind. With the pink hats, though, I honestly don’t see how they can be making enough money to make it worthwhile. I’m sorry but a pink Detroit Tigers’ hat is just wrong. Despite my feelings toward the New York Yankees, I still don’t feel right seeing one of their caps in pink either.
But as much as I dislike the unholy spectre of pink baseball hats, it pales in comparison to my feelings for the no-talent asshattery of Brittany Smooch:[youtube http://youtu.be/_n-Qa99CnsY]
Seriously, if I was forced to choose between watching either this video or Two Girls, One Cup on a loop for 24 hours, there’s a good chance I’d ask for rat poison instead.
The 2012 season will be Chipper Jones’ last, signifying for me a quaint full circle of baseball life. From a goofy-grinned rook to an over-the-hill vet, I had the pleasure of witnessing it all, and I can’t help but tip my cap to the future Hall of Famer for all he’s done throughout his career, on and off the field.
With that, here is what immediately enters my mind whenever his name comes up:
The 1995 Season
Infuriated by a silent October in ’94, I vehemently quit on Major League Baseball. I will have nothing to do with those crooked chumps! Who do they think they are taking away my Fall Classic!?!? Troglodytes the whole lot of ’em!
Yeah, but… see, there’s this guy named Chipper. He’s with the Braves. He’s gonna be a superstar.
And he was. 23 bombs. 86 RBIs. And one cool stroke, from both sides of the plate. By the second half of the ’95 season, all had been forgiven and I was hoarding baseball cards of a man with a goofy name.
The 2008 Season and Media Guide Photo
Now a lot of stuff happened between 1995 and 2008, but I want to focus on the monster season Chipper had. I recall arguing here with my lugubrious and oft-crotchety colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, whether or not Chipper could realistically hit .400. He made a good run at it, but had to settle for .364, and in the process provided one of the worst media guide photos of all time:
All-Star Weekend 2009
I had the good fortune of attending the ASG in St. Louis and taking in all the awesome that comes with such an extravaganza. As you can imagine, heavy drinking was involved, and on the evening of July 13, at a seedy bar deep in the heart of Soulard, I was an accomplice to my friend losing a $100 bar bet on whether or not Chipper played any significant time at any other position than third base during his career. I found out it only takes a few vodka bombs to forget that Chipper spent a some years manning left field for the Bravos. I think my pal has forgiven me for that absentmindedness. Now if only we could remember how we ended up in Sauget smelling like frosting, covered in glitter.
Yes, I’d say Chipper had a brilliant career, even if the last few years have looked more like an AH-64 Apache helicopter crash after attempting to push its limit. What’s THAT look like? Glad ya asked!
Unless we’re talking about the cavernous anatomy of a female Kardashian, despite my best efforts, I still have not been able to pinpoint the location of a reachable and workable worm hole. Hadron Colliders the size of Prince Fielder’s appetite are also difficult to find these days. And let’s not even start talkin’ about the insane price of rocket fuel!
So how do I propose we travel back in time?
We open our eyes and take in the train wreck that is the Republican primary!
Want to live in a world where a woman’s reproductive rights don’t matter? Vote Republican!
Want to live in a world where your life is governed by an invisible sky daddy whose literary tome is as angry, erratic and suspect as a Manny Ramirez press conference? Vote Republican!
Want to live in a world where the ONE candidate who ACTUALLY MAKES SOME SENSE is so shunned that he doesn’t even have ONE person embedded in his campaign to report what is actually going on? Vote Republican!
We might not be able to travel back in time to stop the JFK assassination or Don Denkinger’s blindness during the ’85 Series, but as the above scenarios prove, we can go back about 100 years without much effort. Just know that, if we do, it may only be a matter of time before they may decide it is okay to own human beings and to kill others simply because they believe in a different fairytale.
Hate me. Whatevs. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Last year the Pirates tried to put an end to my relentless attack of literary low blows. Shortly after the All-Star break they were atop the NL Central and my head was appropriately buried in the sand (not kidding; by the way, it sucks.)
But then came Jerry Meals’ blown call and down, down, DOWN came the Pirates, settling into yet another comfortably uncomfortable 90 loss season.
Look, I’ve been burned before too, so I sorta feel for Pittsburgh. At the same time, insanity is still doing the same things over and over again expecting different results, right? So why should anyone in Pirate land be surprised?
THE FRONT OFFICE AIN’T DOIN’ IT RIGHT.
With the exception of Andrew McCutchen in 2005, the last 20 first round draft picks taken by Pittsburgh is a who’s who list of overblown talent busts. Among the KINGS OF NOBODYLAND are the likes of Bobby Bradley (1999), John VanBenschoten (2001) and Bryan Bullington (2002) — great sounding names, but swings and misses nonetheless.
Neal Huntington and the rest of the front office can say they’re doing things differently, but as long as they keep hoping Pedro Alvarez spends as much time perfecting his baseball tools as he does looking at the ground feeling sorry for himself, I’m afraid they have a long way to go.
Isn’t it about time they bring up those two Indian dudes?
Hate me. It’s all good. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
I love it when the old timers show up at spring training. Decked out in jerseys that don’t fit and pants that would be better off… well, off (and hopefully replaced by something baggy), seeing them throwing BP and shagging flies always gets me to smile.
So when I heard Kenny Rogers was in Tigers camp I quickly browsed the internets for proof. Though I was surprised to see Kenny has taken on the Prince Fielder diet (good grief, don’t ex-baseballers know about portion control???), I was pleased to see that he still has that gruff go-EFF-yerself demeanor.
Too bad I couldn’t find any recent pictures of his left hand. The last time I saw it, it was pissing me off.
I even searched the YouTubes to see if said hand was still up to its dirty tricks and this is what I found:
Bummer. Couldn’t get a good look. Still, the Jack Daniels is a nice touch, especially for a spring training camp that includes Miguel Cabrera.
Hate me. It’s all good. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Image courtesy of Brad Galli)
For all of the sCrUBS fans chugging the Theo Epstein Kool-Aid, talking about how the “Cubs Culture” is “changing” and how “new leadership” is taking them in a “new, respectable direction”, just remember: Jeff Samardzija isn’t drinking it.
Hate me ‘cuz I hate the Cubs, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
– – –
HOLLA BACK, Y’ALL!!!
It’s time for THE FILIBUSTER to settle back in the Sunday slot at RSBS! The Interns are excited. Mr. Krause is excited. And I AM EXCITED TOO! No matter what the query, send it to RSBSBlog@gmail.com and we’ll let you know what we think.
Journeyman catcher Rod Barajas is “thrilled to reunite with (A.J.) Burnett on Bucs”.
Funny, in the above linked article he never says he’s “thrilled” with anything, but then again, who on the Pittsburgh Pirates would be?
Can we just call the A.J. Burnett trade situation what it is: EMBARRASSING.
Embarrassing for the Yankees because they gave him all that cash. Embarrassing for A.J. because he got all that cash only to become Brad Penny. Embarrassing for the Pirates — THE LOWLY PIRATES — because they were the only ones desperate and baseball-stupid enough to take him on.
Considering the money the Yankees are eating on this deal, it really does look like the Pirates got a bargain, of course, until one realizes they now have A.J. Burnett on their team. Coaches, teammates and clubhouse doors beware.
In the meantime, I’m sure Rod Barajas is enjoying his brief moment in the public eye, even if it is as a sugar coated red herring. When ya play with the Pirates, ya gotta milk every second ya get.
Don’t hate me, ‘cuz I’m right.
I’m a day early but these things are rarely exact. No one really knows for sure if Jesus was born 2,012 years ago, for instance. But I can tell you for sure that Jeff was born 33 years ago as of tomorrow. I just hope that Jeff doesn’t decide to follow in Jesus’ footsteps. See, after disappearing for 30 years between his birth and the start of his ministry, Jesus managed to piss off the entire Roman Empire and the Jewish elite in three short years and get himself killed.
I don’t want to say the allusion is exact but for the past three years Jeff has been pissing off the MLB empire and the baseball elite (including getting kicked off Barry Zito’s Twitter feed). So far there have been no threats against Jeff’s life but MLB is sneaky like that.
It’s a day early but happy birthday Mr. Lung. And please, beware of crowds bearing palm fronds. You know what happens a week later.