Results tagged ‘ Jermaine Dye ’
I was but a child when I first watched his infamous Cosmos series — a series that, for the very first time, made me realize that the mysteries of life, of the universe, of existence as we know it are far more grand and far more expansive than anything I could ever understand in my lifetime.
But, more importantly, it taught me to always ask questions.
And that’s what I’m doin’ today… ‘cuz some of this shizzo just doesn’t make any sense.
Let’s take a look at some contemporary mysteries of the universe, shall we?
Kyle Farnsworth Has a Job. Gregg Zaun Has a Job. Jermaine Dye Does NOT Have a Job. Again.
How does this work? How does a bonafide game-yacker who cries a lot get paid $3 plus million a year while Jermaine Dye sits at home drinking scotch, watching NBA League Pass and surfing the 900 channels? And Gregg Zaun? Isn’t he an AARP officer? The dude’s knees must be concrete by now! Dye had what it takes to play last year and no one gave him a deal because he supposedly wanted too much money. Well, I’m sorry, but I’d rather pay Dye decent money to do his thang rather than throw it at the above two fellas knowing the bad days have a good chance of outweighing the good.
Armando Gallaraga’s Very Bad… Life
He went from rookie sensation (2008) to minor league road block (2009) to work-in-progress (2010) to the imperfect game… THEN… in just a matter of hours went from agreeing to a $2.3 million contact to being DESIGNATED FOR ASSIGNMENT! DFA’D YO!!! That’s the sort of thing that happens to the Wilson Betemits of the world, not someone who had a perfect game ripped from his reach!
Matt Drudge’s Recent Lapse in Calling President Obama a Socialist
Oh… wait. Nevermind. Mystery solved because there is no mystery. He just went two days without a dig. That’s… strange, but not mysterious.
As far as I know, vegetarians can eat donuts.
And that’s a whole lot of donuts.
Yet I do not doubt Prince’s ability to devour them all.
Hate me ‘cuz I went a whole week without a Prince-Fielder-Is-Fat joke, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Hey guys! This offseason left a lot of older free agents without work.
Jermaine Dye still doesn’t have a job. Joe Crede, Hank
Blalock and many others still don’t have jobs either. Would you blame
this on the poor economy or do you think there’s a stronger emphasis on
youth in today’s game? Nice to see the Filibuster come back!
Jermaine Dye doesn’t have a job? Neither does Joe Crede or Hank Blalock? You know what I have to say to that? La di freakin’ da. Who cares? If they were worth anything, they’d have found a new team. Cream always rises to the top and since they haven’t been skimmed off, well, I guess that tells all you need to know about them.
You want to hear about tragedy, I’ll give you tragedy. Somehow RSBS is still not getting paid. Yeah, the adoration of millions is nice and all but where’s the money? However, even that’s nothing compared to the picture I’m about to paint for you.
Imagine a man, a man who has one thing in the world he truly loves. And now imagine what happens to this man when that one thing is torn away from him. Not only does this rending cause physical and psychological torture beyond all understanding, it also fundamentally alters the core of his being.
Yes, I’m talking about the fact that Jim Leyland will not be allowed to smoke at Comerica Park.
Trust me, Jared, I’m as horrified at the thought as you are. Leyland without a cigarette is like a Frenchman without a beret. Exactly. It boggles the mind. It’s inconceivable. It’s ludicrous.
Joe Crede without a job? That’s just natural selection. Good luck in baseball’s Darwinian afterlife, my friend. Maybe you can do like Elway and open a car lot.
***SEND US YOUR FILIBUSTERS****
Something on your mind? Want to see Jeff and Al sweat (separately, not together, eww)? Think you got a real stumper? Send us your Filibuster question(s) by commenting or emailing them to us at email@example.com.
***Your snarky comments regarding Elway in pleats also welcome.
Indeed, after that long and winding baseball-politico season and the ominousness of losing every dime I’ve ever saved due to the current worldwide economic crisis, I deserved a damn vacation.
And vacation I did.
Which reminds me, don’t you just hate when you meet the perfect girl and you hit it off right away — so much so that you spend the entire day with her into the evening through the night and find out the next day that she’s your cousin?
Happens to me every year.
But that’s not what I want to focus on today. No. You see, dear readers, while on my vacation, I missed out on some very important happenings: like Gov. Sarah Palin‘s adamant cry to NBC’s Matt Lauer that during the campaign she never got involved with that “inside baseball stuff” that supposedly divided her camp from Sen. McCain’s.
Look, I don’t even pretend to know what she meant by calling it “inside baseball stuff” seeing how it had absolutely nothing to do with baseball; however, I can appreciate her obviously sentimental regard for greatest game on earth and implying that indeed, it’s complicated.
Because it is.
The coast is clear now, but how is it that the Cardinals were even considering a trade for Matt Holliday? A trade that would send away at least two (maybe more) of our most talented youngsters and leave us with a one-year rental of a player represented by Scott Boras? Has John Mozeliak officially lost his friggin’ mind?
The answer to that question is yes and I’m quite sure we St. Louis fans haven’t even seen the beginning of it. Stock up on the painkillers, folks; 2009 could be a long one.
And how is it that Lou Piniella received the Manager of the Year Award? Don’t get me wrong: I have nothing but respect for Sweet Lou and I admire his guile, but this year he did what he was supposed to do (sorta) which was manage an extremely talented, high-priced ball-club to a winning season. That’s like me getting rewarded for drinking beer and watching football on Sundays. That’s what I do, people!
The Cubs were on cruise control all season until October and Lou didn’t have to work nearly as hard as the likes of Tony LaRussa or Joe Torre to get the job done with less talent.
The one thing Lou was supposed to do this year (win playoff games) never happened. I see that as one thing and one thing only: failure. F-A-I-L-U-R-E.
On the other side of the Second City (my side), complications arise with Jermaine Dye and his future in a White Sox uniform. Rumor is: Kenny Williams wants to get some fresh legs in exchange for the veteran outfielder who had a resurgent season in 2008. I understand Williams’ point of view, but I’m pretty sure there will be rioting in the streets if Dye is traded away. Even more rioting if Big Fat Bobby Jenks is dealt (which is also floating around the rumormill).
Just let me know if and when that’s going to happen, Kenny, because I’ll make sure to be back in South Padre until the Southside firebombing lets up.
I suppose Gov. Palin was right. This “inside baseball stuff” is complicated. And I gotta hand it to the Republicans. They ran a
good laughable race. And the tides seem to be turning for the GOP: Mark Foley, while still making excuses for his pedophilia, is at least speaking to the media again; Alaska has more problems than just Palinmania; and Norm Coleman has a 209 vote lead (as I write this).
Like my boy Tupac used to always say: “Ya gotta keep ya head up.”
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Dear readers, these are the things that keep me up at night:
- The St. Louis Cardinals
- Erin Andrews (click *here* to see why — Yum!)
- The destruction of our environment (click *here* to join me in my mission)
- Wal-Marts, Super Wal-Marts, and Super Wal-Marts Beijing Style
- Erin Andrews in a sexy bathing suit
- Flashbacks of the Malarchuk injury
- Jesse Jackson getting his n***s cut off — ooh, did I say that? Whoops. Hot mic! Hot mic!
- Bill O’Reilly
- Erin Andrews in a sexy bathing suit making out with Lucy Liu who just so happens to be wearing a leather body suit while wielding a whip
- White people
With all of these sensitive and sensitive subjects on my mind, I was grateful that my memory recounted a comment that was posted here at RSBS several months ago:
“When I need a nap, I usually tune in to a Sox broadcast. Hawk and DJ
work better than a handful of ambien and a bottle of Jack. Their actual
commentary goes beyond irritating, yet their vocal tones could induce a
Now it’s no secret that I follow the Sox very closely. And I have admitted here before that at times, even I, Fulbright Scholar that I am, find Ken “the Hawk” Harrelson and Darrin “DJ” Jackson’s over-the-top homerisms amusing; but if I really want to enjoy the game from start to finish, I turn on the radio and let Ed Farmer and Steve Stone call a sound game.
But it has been a long week, folks. Still recovering from myriad things I can’t remember from the 4th of July weekend and endlessly troubled by the aforementioned list of sleep-stoppers, I decided to take waltcproductions’ advice and turned the sound up on the television.
The Sox were in Kansas City to face the Royals. Buehrle v. Greinke. Potential for a pitcher’s duel. It was… though I wouldn’t have known it.
I nestled into my couch without a beer in my hand — shockingly, for the first time this month — and made sure I was comfortable enough to accept sleep if it so decided to fall upon my eyes. It did. I remember my lids getting heavy around the bottom of the second; Hawk and DJ were — surprise! — rehashing the ‘old days’ by talking about their .239 and .257 career batting averages, respectively. I remember thinking, ‘Gee, I’ve heard them say that before… about a thousand times…’
…but I was already long lost in a blissful land of somniferous slumber.
I woke up in the bottom half of the 8th to the roaring crowd of 29 people at Kauffman Stadium cheering on their Royals who had suddenly taken a lead, which inspired Hawk to grunt one of his trademark utterances: “Doggone it!”
Immediately, I hit ‘mute’, turned on the radio and listened to Stoney explain how a Konerko error combined with a less than Dotel outing for Octavio Dotel turned a brilliant Buehrle performance into a loss for the Sox.
At least I got some sleep.
You can hate Hawk and DJ, but don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Ah, yes, we humans can be quite the dreamers sometimes. I know I can. I won’t tell you about my most recent dream (believe me, you’d thank me if you could) but I would like to take the time to call out others on their misconstrued fantasies regarding the happenings in the world. On this day in particular — as is usually the case — there is no shortage of ridiculous thoughts, imaginations and pipedreams circulating the baseball-politico world.
Thankfully, these make-believe ideas have not breached the walls of my psyche. It hasn’t been easy staving off the onslaught of fans seeking a glimpse of glory, but I’m proud to say that, for this night, I’ve evaded the paparazzi, locked the doors and shut all the windows. I am safe. And as a stand-up man who speaks for intelligent US Americans around the globe, let me begin by saying that it is a complete pipedream that…
The MLB All-Star Game Is Anything But a Popularity Contest
I know, I know… same story, different year. Seriously though? If “this time it counts” continues to be the theme, the goal, the prize, then why leave it up to a bunch of numbnuts (the American Public — yeah, I said it; they voted for Dubya twice) to decide who should start this pivotal game? How do we do it? Here’s how: don’t let Yankees and Red Sox fans vote. And Florida — the entire state of Florida should not be able to vote… just for fun and because they kind of deserve that punishment. If I’m Terry Francona, and I have even a remote chance of managing in the World Series, I want Jermaine Dye on my team.
It is also an absolute pipedream that…
John McCain Could Balance the Budget By the End of His First Term
This is actually two pipedreams: 1) that he could indeed balance the budget and 2) that he would ever have a first term. Here’s the thing, how are we US Americans supposed to believe we could balance the budget by pouring more money, more resources, more troops into Iraq for another 100 years? We’ve already spent over 500 billion dollars in Iraq since 2002 and lost over 4,000 service men and women. How high will that number go over the next 100 years? And how would we do it when Maliki & Co. want us OUT!?!
Speaking of lunacy, it is also a complete pipedream that…
Rich Harden Will Bring the Cubs a World Series Championship
I know you guys want to believe it. I know you do. You won’t shut up about it. You pretend that the Cardinals aren’t right on your tails. You pretend the Southsiders don’t exist. You actually believe that “this is your year”. Well, it ain’t. And this so-called blockbluster trade proves it. Let me tell ya something: Billy Beane doesn’t trade away a guy unless there’s something wrong with him (see Mark Mulder, Tim Hudson, Barry Zito). There’s something wrong with Harden. I don’t know what it is yet; but I will. I hear that there is a very strong possibility that it involves a goat.
So yeah… it is also an absolute pipedream that…
Obamacons Actually Exist
Like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and a sober Amy Winehouse, these dreamed-up conservative supporters of Barack Obama aren’t real. Hallmark is busy making up a holiday for them to star in.
Yes. It’s true. And it is also a complete pipedream that…
Alex Rodriquez Will Ever Stay Out of the Tabloids
He’s the best there is at what he does. He’s good looking. He’s into Kabbalah. That’s really all I have to say about that. This is just an excuse to post his picture. I don’t know if you, dear reader, are aware, but RSBS has quite a diverse following: whites, blacks, men, women, Chinese, Japanese and yes, even gays. In fact, I have been pestered by the homosexual community to post more pictures of A-Rod and other cute guys. So here you go, fellas:
Barack Obama Is a Flip-Flopper
Just not true. I know, I know… the Republicans have used this strategy before with much success (see John Kerry, Al Gore) so it makes perfect sense why they would pull it out again; however, this is Barack Obama we’re talking about here. It has been his position since the beginning of the campaign to begin a controlled withdrawal of combat brigades in Iraq. To all you flip-flop-mongering hope-squashing old-hat-wearing Republicans, here’s a great big RSBS EAT IT!
While you’re eating it, please know that it is also an absolute pipedream that…
Kosuke Fukodome Should Be a Starter In the All-Star Game
Soto? Yes. Soriano? Yeah, sure. Fine. Fukudome? No. And here’s why: his line isn’t nearly as good as those who got snubbed completely. Compare his line against those of Corey Hart, Rick Ankiel, Aaron Rowand. I find it very ironic that a fan base that used racial slurs and stereotypes to “welcome” their foreign star stumped the voting booths to make him a starter. So is the way of the Cub fan…
And let me tell ya, it is
also a complete pipedream that…
Anyone Will Care About What John McCain Has to Say at the Republican Convention When the ‘Skins Battle the Giants in an Exciting NFL Opening Night Showdown!
Are you ready for some football?!?
And if that doesn’t get you excited, let me inform you that it’s also a complete pipedream that…
This Randy Johnson Destroying a Bird with a Baseball Video Will Ever Get Old
And really folks, I know it’s an absolute pipedream that…
I’m Anywhere Close to Being Angelic
However, pictures don’t lie and this random shot taken of me in the wee hours of the July 4th morning clearly shows illuminated wings protruding from my back. Say what you will about it, but I’m pretty convinced that I have the whole Michael Landon Highway To Heaven thing goin’ on here.
By the way, the tough guy in the lower left is my Turkish bodyguard Omar; so don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right or I’ll tell him where you live.
There are a lot of things at U.S. Cellular Field (aka The Joan) that have the potential to creep me out: that feeling of loss I get after spending fifty bucks on seven Miller Lites and never catching a buzz; that strange foot tapping from the stall next to me in the men’s room; that chili-cheese nacho induced sleep-stopping jolt of fear at four in the morning. Yeah. Sure. There is no doubt that these situations can freak me out a little bit, but when it comes right down to it, they could just as easily happen in any ballpark in Anywhere, USA.
However, to my knowledge, the good folks at The Joan really do know how to go above and beyond in the ‘creepy’ department. They have proven that they can not only freak out children, but adults as well and force all those in attendance to shake off the willies every time a White Sox batter comes to the plate.
The stands have eyes.
On the lip of the grandstands that wrap around from the left field foul pole, behind home plate, and back out to right, is a thin video board that most parks use for advertising or god forbid: scores, balls and strikes, pitch counts, radar gun, etc. In fact, when the visiting team is hitting, they tend to throw some of those arbitrary numbers up there. But when the Sox are hitting? No way. Why is that?
The stands have eyes.
And it’s not just a photograph of the players’ eyes. No. It’s an approximately sixty second looping video complete with blinks, scowls, crud, tears, whatever. If you want to see the batter’s cheesy press photo, his stats, interesting notes about his childhood, check the center field scoreboard. If you want to get that creepy, icky, dirty feeling of being watched and in the process get distracted from what’s actually happening on the field so that when Thome hits a racing foul ball right towards you (‘cuz he wouldn’t hit one fair) you’re not paying attention, consequently get hit in the orbital socket, bleed out, make a scene and die… then keep looking at those damn eyes.
And just because you’re dead is not an excuse to hate me ‘cuz I’m right…
The friggin’ stands have eyes! Look!
On the same night that Barack Obama became the definitive Democratic nominee and furthered his journey by taking the next step to becoming the president of hope for all US Americans, I too made a bold move that finally gave the people what they wanted. Yes, dear readers, it is true that since late April, I have become somewhat of a recluse and have not made any public appearances at a baseball stadium near you. This decision had nothing to do with those endearing fans who have urged me to come back into the light and everything to do with the fear mongering Cub fans and subsequent paparazzi that have simply been unable to leave me alone. After my shotgun rise to fame, the careening death of my humility and myriad run-ins with the high demands of fans and foes alike, I ultimately found myself spent — empty of emotion, void of volition, destitute of destiny.
But sometimes the voice of the people is so loud and so strong and so motivating that not even I can ignore it.
And so it came to me in the middle of the night — that thunderous roar of resurgence inspired by the people — that no longer would I allow myself, my fans, my chimeric offspring, nor any other US American or world-inhabiting life form to continue down the path of never-ending disappointment. No. It was time to get out. It was time to go to The Joan.
The Royals were in town. The Sox were standing atop the AL Central (still are). And the people were ringing in my ears.
When I first stepped outside my Southside home I was pleasantly surprised to see that the paparazzi, hopeless that I would ever show my face in public again, were already gone. I walked the few short blocks to the #8 Halsted bus stop at 29th & Halsted and to my delight, this is what I saw:
What a beautiful sight to see no one around. The coast was clear. I could breathe easy. Then the bus came. Reality set in. Chaos ensued.
I barely made it out of there alive! As soon as I stepped on the bus it started — the ambush of photographers, autograph seekers, ill-parented children. Someone, somebody tipped them off to my arrival and I’m pretty sure it was my personal stylist, Miguel, who is, coincidentally, now dead. I had nothing to do with his death (he was hit by the #62 Archer bus in a freak accident) but it’s obvious that he deserved it. I’m lucky I survived on the #8 myself.
But I did. And I was determined.
Unfortunately, it just wasn’t going to get any easier at the game. A fog had set in over the city, eerily setting the stage for yet another blitzkrieg on my stardom, and not even Jermaine Dye (who is much more looming in person) could protect me from the evildoing Royals fans:
Yes, folks, Royals fans hate me too. They hate me for my arrogance, righteousness, intelligence. They hate me because I’m a Cardinals fan. They hate me for my unending defamation of Don Denkinger, for my highly praised baseball-politico forum of RSBS and because I root for my neighborhood Sox. But the main reason they hate me is ‘cuz I’m always right.
And one Royals fan couldn’t stand to see me in my element — to see me make a graceful entrance to the section 110 box seats, greeted with fanfare and treated with respect. No. It made him turn blue and then it made him turn on me:
I only blacked out for a second, but in that time A.J. hit a single and Carlos Quentin knocked him in by blasting a 2-run homer that landed just feet from me and the RSBS entourage. I came to and noticed my cellphone was blowing up with text messages from my counterpart, Allen Krause, who was attending the St. Louis Cardinals v. D.C. Nationals matchup. At the same exact time that I was getting beat up by a drunk Royals fan, Allen was getting his teeth kicked in by the Nats’ Elijah Dukes, who actually read Al’s blog entry, way back when, attacking Dukes for his predatory passes at a 17 year-old foster child. It was raining heavily in D.C. and while the Cards were pounding the ball, Al just couldn’t take the excitement, the rain or the pain. He texted me to say he was going home.
But I stayed. The Royals fan was kicked out of the park by my — ahem — the White Sox security:
The Sox would continue to score runs, with homeruns from Alexei Ramirez and (hold your breath!) Nick Swisher, further adding to the Royals’ dismay.
And at the end of a colossally eventful night, the people got what they wanted: Obama won the nomination, Jenks pitched the 9th, the Cardinals beat the Nats, Elijah Dukes beat the snot out of Tiger-lover Allen Krause, and I got out of the house.
Life ain’t worth livin’ if ya don’t take some risks sometimes… and life ain’t worth livin’ if you hate me ‘cuz I’m right. Just ask that Royals fan.