Results tagged ‘ Milton Bradley ’
Brad Lidge’s Honorary Cardinal Card Officially Revoked
Just as the homerun he gave up to Albert Pujols during the 2005 NLCS finally falls back to earth, so too does Brad Lidge’s status as an elite Major League closer. Having notched his seventh blown save of the season (by giving up a game-tying single to bonafide bust Milton Bradley no less), Lidge forces us to ask the serious question:
Who in the world is going to be fooled by that low and away slider when you throw it on the first pitch?
And then, I gotta follow up by asking:
Who in the world is going to be fooled by that right-down-central fastball you are forced to throw after they don’t swing at the low and away slider early in the count?
There was a time (it was just last year actually) when Brad Lidge was one of the most feared pitchers in the league. Nowadays he’s looking more and more like Mitch Williams circa 1997 (or Kevin Gregg today — in both cases, it ain’t good).
Lidge lucked out in that his team won it in extras but that doesn’t change the fact that he gave Cardinal fans the type of heart attack once only attributable to prospective hunting trips led by Dick Cheney (no, that will never get old). The Phillies, this year, have proven over and over again that there ain’t no such thing as a sure thing and Lidge’s once-devastating slider is definitely not a sure thing.
You want a sure thing?
Bet on an MMA fight looking at least kinda gay.
Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Peace,
Jeff
The Milton Bradley of Politics
Well, what with all the festivities surrounding baseball’s mid-season classic, it has been awhile since we checked in with our old friend Sarah Palin out in Alaska. Knowing her versatility and vitality, though, I’m sure she’s doing well out there in the tundra……..she did what!!!!!?????
And she said what???!!
Wow. It’s possible that Ms. Palin might just be the Milton Bradley of politics. I mean, how does a person go from a more or less coherent communications major and sports reporter to what can only be described as the political equivalent of “boom goes the dynamite?”
Honestly, I don’t even know how to answer that question but what I will say is, “Ms. Palin, please don’t ever stop doing that thing you do.”
-A
Suppress Thy Sore Loser, Loser
For those of you Cubbie-lovin’ pipedreamers out there who still believe in that wretched mantra of “this is our year” — a mantra disproved over and over and over again — then I got another nugget of fact to help bring you down from that dark cloud of praise.
Paul Sullivan, of the Chicago Tribune, writes:
When manager Lou Piniella spoke to [Alfonso] Soriano last week in Pittsburgh and told him he would be
giving him a few more days off, Soriano said he understood. But Soriano
was miffed when he learned his name wasn’t in the starting lineup
Wednesday after he had a pair of hits Tuesday night.“That’s why I’m mad,” Soriano said. “If he had told me yesterday, then I wouldn’t come today ready to play.”
Wow.
Did he really say that? Let’s look again:
“If he had told me yesterday, then I wouldn’t come today ready to play.”
Yep. He said it. And yes, this proves it: Alfonso Soriano is an idiot.
Call me loopy, but if I were making $17 million a year to show up, ready to play baseball every day, then you could bet your behind I would be ready to play baseball — every day. Starter or sub, leading off or in the eight-hole, you’re a goddamn professional baseball player, Alfonso Soriano. You’re living a dream. Okay, you’re living a nightmare, but still, it’s a dream and you should treat it as such.
Goats, black cats, Steve Bartman, decking Michael Barrett, Sori’s hop, Big Z’s hot head, Dempster’s celebratory broken toe, Zambrano vowing to lollygag, the defunct abomination that is Milton Bradley…
Is it any wonder that the Cubs continue to disappoint?
I know, I know. Even I am beginning to think my Cub-bashing agenda has become hackier than hack. Still, what has to be said has to be said because the pain is now inching into my personal life.
My nephew is almost one year old now. While his mother (my sister and devout Cardinal fan) tries the best she can, still, having a Cub fan as a father has already begun to affect him with serious, damaging, negative results.
Here’s what he looks like when his mom dresses him in Cardinals gear:
And when his Cub-lovin’ daddy takes over? Much different story:
In this devastating world of hurt, do yourself a favor and try to smile a little bit, my plebeian brethren. See the light, wear the STL.
And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Peace,
Jeff
An Inconvenient All-Star
I really haven’t had that exciting of a life. There
are a lot of things I wish I would have done, instead of just sitting
around and complaining about having a boring life. So I pretty much
like to make it up. I’d rather tell a story about somebody else.
– Kurt Cobain (1964-1994)
Instead of complaining about who isn’t going to the All-Star Game, I’d like to tell you a story about someone who is going to the All-Star Game:
Me.
Luckily, one of my best friends is a Cardinals season ticket holder. And besides being the proud owner of Quincy, IL’s finest bar and grill (a place where even Mike Shannon has been known to drink) he also has a kind heart and agreed to take me along for all of the All-Star thrills, including acting as my official wing-man in my misguided quest for Erin Andrews glory. Yes, that is still going on. Admittedly, overcoming such built-in adversity will not be an easy assignment; it will be easier than overcoming the struggle against Nazi Germany (don’t tell Al Gore) but, dear readers, it will not be easy – especially since so many deserved, albeit inconvenient, All-Stars will not be present.
Yet that does not mean they should not be recognized for their All-Starredness, no matter the capacity… so here are your RSBS All-Star snubs of 2009 whom I will proudly represent in St. Louis next week:
Mark Reynolds
Just like that frat guy named Hunter and his impervious flesh pursuit at the bar on $5 pitcher night, yeah, he strikes out an awful lot. But he also surprises you every once in a while and hits some big-time bombs… or bombshells, whichever the case may be.
Mark Sanford
Stealing bases is one thing. Stealing taxpayer money to bankroll an 8-year long international affair? Now that’s All-Star material… because, well, it takes balls. Balls of steel.
Stephen Strasburg
Being the most popular man in Major League Baseball without ever having played a Major League Baseball game is certainly something to tip your cap towards. Just wait until you see the kind of velocity he can generate with those ears! I promise you: he is the best pitcher EVER in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD!
Sarah Palin
No one likes a quitter, but unlike Manny Ramirez, at least Palin looks good while doing it.
And finally…
Milton Bradley
As an unabashed Cardinal fan, there are about about 30 million reasons why this guy is a true All-Star. Obviously, not one of them includes playing good, fundamentally sound baseball.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Peace,
Jeff
***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 kraulung@gmail.com.
***Pictures of Allen shot-gunning Old Styles also welcome.
The Filibuster
As a born and bred resident of South Carolina, there isn’t a whole lot
to get excited about when it comes to baseball. The Braves suck, the
Nats suck. Really, we’re pretty limited when it comes to our options.
But here’s my question. If our governor, Mark Sanford, were a baseball
team, which team would he be and why?
Francis
Charleston, SC
__________________________________________
Be not afraid, for the South Carolinian MLB plight has not gone unnoticed during the ostensibly offensive tenure of RSBS. My sister lived there for a year and I remember her husband complaining that there wasn’t much of a buzz for the game at its highest level — that people got more excited about NCAA Gamecocks baseball than the Major League playoffs. Look, I don’t blame anyone for not wanting to follow the Braves or the Nationals, as it is obvious that neither team has the “game” nor the “co<k” (proverbial as it may be) to be a bonafide winner.
That’s just the truth.
But let us focus on the crux of your question, Francis, which seems to key in on our special talent of personifying baseball entities with tangible political failures. While this challenge may not seem as tantamount to society as our Modern Era All-Corrupt Baseball-Poltico Team, it certainly is as important in gauging the ever growing dissatisfaction of the masses and their subsequent loss of face. Especially in South Carolina — a red state that suffered the humiliation of a US American intent on saving the “education like such as South Africa and, uh, the Iraq everywhere like, such as and” exposed on national television — the tragedy of Mark Sanford must be discussed in terms of its baseball counterpart:
The Chicago Cubs.
But wait! How can I equate the Cubs with just another high profile politician caught in a sexy web of lies? It’s quite easy. Because like Mark Sanford, the Cubs are posers.
Sure, they’ve sorta passed for a wholesome bunch of merry go-gettin’ winners (save Zambrano, Bradley, Lilly, et al) the last couple of years, and they always look good on the surface — good enough to convince the analysts they’ll win it all and good enough to draw in a bunch of weekday party-goin’ drunkards from well-to-do families who are so eager to overpay for an underperforming product that they’ll even sacrifice their dignity… but in the end, let’s face it: a hundred and one years is a long friggin’ time.
To put it bluntly, both the Cubs and Mark Sanford indeed have that swashbuckling debonair, that charismatic sheen, that alluring promise of ultimate perfection. They get higher and higher… and as soon as they try to take it all the way to the top…
…they fall flat on their face.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Peace,
Jeff
The Filibuster
Everyone hates me! I don’t understand it. It’s like I’m the anti-Midas.
Instead of turning to gold, everything I touch turns to s**t. And now
they’re even booing me! I just want to be loved. What do I have to do
to be loved?
M. Bradley
Chicago, IL
__________________________________________
RSBS‘ dear readers know that I am always one for some good old japery, so I will ignore the fact that this question comes to us from a Hotmail address with the username LouBrockLover67 attached and assume that you, M. Bradley, were at one time a huge follower of the powerhouse Cardinal club of the mid to late 60s and just go with it. Of course, I am also secretly holding my breath that the Chicago Tribune gets word of this post and in digging through the RSBS archives publicizes the fact that I have called a certain M. Bradley a “whiny spoiled crybaby man-child” on more than at least twenty occasions. Hey, It worked for J-Rod and Raul Ibanez… ah… yes, a fettered blogger can dream; I suppose that is still legal and accepted (for now).
But, at this time, what causes my greatest concern is the notion that the Chicago Cubs are being hijacked by just one individual’s antics, gaffes and overall lack of production at the plate, which runs contrary to the the aged tradition of the Cubs’ losing woes being dependent on a complete team effort (or, more appropriately, the lack thereof).
Yes, M. Bradley, everything you touch does turn to s**t, but at least you have the good sense to throw it back into the stands — with only two outs. Look, they are going to boo you just like they boo Fukudome and Soriano and Lee, just like they booed Kyle Farnsworth and Jacque Jones and Keith Moreland before. Cub fans boo. That’s what they do. There ain’t no changing that.
Still, a less hostile playing environment at Wrigley could be had if you, M. Bradley follow these simple guidelines for success: a) hit over .230 b) bash a Gatorade cooler in the dugout with a bat and c) give back that $30 million and just play for the fun of it!
See? Now that was the easy part. Unfortunately, M. Bradley, since Northsiders have proven over the years that they are absolutely incapable of love (see Bartman, Sammy Sosa and Dusty Baker), I am afraid that you will just have to do without while patrolling the swirling winds of fickleness at Clark and Addison.
Beer. That is the only thing Cub fans love. Buy the right field bleacher bums a couple of rounds of beer with that fat, zero laden paycheck and you might just get the impression that you’re liked… sorta.
Until they sober up.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Peace,
Jeff
***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 kraulung@gmail.com.
***Pictures of Sarah Palin in a swimsuit also welcome.
More Freakazoids & Oddities: The Always Venerable, Mostly Searchable RSBS
Everyone is looking for something.
I am looking for a reason not to hate John Mozeliak; the Cardinals hodge-podge yet surprisingly effective pitching staff has given me hope (so far).
Milton Bradley is looking for someone to actually listen to his crybaby tantrums, but we are grown-ups; and we do not care.
North Korea is looking for a good old-fashioned ^ss-whoopin’; sources say firing nukes at your neighbors is an excellent way to accomplish that.
Still, others must turn to the long, twisted and always trustworthy inner-wirings of the world wide interwebs. And sometimes, dear readers, they end up here.
As they have in the past, the RSBS interns did their homework and now we present to you some of the most intriguing keyword searches responsible for bringing people right here to the land of the free slightly tied down and the home of the brave pretentious and pompous, Red State Blue State:
“Red State / Blue State Means???”
It means Jeff and Allen are awesome. Look, I know you queried this from an IP address in Spain, but still… come on, hombre… we’re kind of a known thing.
“Carlos Quentin’s Descents”
There have been many… playing like crap for the Diamondbacks, breaking his wrist in a fit of rage, having a sore left foot… take your pick. I’d say the most influential one is the fact that he looks like a full-sized version of Herve Villechaize.
“Overweight Man”
Now, now… let’s be nice and cordial here, Mr. Internet Searcher. I wouldn’t call my Tiger-lovin’ colleague, Mr. Krause, overweight. I would call him ridiculous (because he is) and anti-establishment (because he is) but not overweight (okay, maybe just a little). If it is indeed larger men you’re looking for, then I direct you *here*.
“What is the Lump in Nyjer Morgan’s Mouth?”
Uh, I dunno. Chewing tobacco? Tongue? Someone else’s tongue? Or maybe playing for the Pirates has given him the mumps. Whatever it is, we humbly admit that we have no friggin’ clue.
And finally, the most intriguing query of them all…
“What is Jeff Lung’s Problem?”
Well, if you don’t know by now, I guess you’re just gonna have to keep on reading.
But whatever you do, don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Peace,
Jeff
The Filibuster
Players across the sports spectrum seem to be feeling their oats the
past couple weeks. The Lakers-Rockets NBA series has turned into a
brawl and baseball has seen several ejections and suspensions handed
down over the last several days. Are we seeing the effects of over (or
under) officiating or are players really more on edge these days?
–Allen
__________________________________________
My unwieldy colleague and line straddling co-author, Mr. Krause, the spin-doctor extraordinaire, has done it again, folks. Surprise, surprise. He just doesn’t get it.
Suspensions, brawls, warnings, headhunters, beanballs, ejections… these are all integral tenets of the sports we love. Without them, the stakes would be as dramatic as an afternoon pinochle tournament at your local retirement home (and even those can turn violent without proper supervision).
Personally, I could care less about what the Los Angeles Lakers of Los Angeles are fighting about with the Houston Rockets (those are basketball teams, right?). But perennial crybaby and major league fire-starter Milton Bradley? Foot-in-mouth Bobby Jenks? Two-packs-a-day Jimmy Leyland?
Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!
Indeed, the cast of characters may change from year to year, but the subtle game of intimidating your opponent and firing up your team with guts, fists and butt-busting fastballs hasn’t. Ty Cobb anyone?
No matter what the era, baseball players have always found a harmonious balance of edge and competitiveness. When your livelihood is on the line, you bet you’re gonna go out and stand up for yourself. Those who don’t… well, they end up like Mr. Krause, pushing pencils and checking email forty times a day.
Now I don’t propose an increase to the level of violence on the field; but hell, don’t peel it back. I need that respite of poorly timed right hooks (see Shields v. Crisp, 2008), knee-buckling vengeance (see Bradley v. The World, 2007) and knuckles-to-skull contact (see Ryan v. Ventura, 1993). Anyone who says he/she doesn’t is a liar.
Baseball does not suffer from under or over officiating. It’s doing just fine the way it is. Fights, ejections, suspensions… they’re all just a part of the game. When it becomes bedlam…
… well, then we might have to reevaluate.
Until then, just keep on hating me. But don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Peace,
Jeffy
***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 kraulung@gmail.com.
***Pictures of hot chicks also welcome.
Life in the Afternoon
Unlike Ernest Hemingway’s poignant parlay into the world of non-fiction, mine hath not the slightest utterance of death today… unless, of course, you consider the thousands of Cub fans who felt stabbed through the heart after their sloppy loss to the St. Louis Cardinals.
For today was a celebration, not only for the Redbirds’ ultimate triumph, but also for good company. Indeed, dear readers, I have friends who don the Cubby blue, like one soon-to-be-wed Adam Marshall — talented author of Our Man In Los Angeles — who was crazy enough to arrange for 22 Cub fans and one Cardinal fan (me!) to stake our claim amongst the bleacher bums at Wrigley Field on what may have been the most beautiful day of the year.
My first stop was to pay homage to the wondrous artwork to the right, found at the Addison Red Line stop, depicting heroic Hall of Fame icons Ryne Sandberg and Ozzie Smith in a too-close-to-call play at second base. I scrounged through the melee of already drunk Cub fans and snapped this amateur photo, hoping it would bring me good luck.
It did.
Dear readers, I have been going to Major League Baseball games my entire life and I have never, ever caught one ball, be it foul, fair, or B.P. Never.
Once inside the cathedral dump also known as Wrigley Field, I went straight for the beer man, bought myself a cold one and swarmed through the slew of drunkards to find an open seat. Entering to an onslaught of “F*** your mother”, “Go back to St. Louis”, and “Cardinals su<k”, I did my very best to make sure my Bud Light did not spilleth over. While perfecting this baseball ballet, I noticed the crowd around me take to a chorus of oohs and ahhs, duck and spread. I looked up and there it was: a ball coming straight towards me at a rifling speed. With no time to react, I simply stuck my chest out, felt a thump, looked down, and in my left hand was a baseball!
After 30 years, folks, I finally caught one.
A Colby Rasmus batting practice homerun at Wrigley.
And my beer did not spill one drop.
From there I knew it was going to be a good game.
And it was, if you consider sloppy defense good. In fact, Cardinals left fielder Chris Duncan put on a clinic of how not to play the position. Then again, so did Alfonso Soriano. And in the end, Duncan’s bat powered the Redbirds to a win.
Of course, no Cub game would be complete without crying; and Milton Bradley came on late with the bases loaded, looked at six straight pitches without swinging the bat, then whined like the spoiled brat child he is before getting tossed.
Cards win. Cubs lose. I live.
Oh, and those crazy bleacher bums oft known to take an afternoon dip down the urinal trough? They were out in full force. There were a few tiffs and tussles, some skiffs and struggles. They were loud. They were obnoxious. They were obscene. Business as usual… like this clever diva who scribbled out some nonsense on a piece of cardboard and passed it off as truth:
(If you look closely, you’ll see it says: “Cardinals su<k nuts”)
Apparently she was too intoxicated to realize that the Cardinals won the game… or the fact that Wrigley Field’s peanuts are quite savory and that any Redbird would be a fool to not at least try them… just once.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Peace,
Jeffy
Small Solutions to Big Problems
WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!
If you read the newspaper or watch the evening news or leave your house every day, you might find the above statement to be true.
Ironically, it is true. Because whether we like it or not, we are all going to die; however, I personally like to think it won’t happen to me until I’m around 90 years old, gripping a cold one while I overexert myself with my 20-something year old gold-digger.
And I’m cool with that.
What I am not cool with is the tense and terse escalation of fear-mongering which has replaced logic and common sense among those who “inform” us on the world’s goings-on. Admittedly, some problems are bigger than others. I ain’t no fool. I get it. But since I am willing, able and sober (for now), allow me to mend some of these major issues with some easy fixins’…
THE PROBLEM: Mexico’s Exploding Drug Violence
THE SOLUTION: Carlos Lee
It’s easy. Hand El Caballo an AK-47. Give him immunity. Let him go to work.
I know, I know. Carlos is Panamanian, not Mexican. Doesn’t matter. He speaks the language, he’s scarier than Dick Cheney on a hunting trip and he plays for the Astros (meaning he’s expendable). Indeed, I had the pleasure of meeting El Caballo as he was getting on the Astros’ team bus after a game at Wrigley a couple of years ago and while the man is only 6’2, he has to be the most behemoth of a human being I have ever encountered in real life. He’s listed at 235 lbs., but that is a stone cold lie. He looks like he ate my entire family for lunch and I have a huge family. Anyone who can devour me and my six sisters has the inner wrath and tenacity it would take to bring down Mexican drug lords galore. ¡Venga, Carlito! ¡Ya basta! ¡Venga, venga!
THE PROBLEM: World Financial Crisis
THE SOLUTION: Pittsburgh Pirates, Kansas City Royals, San Diego Padres
Assemble the wealthiest 1% of people in the world. Force them to put their money into global markets equally, thus spreading the love, injecting life, creating confidence. If they do not follow this direction, simply hand them ownership to the Pirates, Royals and Padres and watch them die a slow, meaningless death.
THE PROBLEM: Chicago’s Intra-City Turf War
THE SOLUTION: Shut Milton Bradley’s Trap
For a guy who has the meaty reputation of being an unadulterated ^sshole everywhere he goes playing for a team that hasn’t won a World Series in 101 years, Milton Bradley sure does a lot of incessant yapping. Uh, Milton, didn’t you get the memo from Ryan Dempster and Ronny Cedeno? Yeah, they’ve been there, done that. Their feet ended up in their mouths. Yours probably will too.
‘Cuz no matter how good the Cubs are on paper, Milton, no matter how good they should be this season, no matter how many knowledgeable baseball folks pick you guys to go all the way, at the end of the day, Milton, you play for a loser. A LOSER. In fact, they are the only professional baseball team nicknamed the “Lovable Losers”, Milton. Yes. That’s true.
You want to talk about Chicago winners, Milton? Since Jordan & Co. left town, the White Sox are it, buddy.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Peace,
Jeffy
Red State Blue State
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