Results tagged ‘ NLCS ’
think this is an effort on his part to cover up the feminine role he
plays in San Francisco, and after hearing him interviewed, is it worth
the effort on his part, since he obviously sounds, lets say a little
less manly than most players.
And when people are scared, people slander. Look, it happens. I know. One need look no further than my own nefarious and oft vindictive colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, whose curt demeanor often causes him to challenge my manhood (a challenge he has yet to win by the way).
In the case of Cody Ross, can we really say that he is “less manly than most players”? Like my 8 year old nephew says: “it’s a free country… na-na-na-booboo!” So yeah. I guess so. But what does that really mean? I think it means that one need not be a manly man to excel at the game of baseball. If four pressure packed post season dingers that throw an otherwise offense-challenged club on his back don’t prove that, then I don’t know what does.
But, I guess one would probably be better off asking Roy Halladay how he feels about the situation (Warning: Doc Halladay hath no feelings).
Surely, by now, someone has shown the Philadelphia Phillies what Cody Ross’ name spelled backwards is.
I’ll give you some time to figure it out.
Hate me ‘cuz it’s easy to do, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Photo by Ezra Shaw/Getty Images)
***SEND US YOUR FILIBUSTERS****
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 firstname.lastname@example.org.
***Pictures of Allen tongue kissing a poster of Joe Mauer also welcome.
If I’m a Californian, I’m not too excited about the two gubernatorial choices jockeying for my November vote. Jerry Brown? More like Jerry Boring. Meg Whitman? Uh… you invented eBay, Meg, not the actual internet (Al Gore did that), so don’t be so proud of yourself.
To be honest, I don’t think most Californians even know there’s an impending gubernatorial race going on. With so many distractions, like the Kardashians and Alex Smith and The Hills… when does one have time to care about politics?
You needn’t worry, California. Your man — though barely known just a few weeks ago — is Cody Ross.
After being fed to the waiver wire in August, Ross was reluctantly picked up by the Giants; his timely bat and quiet confidence has since turned into the bargain of the year.
He banged one out against Derek Lowe to break up a no-hitter in the NLDS.
He banged TWO out against Roy Halladay in Game One of the NLCS.
He banged ANOTHER out against Roy Oswalt in Game Two of the NLCS.
That’s a lot of friggin’ bangin’…
And for a state that’s known to bang, I think Cody Ross should get a shot.
Hate me ‘cuz I think outside the box (and occasionally use tired cliches), just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
It has become obvious to me that baseball managers do not read this blog. How do I know this? Because how else can you explain the fact that Kyle Farnsworth STILL has a job?! Have I not made this clear? The dude is poison. The Cubs didn’t blow the 2003 NLCS because of Bartman. It was Farnsworth. He makes every team worse.
But, despite my multitude of cautions and unwavering admonitions, teams with hopes of making the postseason still go out and pick this guy up. His latest victim? The Braves. And there’s no way they can say they didn’t see it coming. Just scroll down through the article and, after reading about how he pitched this time, relive the magic of his previous outing with the Braves.
At least Farnsworth didn’t go crazy after the game like some other NL East relievers. Instead he just accepted it as another day at the park: “Can’t do anything about it. Just got to keep your head up and keep going.”
Really, Farnsy? Because I think you actually can do something about it. I think these GM’s could get their heads out of their a$$es and make a decision not to hire you anymore. They did it to Barry Bonds and he at least performed. I should probably keep it down, though. Even if the managers don’t read this, you might and I wouldn’t want to see you cry again.
As a proud paragon of Redbird loyalism, I still pompously refuse to forgive and forget the awful defeat handed to us by the Houston Astros during the 2005 NLCS. That… was… awful. I think I went on a two week bender.
I don’t remember.
But I do remember one thing: I do not like the Astros. So you can imagine my grief, dear readers, as I watched their bid for an 0-162 season come to an end on Thursday… again, against the St. Louis Cardinals.
WTF IS IT THAT MAKES BUD NORRIS SO UNHITTABLE TO THE BIRDS ON THE BAT?!? EH!?!? WELL!?!?!
That one little win (their first win) is just that: one little win. It doesn’t change the fact that the Astros suck.
And it’s times like these — when jaded, seething, vexed — that I turn to Japan… for a little glimpse of happy time:
Ah… nothin’ makes me smile like a psilocybin-fueled walking canine with a crowned doll head pushing doggie treats to unmonitored and impressionable little kids.
Happy Friday, Y’all!
*Special thanks to Shan for coining (and sharing) the term “LOLstros”, which is effing hilarious (and true). You can follow her on Twitter here: @Shan_Cake
Nevermind all that pre-NLCS/ALCS buzz dancing around the internets and such as, the Iraq! Soon we will all have more than our wanted fill of Joe Buck self-righteous proclamations and ear-numbing Chip Carary-isms. For now, let us focus on the larger, more looming and lurid task of finding the Cleveland Indians a new manager. Shall we?
Yep. John Farrell is no longer in the mix. They can’t afford Bobby Valentine. And unfortunately, dear readers, Lou Brown has gone back to selling tires… forever.
That’s why I, along with the fastidious help of our always reliable RSBS interns, have prepared a list of potential managerial candidates for Indians GM Mark Shapiro, whom we all know is too busy lamenting the contract of one Travis “I Ain’t Got It No More” Hafner and the cruel reality of a midge-less postseason.
Mark, here is the shortlist of suggested targets:
Sure, the Big Tuna ain’t no baseball guy; we know that. But he was born to win (and eat… a lot). Besides, just think of what hiring this former Cowboy coach could do for the long neglected and oft polarized relationship between Cowboys and Indians. Mark, it is time to heal these wounds.
Since being shunned and axed by his University of Illinois home (where he was a staple presence for 81 years), the Great Chief doesn’t really have much to do but stay in and get drunk all day. Hey, you can get drunk at the ballpark too, Chief! Plus, having such a standard bearer of Native American tradition might help the Indians solve that whole racist image thing they’ve had goin’ on for… y’know… ever.
Oh, wait. He’s dead. Never mind.
He’s dead too? Sorry.
Whoops. My bad. Okay. No more dead guys of French descent.
Well, then that leaves me with just one more super managerial candidate for Mr. Shapiro and that person is:
Look, if you’re gonna build a bridge to nowhere, ya might as well build it on the Cuyahoga River.
Hate me ‘cuz I’m on point, all the time, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Anything wrong with that? Not in my opinion. In a world full of greed, hate, debauchery and Cubs baseball, I find solace knowing that even the tireless spin-doctoring and smoke-screening of Rod Blagojevich eventually falls on the deaf ears of a nation distracted with the task of rebuilding itself.
Blago’s days as governor are as numbered as Joe Morgan is annoying; and soon, he will just be another political coelacanth — a footnote in the oppression and wasted tax-dollars of a people.
In my fervent bidding adieu, I refuse to let Blago’s self-indulgent, gloomy demise get me down. The older I get, the more I realize how little my brain can actually remember if not trained otherwise; thus, I find it best to replace negativity with post-partisan positivity. So it is, on this four degree Sunday afternoon, with a broken heart and three cups of coffee too many, that I find grace in the baseball-politico memories dearest to me.
Of course, there are always the Joe Carters, the Kirk Gibsons, the Ozzie Smiths… the inauguration of a new hope for my country… those are all givens. Today I focus on the obscure, the seemingly minute, the more poignant personal moments that help me to forget about what an awful place this earth can be sometimes. And so I begin…
Ozzie Guillen Goes to Bobby Jenks
A move he’s made several times, but never as interesting as it was during the 2005 post-season when Ozzie motioned for Jenks by extending his arms out sideways as if to say: “Bring in the fat fella.”
Talking to Carlos Lee Outside Wrigley Field
Having gone hitless against Ted Lilly that night, I was stunned to see a smiling Carlos Lee on the corner of Sheffield and Addison waiting to get on the Astros player’s bus. I approached him — all gargantuan 230 plus pounds of him — and flippantly asked: “Caballo, what happened?”
“Ball move too much, man.”
I’m still laughing at that one.
“Yes We Can” Viral Video
Sure, I admit I’m a sucker for inspirational acts of creativity… this one still gets me.
Brian Anderson’s Catch
Picture it, October 1, 2008… a one game playoff between the White Sox and Twins to crown the AL Central winner, and a Jim Thome homerun is all that separates the two when we reach the top of the ninth and two outs. A sharp flare streamlines to right center field, in comes Brian Anderson… instant party on the Southside.
Bill Clinton on Carroll Quigley, DNC 1992
As a young, impressionable, questioning 12 year-old, this quote pushed me in to politics… to stay.
Adam Wainwright’s Curveball
Whether it was striking out Carlos Beltran looking or Brandon Inge swinging, I’ve never seen a more devastating hook — ever.
Barack Obama’s 2004 DNC Keynote Address
I thought a change was a comin’… didn’t know it was going to take so long, but it got me revved up nonetheless.
Yadier Molina Hitting .304 in 2008
After the rocket homerun he hit off Aaron Heilman to beat the Mets in the 2006 NLCS, Molina became my indisputable hero. To see him blossom into a true hitter in conjunction with his unrivaled defensive skills just makes me want to hug the guy any chance I get. Yadi, you out there, pal? Let’s hook that up.
Grandma Lois Talking Baseball
May she rest in peace, my beloved grandmother was talking Cardinals baseball like no other 84 year-old I knew. Before the 2004 season, she told me: “It’d be nice to see Edmonds and Rolen have really good years.” She died on April 20, 2004; Jimmy and Scott both put up career numbers and vied for the MVP. I know she’s still smiling about that one.
Post 9/11 Baseball in New York
I’d be hard pressed to find a more inspiring, more electric, more communal surge of patriotic energy and overall bipartisan goodwill towards all through the greatest game on earth than what took place in New York City that fall.
I still get goosebumps just thinking of it.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Dear readers, it’s Wednesday and thank the baseball gods I’m finally starting to feel like myself again. As many of you know, my longtime chum/colleague/nemesis, the Mr. Allen Krause, had the good fortune of spending this past weekend visiting with me here on the Southside of Chicago. Besides force-feeding him Chicago-style deep-dish pizza, Ann Sathers cinnamon rolls and a steady diet of “go *BLEEP yourself!” expletives, we did manage to reconnect with our younger, more astute college-selves — and by that I mean: we got drunk.
Well, let me just say that it was nothing like before. No. Indeed, at a fresh-looking 29 years of age, neither one of us are really apt to handle the physiological hell we used to put ourselves through. In retrospect, it’s hard to imagine we’re even still alive. Back in those days, we would party late nights Tuesday through Sunday (Monday was reserved for Monday Night Football and thus rest was required), found time to perform street circus acts and then actually managed to get straight A’s through our respectively rigorous class schedules.
Obviously, those days are long gone. Still, it’s fun to think about how nimble we once were and in honor of that and tonight’s super-duper lineup of presidential debate politics and National League Championship Series baseball, we at RSBS would like to provide a provocative, playful drinking game for those of you dear readers who are responsible adults over the age of 21 (fake IDs don’t count in the blogosphere either).
It’s simple. Get yourself a sixer of Old Style or a bottle of Jack or Costco sized container of mouthwash — whatever your preferred poison may be — and every time one of the following occurs, take a drink. Trust us, between flipping back and forth between the game and the debate and adhering to these rules, you won’t care what the outcome of either actually is… and sometimes, that’s all you really want.
So, every time…
Joe Torre Makes a Face that Says “I Have Indigestion”…
Take a drink.
John McCain Looks at the Camera and Calls You “My Friend”…
Take a drink.
Tim McCarver Over-analyzes a Play, a Player, an Entire Race of People…
Take a drink.
John McCain Falsely Accuses Barack Obama of Wanting to Raise Your Taxes…
Take a drink.
The Two Candidates Fail to Answer the Question that was Asked and instead Filibuster their Talking Points…
Take a drink. (are you still with me?)
You Wish and Pray that the Elegantly Exquisite and Ever Erudite Erin Andrews was Fox’s Sideline Reporter…
Take a drink. (fyi: this one alone would put me in the hospital)
John McCain Refers to Barack Obama as Anything Except His Actual Name (ie That One, The Senator, Dingleberry)…
Take a drink.
Shane Victorino Does Something Magical…
Take a drink.
And lastly… if you’re still able to count to three…
You Look at Obama and just See a Black Man…
Take a drink. No, take ten drinks. And shame on you.
Please drink responsibly.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
As we watch our hard earned US American dollars turn to cents and our favorite college football teams humiliate themselves to no end, I am happy to say that at least I have the dulcet sounds of Carrie Underwood playing in the background and one of my best friends visiting me for the weekend. Yes, dear readers: Mr. Krause is in the building.
In light of this perfect storm, we humbly beg your forgiveness while we detour from our usual minutiae ridden rants and tirades.
Instead we want to remind you of what really matters:
Don’t hate us ‘cuz we’re right.
Jeffy and A
Pardon me for being brash, but it’s certainly no secret that the group mind of the Phillies faithful is about as unruly as the world markets are on this fine Friday afternoon. And while I’ve never been to Citizens Bank Ballpark, I have seen the drunken exploits of Phillies fanatics in St. Louis as well as here in Chicago. In fact, one of my fondest baseball memories is seeing two Phillies fans fight two Cubs fans outside of Haray Caray’s Tavern on Sheffield and Addison. Quite the conundrum as I didn’t know who to root for: the two ^ssholes in Cubs jerseys or the two ^ssholes in Phillies jerseys.
I don’t remember who won the fight; I do remember I wanted to stay as far away from them as possible.
And that hasn’t changed one bit.
So in reading Mike Bauman’s column this morning — where he theorizes that in order for the Dodgers to come out of Philly with a win someone other than Manny Ramirez has got to hit the ball — I chuckled when he passively mentioned the x-factor of drowning out the noise of “the extremely vocal support of 45,839 of their [the Phillies'] closest friends.”
Touché, Mike. Touché.
As one highly respected blogger put it earlier this year: Philadelphia Fans Don’t Deserve Championship Teams.
And after watching this I have a hard time disagreeing with him:
I know my esteemed colleague, Mr. Krause, has equated the Philly message to that of Barack Obama and even picked them to run the table all the way to the Championship but I can’t stop myself from thinking how crazy that comparison actually is. Philly fans, obviously, have no qualms about fighting back while Democrats seem to be inherently meek (see Al Gore 2000, John Kerry 2004, Barack Obama 2008). Philly fans are hardly known for their eloquent speech whereas the Democrats bank on it.
In fact, I think the only thing that Philly fans and Democrats have in common is that they both lose when it really counts.
Let’s hope that one of them doesn’t this time around.
Go ahead, Philadelphia. Go ahead and hate me. It’s nothing I’m not used to. Really. But don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right (and please stop firebombing my house).