Results tagged ‘ Opening Day ’
Two years ago, in order to quell our insatiable desire for all-things baseball prior to Opening Day, my woebegone and oft curt colleague (Mr. Allen Krause) and I decided to get our baseball fill through glorious song. Said gloriousness was achieved by lip-syncing “Crush” by David Archuleta.
It was da bomb.
And it played a major role in making RSBS a household MLBlog name.
Everything was perfect…
Sony had the video blocked. About a year ago. They claimed we shouldn’t be able to post the material because it was not our music. We acknowledged that — DUH — but retorted that ours fell under parody law, that we made no claim that it was our song. We gave credit where it was due and only asked that our interpretation of Archuleta’s hit be given a chance to thrive, because other baseball beserkers would find it consoling during the antsy prelude to the long season.
Somehow, the baseball gods were appeased. And “Crush” is back online.*
For all of our dear readers — new, old, barely breathing — please, enjoy the show!
And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
**Apparently, some folks outside the US may still have it blocked. So, uh… guess you better move to ‘Merica so you can see it.
Dear readers galore, my salient and oft ornery colleague Mr. Allen Krause may have called you to arms, to take up that proverbial weapon of action, to boycott Opening Day in a move to overthrow the Major League powers that be; but ne’er forget:
The shots of la resistance can ne’er be reversed.
And Opening Day is too important an event to just… swat away with the hopes of passing a message up the chain to get King Bud out of the commissioner’s office.
STOP THE INSANITY!
Look, I don’t like Bud Selig either. A simple skim over the thousand+ RSBS entries will yield a Bud-bash… or fifty. And I agree with Mr. Krause’s (and, obviously the public’s) perception of the man; but my friends, he’s going to retire in 2012. He is MOST DEFINITELY going to RETIRE in 2012.
We’ve put up with the shenanigans this long… another year or two won’t kill us.
Indeed, it will make us stronger.
And knowing that we baseball fanatics need our baseball, need our Opening Day pomp and circumstance, well, that just makes it that much more insane to consider giving it up. Trust me… I have personally experienced a similar dilemma:
While delusions of Erin Andrews’ golden locks and Kim Kardashian’s bangin’ booty may entertain most of my non-baseball related thoughts, the real me needs some real attention too. BUT, the dating world is a cruel, mean, awful and disgusting place. It whips you. It slaps you. It sticks your teeth on a curb and stomps on your head.
I know this.
But I need women… and if it means I gotta wade through muck to get at ’em, well, then that’s just the way it has to be. I can’t just BOYCOTT them. That would be… that would be…
The same goes for baseball and especially Opening Day. I already got the whole event planned, from sunrise to sunset. And Bud Selig ain’t gonna get in the way of that.
Technically it means very little. One game in the course of a 162 game season. But let’s face it. Opening Day is something else. It sets a tone. In 2008, when all the cognoscenti had picked the Tigers to go all the way, those of us who follow the team definitely felt a little hint of worry when they got thumped by the Royals on the first day. And if they could have won on Opening Day last year, that would have been enough to win them the Central and avoid an ill-fated playoff with the Twins.
For such an epic sport, a sport whose history goes back more than a century and whose season lasts more than half a year, baseball is a game of inches and moments. And that’s why we love it. It invokes the saga of multiple generations of both players and fans but allows us to live in the immediacy of a home run or a strikeout pitch.
Opening Day is baseball in miniature. Yes, it’s only one game and yes it doesn’t technically mean that much being only one 162nd of the of the season. But if you ask any of us sitting here watching our Opening Day starter take the mound if this game means something and you can bet your @$$ we’re all going to say yes.
Happy Opening Day and go Tigers!
Any Opening Day rituals? I always wear the same shirt.
Just so we are all clear on this, let it be known that I try to change my shirt at least once every day, every two days if I’m really strapped for time and/or laundry detergent. I mean, I do have a wild side, but I ain’t no goddamn hipster.
But that’s not what you meant, Pete, and for that, I wish I could apologize.
Rituals? Hell yes. Indeed, dear readers, I may be a logical, reason abiding secularist, but that doesn’t mean I can’t dip into the crazy pool every once in a while, just for fun.
In fact, the following is a short checklist of things I must have for opening day to complete me:
It will never nag, it will never whine, it will never talk. It doesn’t ask you to skip the game to go to some dinner party. It doesn’t ask “does this make me look fat?” It won’t flip out, drunk dial you at 5 a.m. and force you to change all the locks on your doors. Beer is your friend, people. Make sure you have it. Lots of it.
Um, you can have pizza without beer and beer without pizza, but why would you do something like that? Opening Day calls for order — the first of a regimented 162 — so let’s all get on the same Utopian page and have some ‘za with our beer (this will cause heartburn for a lot of us, but it doesn’t matter. Man up!).
Just when you think you have enough beer you realize you need more beer. It happens all the time. If you’re on a budget, Miller Lite, Old Style or Bud Light will work splendidly (though not Special Export or Hamm’s, unless you want to make out with the toilet later). If money ain’t a thang I suggest Belle’s Oberon, Sam Adams anything or Trout Slayer — the ultimate baseball beer. Whatever kind of beer you stock, make sure you have a lot of it. Why? Because on Opening Day you will also need…
And they will drink your beer. You see, baseball isn’t the grandest game because of its simple complexity — not because of the inherent genius of setting the bases 90 feet apart (imagine the difference if they were set 95 feet apart); baseball is the grandest game because no matter what happens on the field, it can (and will) be shared among a diverse set of people with blanket understanding. A generation gap does not exist. Excluding the inflated numbers of the steroid era, everyone knows what it means to hit 60 homeruns. And when Grand Daddy recollects a Sandy Koufax no-hitter, batter by batter, forty years after the fact without missing any details, I totally know what he’s talking about. The game is meant to be shared, to be argued, to be held in collective awe by its supporters. This is why I like to spend Opening Day with friends. Besides, it helps to know you’re not alone… so make sure you have plenty of…
Because really, if we are going to be forced to watch another nauseating Yankees v. Red Sox matchup to start the season, we might as well be sauced enough to not mind.
And for me that would start around beer number nine…
So let’s get drinkin’!
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right!
***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
***A clean shirt for Pete from Barrington also welcome.
Produced, shot and edited by Atonal Studios.
Special thanks to Theo Roll.
special thanks to Albert Pujols — the only man who can make Jeff wobble like a newborn calf.
(For best playback results, watch in High Quality)
He had long hair. He had no earthly possessions. He was nice to everyone. He was compassionate, well-spoken and he didn’t judge others based on their ideas or actions; he left that up to his daddy.
So after two thousand years I have to ask: where did all those ideals go?
Catholic church, I think it’s about time you get over yourself.
The Tigers’ home opener is on a Good Friday, during holy hours? This offends you, Catholics? Whaa whaa whaa! Cry me a river so I can walk on it and impress my friends with my mad Jesus skillz. What!?!
Your hardline is just as insane.
Take it easy on the Tigers, will ya, Catholics. They’re in terrible shape and the last thing they need right now is a religious scandal scarring their opening day attendance. Besides, have you taken a look at the empty industrial shell known as the city of Detroit? Do you think the city or the team actually cares about what offends you and what doesn’t? The Tigers organization (and I can’t believe I’m defending them here) is a business. Business. How many other businesses will close during your precious holy hours just because you think they should and you will be offended if they don’t? Will McDonald’s close its doors? How about the crack dealers? Will there be a moratorium on rock sales during the holy hours? Will you police that if they don’t? And what about Little Caesars? Do you think they’ll shut down shop during your holy hours? No, sir, not while there are $5 pizzas that taste like crap to sell in order to pay off Gary Sheffield’s walking papers to the tune of some 14 million bucks!
But the story doesn’t end there, does it? You’re always in a tiff about something. Whaa whaa whaa, we don’t want Barack Obama, the leader of the free world, to give a commencement day speech at Notre Dame because he supports stem cell research — an effort that only aims to help people, heal people, give people hope. You don’t want Obama on your campus because he promotes progressive thinking, the freedom to choose, the American dream… and I guess all those awful, terrible ideals just don’t have a place in the rigid backwardness of the Catholic church, do they?
No, not as long as your higher-ups continue to challenge the existence of the Holocaust; not as long as your bishops suggest more Catholics died during the Holocaust than did the Jews; not as long as your elders continue to diddle little boys and get away with it.
Ask yourselves this, Catholics: What would Jesus do?
I’m pretty sure Jesus would say: Play Ball!
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
I remember listening to NPR while driving to work one spring morning and hearing a wonderful rendition of the famous poem, Casey at the Bat. It was read by James Earl Jones and the recitation was accompanied by some orchestra. Sure enough, it was Opening Day and it felt like the perfect way to start the baseball season.
But that was a different time. That was spring of 2002 when maybe we weren’t quite as naive as we had been but we were far enough removed from the strike and still unaware of the steroid scandal. I’m afraid that if I were to tune in my radio on Opening Day this year, the poem would be quite a bit shorter and might go something like this:
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for most baseball fans that day;
Canseco had become a sage with allegations of tainted play,
And when McGwire admitted using, and knowing Bonds had done the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought with optimism that was waning as of late,
“The game might still have purity now, with A-Rod at the plate.”
But, the sneer has fled from A-Rod’s lip, the eyes are filled with tears;
He sports a shirt and sweater as his soul to us he bares.
And now Gammons forms the question, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of A-Rod’s blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in baseball — mighty A-Rod has struck out.
Only this time it’s not just the Mudville nine that lose. It’s all of us.
Congratulations, Al, on your new affiliation with the Washington Nationals. Excuse me while I puke.
“The wonderful part about getting to watch the Nats all season long is that they could send a team to the playoffs…”
— Allen Krause
Seriously? Look, Al, I’m not going to ridicule you for your
support of a National League team. That’s perfectly
understandable. And I’m not going to ridicule you for your
passing on Baltimore. But I am going to ridicule you for your
reasoning because if you think that the Nats have even a smidgeon of a
chance in a division stacked with the Mets, Phillies and Braves then
you have much bigger problems — problems involving your brain or, more appropriately, the lack
But before I get too angry or too possessed by the strong emotions that
tend to separate me from reality — I must remind myself that this
proclamation that the Nats “could send a team to the playoffs” is
coming from the same guy who, while living in the Chi, wore a Cubs hat
and tooted around town wooing with Wrigley Ronnie Woo Woo on his arm.
So sure. I get it. Living in a new city you feel a little
displaced. You are looking for a new social network — a venue
for communitas. No shame in that. So you do what feels
comfortable. You align yourself with losers who perennialy get
their hopes up only to be let down in every single way possible, only
this time they wear a “W” on their hats instead of a “C”.
I totally get it.
At least your silence tells me you heartily agree with my assessment of your inappropriate Filibuster question. And your acceptance of disloyalty towards the man who once pitched your team to a World Championship. I know. I know. Your welcome for my thoughts.
In keeping with such exactitude, I have to say that TLR saw his club get off to a good start today; unfortunately, rain wouldn’t allow it
to last long. Such was the case in many cities this day.
No, there weren’t any snow-outs this year, but Allen, your dream of an
Opening Day sans the Yankees came true. Don’t get used to
paradise. They play tomorrow.
And I guess I won’t bring up that colossal letdown loss the Tigers took against the mighty Royals today. Gil Meche what!?! Tigers got Danza-slapped!
Okay, I will admit, I did get a little mancrush on Cabrera when he hit
that longball; but all in all I found it quite sad that all of those
white suburbanites immediately went back to buzzing about post-season
hockey when the final score was in.
Nah, don’t worry about it, Al. It’s a long season…and besides, you’re a Nats fan now, so your season will be that much longer.
Seriously, don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.