Results tagged ‘ Ozzie Guillen ’
Get ready world, the Second City is about to take second stage (duh, the Cardinals and Tigers are playing) as Ozzie Guillen and his White Sox make their annual vomit inducing trip to that sacred dump on the Northside, Wrigley Field. Emergency rooms from East Chicago to Oak Park, all the way up to Waukegan are expecting a full flow of the black and blued.
The only bad thing about this series is that it’s simply too short — and, for whatever lame reason (to curb unwanted drunken injuries perhaps?) the schedule puts chapter one of the 2009 Crosstown Classic on a Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday rather than stage the regular weekend raucous which often leads to… well, death. Insatiable bloodsuckers like myself will have to find another way…
Still, this will be a memorable occasion. Think Bob Probert with fangs versus Chris Chelios with brass knuckles, both of them drunk enough to do Phyllis Diller in a well lit room. To celebrate the awesome combination of equally bitter/mediocre clubs sharing this fine city, we would like to continue what has become an RSBS tradition, with the sacred presentation of the worst rap song ever made:
“Black and blue, daz wha you gonna be!”
“Oh, yeah? It’s the Crosstown Ri-val-ry!”
No ball game — no matter how poorly played or mismanaged or lackadaisical — could be more embarrassing than that.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*Remember, starting tonight, the Cardinals try to put an end to the blasphemy spewed by my Tiger-lovin’ colleague, Mr. Krause, and his incessant yet feeble attempts at revisionist history. You had your Denny McLain, Mr. Krause. We had our Wainwright. Get over it.
**Special shout-out to Tom Walsh from Rocky Mountain Way for taking the time to meet with me on Monday. Good times. Post to come.
***Oh, and a special thank you to Sammy Sosa for making this Crosstown Classic buzz with juicy revelations!
We begin (as we often do when it comes to failure) in our nation’s capitol where the former Montreal Expos put on an exposition all their own the other evening. I could explain the premise of the story but I think this one quote just about sums it up: “…if there’s one thing we all can agree upon, it’s that exploding hot dog buns are high comedy indeed.” How can you top that? Well, maybe by spelling the name of your own team incorrectly on your jersey. But seriously guys, please keep it coming.
However, the farcical comedy stylings of the Washington Nationals pale in comparison to the tragi-comedy of the Chicago White Sox. Sure, they play in a mediocre division so they’re never really going to be out of it but they took a beating and a half yesterday afternoon. It all started when the Twins plated 20 runs to the Sox’ one and just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, the always eloquent Ozzie Guillen’s managed to jinx the impending Jake Peavy trade. Let me refresh your memory. Following the loss Guillen said, “I hope Peavy didn’t watch the scoreboard today. He might say no.”
Well Ozzie, you sure nailed that one. Maybe Peavy watched the scoreboard and maybe he didn’t but either way, he won’t be suiting up in Chicago pinstripes anytime soon.
So that’s where we stand as May slowly draws to a close. But don’t worry, the Nationals are still out there and it’s only a matter of time before they manage to outdo themseleves once again. My guess? Teddy Roosevelt gets decapitated in the President’s Race on Kid’s Day at the ballpark. Once again ladies and gentlemen, your 2009 Washington Nationals!
-Thanks to SLK for the link to the Nats story.
Last year about this time I was already discussing the Tigers’ World Series victory parade and trying to figure out how I would attend. Turns out I may have been a little premature in my expectations. Luckily, I learned my lesson and will never again have expectations about the Tigers.
Or at least that’s what I thought until this article popped in my Yahoo today. What am I supposed to think when I read this:
Rick Knapp, the new pitching coach in Detroit, held up his hands. “We’re only 10 days into camp,” he protested. But his eyes shone. And the corners of his mouth couldn’t beat back the grin.
The last thing that anyone who roots for Detroit (the city or any of its teams) needs is hope. And that’s exactly what stories like this provide.
I prefer the “What strange disease did Joel Zumaya contract this offseason” type of story. That rings true. Even the “Fernando Rodney wrestled an alligator” story is acceptable because then you just kind of expect the worst. But all of these Miguel Cabrera looking relaxed and Dontrelle Willis actually hitting the strike zone stories have the opposite effect. They make you re-evaluate the lineup and wonder if maybe we do have a chance in an admittedly weak AL Central.
It’s kind of like the lead up to Obama’s inauguration. You keep telling yourself that he’s just a man and there’s no way he can right all the wrongs of the past eight years overnight. But you can’t help it. You hear the news. You see what’s happening. And you start to think, well, maybe it could happen.
No, not for me that kind of optimism. I’ll take my seat over here, firmly ensconced in the misanthrope camp. Rick Porcello looks good? So did Dontrelle. Cabrera is finally coming into his own? We thought the same of Renteria. With both Rodney and Zumaya healthy, the most heated battle is for the closer position? I’m sure Zumaya has a travel version of Guitar Hero with him.
See, I’ve been a fan of the Lions and Tigers for long enough to know better. So, how about you check in with me at the All-Star break and then we can chat about Porcello, Cabrera and Zumaya, ok? Until then, I’ll just be sitting here with my Ozzie Guillen voodoo doll, trying to figure out what crazy thing I can make him say next.
A lot of baseball action seems to be focused on the crotch. There isn’t a game that goes by without a shot of some infielder adjusting his cup and let’s be honest, it’s hard to blame them. I mean, it may be one of the most uncomfortable pieces of equipment ever made. But it’s also essential when balls are flying at you at speeds well over a hundred miles per hour. And even with that guard in place, it doesn’t mean that getting hit feels good. Speaking as a guy, I cringe anytime I see a video with a skateboarder doing the splits around a hand rail and I don’t like skateboarders.
However, there are different degrees of crotch related injuries. In the interest of public service RSBS brings you a guide to crotch injuries.
First Degree Crotch Related Injury
The first degree and the least fatal is seen demonstrated here by Alex Rodriguez for Ozzie Guillen. It is commonly referred to as “minor self-inflicted” or in more vulgar terminology as “digging a little too deep to kill those d@mn crabs.”
Second Degree Crotch Related Injury
This type of injury is known as the “semi-major non self-inflicted” although it often has the potential to be even worse than the third category. This type of injury happens from time to time in baseball but usually only as a result of a collision or an errant throw. A football related demonstration is included here:
One of the more famous examples of this type of injury can be seen demonstrated by Wayne Rooney while playing for England’s soccer team. At about the 40 second mark you can see the act in all it’s glory:
Third Degree Crotch Related Injury
The final category is officially called the “major self-inflicted” but is commonly known as the “Dude, you are such a dumb@ss” injury. The previously mentioned skateboarding injuries fit into this category as do many rollerblading and “free-style walking” related injuries. However, the most recent and most famous of this type of injury came to us just a few days ago courtesy of “The Boss” himself. It may not have been a wardrobe malfunction and it may not have garnered a fine but I don’t think Mr. Springsteen is going to be making any babies in the near future:
Anyway, that wraps up this edition of RSBS Presents: Your Health. Let’s keep those privates protected.
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.
In just a short while, we US Americans will begin that hallowed tradition of spending quality time with family by gorging ourselves on a bounty of food, drinking excessive amounts of Johnnie Walker Black and falling asleep on the couch only to wake up with unidentifiable aches and pains in places never before felt.
Well, maybe that’s just me.
In any case, given the copious amounts of bull**** recently posted by my colleague, Mr. Krause, whose intellectual ineptitude forces him to fall into that age-old Blue State trap of logorrhea where valid questions are only answered with an arsenal of equally unrelated questions, I have found solace in you, Dear Readers, and your ability to see that — as usual — I am right.
In fact, since this time of year is all about giving thanks, I am going to rightfully refrain from causing any further damage to Mr. Krause’s ego by letting him be (just for today) and instead would like to take a moment to give my most wholehearted thanks.
Indeed, there are many things to be thankful for today. I’m thankful that the Cubs have gone 100 years without a World Series title. I am thankful that the Cardinals are actually considering filling some left-handed reliever roles (even if it is by courting a couple of scrubs). I am thankful that I live in the Second City — that we have two firery baseball icons who are willing to make fools of themselves by performing a ridiculous rap song for the good of Chevrolet; and I am thankful that senior citizens ride the CTA free, fat senior citizens ride two for the price of one, which is also free. I’m also thankful that Dubya is on his way out, that an Iowan turkey (ironically not Chuck Grassley this time) will be able to live a long, eaten-free life and that Minnesota has replaced Florida (for now) as the state where your vote might not really count.
But most of all, I am thankful for you, Dear Readers. For it is you that truly makes RSBS the special little happy place where baseball-politico egos, arguments and aspirations go to make sweet, sweet love. And for that, Mr. Krause and I couldn’t be more grateful.
We have given our staff the rest of the week off. Allen has left for that cavernous pit of despair otherwise known as Los Angeles (or Where Souls Go to Die) while I will be spending the rest of the week reflecting on my podunk roots with my quaint family in Springfield, IL — once home to Abraham Lincoln, Barack Obama and of course, Me.
Happy Thanksgiving to all and don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Regular readers of RSBS know that I have a special place in my heart for Venezuela. And really, why not? It’s a fascinating place and lends itself to all sorts of interesting discussion. They have a wealth of oil, a wealth of baseball talent, a wealth of beauty and wealth of crazy. And since Jeff and I both share an affinity for two out of those four things it’s only fitting that RSBS take up the debate.
My partner here at RSBS pointed out in a comment on a recent post:
“The Venezuela team (including Maggs, Santana, Cabrera etc) is threatening to not compete in the WBC sighting (sic) poor per diems and lack of organization as reasons not to play.”
Now, why would elite baseball players making millions of dollars per year threaten to pull out of the World Baseball Classic over some measly travel and lodging expenses? Personally, I think it has something to do with a much deeper rooted problem endemic to Venezuela.
Yes, in a land with so much wealth the unfortunate fact is that this wealth has been unequally distributed. And I’m not talking about the oil money which has accrued in the hands of well connected elites. No, I’m talking about the fact that while Venezuelan women are beautiful and have won more beauty championships than the women from any other country, the Venezuelan men seem to have lost out in the looks department. So of course they act out via other avenues.
Luckily for them, the Venezuelan men men are eerily good baseball players. Rumor has it that El Presidente himself actually joined the military in order to make his way to Caracas and play baseball. Apparently he got a little sidetracked on the way but others among his compadres have made their way into the Major Leagues where they have had major impacts. From Carlos and Ozzie Guillen to Asdrubal and Miguel Cabrera, Venezuelan baseball players are integral to the success of many MLB teams. But they just aren’t very good looking.
So, when you’ve got talent but you look like a toad, what’s a guy to do? Well, either you move to the US and become a highly-paid baseball superstar. Or, you throw a coup, invite the whole country and hope the oil party keeps raging. Go-go-go Hugo.
Those of you who know me personally know that my obsessive-compulsive disorder has no boundaries. You know that I am a stickler for preparation, execution, reflection.
Today, as I prepare to make my way up to the North Side to watch the Cardinals battle the Cubs, I realize that this could be the end. I’m not hoping for it; but I am prepared for it.
So, if the Cub fans really do make good on their threats to my livelihood, I have prepared the following:
Flair for the Dramatic, you can have what’s left in my bank account, which you should then donate to the Yankees, because everyone knows the Yankees are hurting for cash.
Some Clubhouse, you can have my thoughts that I scribble on the little notebook I carry with me everywhere. You might find something interesting to stretch your think-tank.
And of course, you, dear readers, get to have this:
You, I, We will always have that. Always.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
**Allen Krause gets nothing**
Okay, Mr. Krause. You said your answer was simple, but in fact, it wasn’t. Spoken like a true politickin’ politician, you pulled the ‘ole ‘leave the answer up to the reader’ move. Nice job. Passing the buck has never appeared so graceful.
The right answer is: Shawn Chacon is replaceable. Blackball the guy, turn your back on him, punch him in the nuts, whatever — anyone who behaves like that doesn’t deserve the opportunity to play baseball at the Major League level and doesn’t deserve to make Major League dollar$. If I physically attacked my boss at work tomorrow I’m pretty sure word would get around (after I’m fired) to those in the Asian art world that I was bad news. No way I’d get a job in the industry again and I wouldn’t deserve it if I did.
If someone like Alex Rodriguez or Albert Pujols attacks his GM (neither ever would), I could entertain the idea of giving him a second chance based only on the idea that there is no replacing an Alex Rodriguez or an Albert Pujols. But Shawn Chacon? A paragon of mediocrity? No way. I can’t wait to pull into a Texas service station and have him rotate my tires.
But who cares anyway? Much more exciting things in the news today…
Like Kyle Lohse’s outstanding ESPN primetime performance against the now below-.500 Manuel-era Mets. Lohse has been an absolute stud this season. Everyone credits Dave Duncan — as they should — but Lohse must get props for putting the plan into action. Speaking of Dunc, I’m pretty sure Orel Hershiser was getting mad wood every time he brought up Dave Duncan during the ESPN telecast, which seemed to be every home inning. It’s okay. I was getting the same reaction.
And there was a lot of reaction from the sore-losing Northsiders in the Loop today. Hey, all you loser sCrUB fans who gave me hell last weekend — who refused to answer my phone calls, emails, text messages during the Southside whoopin’ ya’ll took this weekend, I got two words for you: EAT IT!
I feel better now.
And so does Nick Swisher… and Jim Thome, obviously. Don’t look now, but these two streaky hitters are getting hot and there’s no limit to the damage they can do in tandem alongside Quentin and Dye. Look out world, look out.
Now that the Windy City (Crosstown) Classic is over, and we’re all even, I think it’s time to pay homage to the absolute worst commercial in the history of Chicago. Leave it to Chevrolet to think it’d be really awesome for an old Italian and an aging Latino to perform a rap song about baseball in the Second City. Not since Puff Daddy and Mase destroyed the legendary memory of Biggie has the music world seen such an abomination of a duo.
In case you missed it, or in case you don’t live in Chicago, here it is. I’m just warning you: Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right:
Does Ozzie Guillen get a little nutso sometimes and say things he probably shouldn’t?
Does Ozzie Guillen need to be quarantined from the press after a tough loss (or three)?
But let me tell ya, folks, a world without Ozzie Guillen is just unfathomable. For Southsiders like myself, a Guillen quote is as close a reminder of home as Connie’s Pizza or Ramova’s Grill or a drive-by shooting. And believe me, as much as I am oft to disagree with the psychology of Ozzie’s wild rants, I must admit to finding them oddly soothing and curiously pleasant.
There is definitely something to be said for being in the spotlight and not giving two s**ts what anyone else says or thinks about you, what you say and the way you go about your job. I admire that.
And I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that Ozzie’s tirades didn’t make me laugh. I only wish my boss was as understanding as Kenny Williams (click *here* for Tribune article). Imagine if I came in to work tomorrow and said: “What? Our summer catalogue isn’t finished yet? Susie Q didn’t set the templates? What? She used that friggin’ Trajan font again for the Chinese neolithic pottery section!?! What do you mean John Doe didn’t translate the bronze inscriptions from running script to seal script!?! I expect the boss-man to do [bleep] something Tuesday, and if we don’t do [bleep] anything Tuesday, there are going to be a lot of [bleep]
changes in this Asian art gallery! The book gallery too! [Bleep] [Bleep] [Bleep] heads will roll!”
On Chicago Cub Rich Hill:
“Who is Hill? That piece of [bleep] who pitched? Michael [Barrett]
realized he was wrong [in punching Pierzynski]. Michael realized he
“But that little [bleep] Hill, he should be in Triple-A. He is going to
make Dusty Baker get fired. Shut up, you just got here in the big
leagues. When you make a comment like that, it was a cheap shot. You
don’t know the game.”
On Jay Mariotti:
“He’s a garbage.He’s always been a garbage.And he will die a garbage.”
On whether his children were involved in the Cubs/Sox brawl in May 2006:
“If my kids were on the field, [they were] going to get [their rear
end] kicked. What’s Ozzie [Jr.] going to do? Eat
somebody. My other one is 20 pounds and the other one is only 14.
“One is a baby, one is too little, another one, the only thing he can do is eat somebody or drink somebody.”
And if that isn’t enough folks, check out this Youtube post featuring a love-filled conversation between AM 670 The Score’s Mike North and Ozzie himself last year. While you listen/watch, realize that sure, Ozzie can be awful but he could always be worse. I mean, he could be Bill O’Reilly or god forbid Howard Dean. In any case, when reviewing this material, you can hate me, you can hate Ozzie, but don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right: the world needs Ozzie Guillen and his lunacy.