Results tagged ‘ Rangers ’
I know, dear readers. It’s only been three days. And sprinkled in there I got to indulge in a long awaited Senior Circuit victory in the only All-Star Game that US Americans actually care about. But three days is three days; and without a constant barrage of baseball stuff (pick-offs, home-plate collisions, oppo-taco bombs) I tend to go a bit batty.
Thankfully, our trusted RSBS interns know how to quell my baseball madness as they were able to use their unpublicized delinquent ways to grab me a sneak peek at the much anticipated and poignant decision making tell-all by our 43rd president, George W. Bush. The book is called Decision Points.
And yes, that title (with that author) is an oxymoron.
Still, we think you’ll appreciate these snippets of Dubyan enlightenment:
“I ran the country like I ran the Rangers and if that meant sitting in the bottom of the West, well, then that’s what it takes… or is it took? Tooken? Yeah, that’s what it tooken.”
“I told Mel Gibson, ‘if you’re gonna make a Jesus movie, make sure there’s lots of blood. Whip that Jesus! And make Mary Magdalene hot. No fake boobs, but make her hot.’ Did you know Mel Gibson’s from Austria? He don’t even have an accent.”
“Hehehe… wait til ‘Merica finds out I’m a big Nickelback fan. Look at this photograph… hehehe… it’s hard to say it, goodbye, goodbye. Kinda makes me wanna cry. Hey, that rhymes too! Hot dawg!!!”
“If it looks like a Saddam and it talks like a Saddam then it must be Osama bin Laden! Let’s blow some s*** up!”
Hate me ‘cuz I got to see it before you did, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Computers have made our lives much easier. They do our taxes, write our research papers. They give us access to whole worlds of information we might never have known existed. Interested in particle physics? Wikipedia will give you a crash course or an even more simple explanation and then point you in the right direction to learn more. Dating a body pillow more your speed? Wikipedia can also point you in the right direction for all your assorted otaku interests.
The internet allows access to communities that might not exist otherwise or that might have steep barriers to entry. Checking the classifieds for your local branch of NAMBLA probably isn’t going to reveal many results. Troll around on the right message boards and chances are that you’ll gain entry relatively quickly.
However, with so much information out there, it’s easy to get lost. And sometimes you just don’t quite know where to start. Since we here at RSBS consider ourselves custodians of the needs of our community, we decided it might be helpful if we provided a brief primer introducing people to some of the larger worlds that exist out in cyberland.
With that, we present an RSBS guide to virtual worlds:
If your first life isn’t going so hot, why not give a second one a shot? You’re a morbidly obese unemployed diabetic in the real world? That doesn’t mean you can’t be an Amazonian warrior goddess in the second one. Just remember to eat in the real world because that big juicy steak you’re sharing with some Fabio-esque hunk doesn’t count for real world calories, even if the credits are costing you real world money.
When we say Facebook here, we’re really referring to the entire social networking scene. If you finally gave up on staying current a couple years ago, that means MySpace. If you really had issues, Friendster. The one thing they all have in common is allowing you to be cyber friends with people you already interact with in real life. Unfortunately, this also forces you into awkward decisions when people you don’t really like attempt to friend you. Our advice for you here is to set your standards low and your privacy settings high.
So, you think you can run a team better than Matt Millen, huh? Ok, that’s a given. Some dude living in a village in Papua New Guinea could do it better. But when you get a bunch of middle aged guys together, all of whom think they’re the next Theo Epstein, those thoughts intermingle and before you know it, you end up with fantasy baseball. In the interest of full disclosure, the RSBS team are both full on addicts. But that’s not to say that playing fantasy will make you the next hit baseball blogger. If that kind of causality were true, all you’d have to do is hoover up a couple grams of blow to become the new manager of Texas Rangers.
Still haven’t found your niche? Well, we do have one more option. Maybe you really want to share the boring, mundane details of your life with anyone who has the misfortune of stumbling across your site or maybe you’re under the misguided notion that you need to forcefully champion some underrepresented opinion. Or maybe you are just convinced that the entire world wants to read your take on baseball, politics and the intersection of the two. *ahem* Well, if any of these are true, the blogosphere might be the place for you. However, the competition is fierce.
Hopefully this little guide has helped brighten up the murky waters of the internet worlds for you. If not, you can always grab one of those old AOL disks and start from scratch. If even that is too much for you, the disks also make fantastic coasters.
No, no, no. Not on him, sicko. I mean, Dan Plesac talking about Darren Oliver and his new job equals WIN (how’s my hip internet lingo? pretty good? is this thing on?).
Dear readers galore already know that if I’m in front of a television, I’m in front of the MLB Network. And after news broke of journeyman southpaw Darren Oliver signing with the Texas Rangers, the Network crew went to work on the analysis.
Most of the guys were scratching their heads at this move but nobody quite summed it up as adroitly as “The Sac”:
“Darren Oliver… I like this move… is he a great starting pitcher? No. Is he a great reliever? No. But I like what they’re doing…”
Thank you, Dan Plesac.
You… are… AWEsome. Like, y’know, you’re full of some awe.
And I ain’t kiddin’.
Which just proves my longstanding point that you can take the Darren Oliver out of the Texas Rangers, but ya can’t take the Texas Ranger out of Darren Oliver.
And that is on the internets so it is fact. Therefore, don’t hate me. ‘Cuz I’m right.
The beautiful thing about the politics of today and yesterday is that one thing remains the same. No matter whether you’re wrong or right, all you have to do is make some sort of ad hominem attack and it will get you air time.
This has become increasingly true during the normally boring Washington summers when the news channels are just itching for something to break the tedium of the recess. And this year has provided plenty of sparks. Dick Cheney has made himself more accessible than he was during the eight years of Bush’s presidency, emerging on a regular basis to proclaim that Obama is making the country less safe. And everyone seems to be lining up to take a whack at the universal health care plan although it’s interesting to note how many of those people already have insurance.
But I also realized something. Baseball is seriously lacking these same types of attacks. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned it before but at this time of the year, when all the races are heating up, where’s the fire? Why aren’t the Giants and Rockies cracking on each others’ mothers? Why aren’t the Rangers poking fun at Pedroia’s size? And why aren’t the Tigers and Twins provoking Ozzie Guillen into even crazier rants?
C’mon people. This is baseball. America’s pastime. And you know what else America is home to? The yo’ mama joke. See the connection? Ok, let’s get on it. I’ll start. Albert Pujols’ mama is so dumb, she thinks a shortstop is when she runs into 7/11 for a hotdog and a Slurpee.
At the end of last week’s thrilling Filibuster, I asked (as usual) for more dear reader questions… and — if possible — pictures of journeyman screw-up Sidney Ponson not under the influence.
Hilarious, I know.
Hilarious because, indeed, it was just a throw-away quip… a nonsensical one-off… a friggin’ jape.
But boy was I surprised when our inbox actually received a picture of Sidney which shows him to be in complete control of his own cognizance.
Special thanks to Mary Retallick (pictured right, whom you can often find on Gateway Redbirds Forum) for sending this to our attention… and special, special thanks to you, Mary, for sending it with the subject line: Picture of Sidney Ponson sober.
‘Cuz that is funny.
Not only do you “get it”, you also got us, making us full-fledged believers in other mythical creatures like Bigfoot, Skunk Ape and a well-spoken G.W. Bush.
And to a man (that’s you, Sidney) more accustomed to hearing the words “designated for assignment” than “we would like to offer you a contract extension”, this post is most assuredly a sign of better things to come.
Yeah. You got me. I’m totally lying.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right, Sidney.
This weekend we saw a series pitting the team with the best record in
the league against the team with the worst record. At what point in the
season do you think we’ll see this again and which teams will take part
the next time around?
As long as the Washington Nationals continue to be a baseball franchise (sorta), you can be quite sure that this scenario will pop up once again. Will they be playing the MLB best Cardinals next time? The Dodgers? The Blue Jays in June during interleague play?
The truth is: I have absolutely no clue.
Because so far nothing this season has been on my radar: that the Cardinals’ piecemeal bullpen could hold itself together through April… that the Blue Jays would find a way to win in the AL East… that no one wants Pedro Martinez…
But in the end, one thing will always remain certain: The Washington Nationals are a national joke.
After some hardcore number-crunching analysis, one might conclude that their suckage is rooted in their inherent identity crisis:
- Are we the Expos?
- Are we the Senators who are now the Twins?
- Are we the Nationals who were the Expos?
- Are we the other Senators who are now the Rangers?
Or perhaps it stems from their dizzying closet of uniform combinations:
Dear readers, I could go in a million different directions with that snafu of a baseball bodega — none of them good — but I will save you (and myself) from the certain discomfort and unpleasant visualization it would cause.
Whatever the reason for the Nationals’ lack of success, I must admit how sad it was for me — as a baseball fan — to see such a beautiful ballpark only a quarter full for a Friday night game. It was disappointing too that there were more Cardinal fans in attendance than Nats fans and that the loudest cheers I heard all weekend were in response to the Capitals vs. Penguins playoff hockey game — the favorable D.C. score of which was posted on the jumbotron in between innings, thus rousing Washingtonians into a fervent coup d’etat aimed towards building a bigger hockey arena while at the same time finding a more thirsty suitor for the oh-so-lowly Nats, all of their prior nicknames, logos and dysfunctional sausages.
So far, no takers.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Senators Sausages image courtesy of Wonkette)
(Uniform image courtesy of Wikipedia)
If you are one to eschew the daily fear mongering and perpetual bad news infecting our world today, then I highly recommend you avoid reading the Chicago Tribune first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, for me, the Tribune has become that thing I love to hate. My self-inflicted aggravation is just one of the many results.
But today, I came across a titillating article by Stacy St. Clair which boasted and celebrated the harmony, the togetherness, the complete reciprocal adoration between Barack and Michelle Obama — our nation’s first couple. Reading it made me feel good.
As the day went on, news broke of Alex Rodriguez — our collective fallen hero — and his stunning confession of guilt regarding his usage of banned performance enhancing drugs in 2003. The image of Rodriguez discussing the issue with Peter Gammons flickered on my computer screen. I was overwhelmed with sadness.
My thoughts immediately went back to the Obama article and I couldn’t help but ask myself: Is anything what it seems anymore?
Alex Rodriguez put on a great front. Despite Jose Canseco’s self-righteous smear campaign and associated agenda, I never once questioned Rodriguez’s proclaimed innocence. At no time did I suspect Rodriguez to be tainted in even the slightest of ways, for A-Rod was our hero. He was the one targeted with pulling us out of the steroid era forever. He was the one endowed with replacing Bonds as the all-time homerun king. He was the one who seemed like the most talented, most gifted, most touted ballplayer I have ever witnessed play the game.
What you see is not always what you get.
John Edwards seemed like a family man.
Pete Rose seemed like the consummate all-American baseballer.
Eliot Spitzer seemed like a hard-nosed crime-stopper.
The Wizard of Oz seemed like an all-powerful wizard.
And it turns out they were all just… like… us:
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
When Joe Torre, one of the untouchable paragons of class, is getting slammed for allegedly revealing all the Evil Empire‘s dirty secrets in a book that no one has had the chance to even read yet, I think it’s a pretty clear sign that we’ve run out of things to talk about this off-season. Manny being Manny being unsigned is now as interesting a story as Bea Arthur is sexy. The Varitek saga in Boston is teetering on the pathetic. And when the Rangers look to be the best bet for unreliable dark horse Ben Sheets, does anyone really care anymore?
How about a new MLB Network drinking game? It may not be that ramshackle of japery that we created back during the post-season/presidential debate, but it sure will sauce your inhibitions quicker than Rush Limbaugh will make you want to commit suicide.
It’s simple. Tune in to the Hot Stove Show and anytime Harold Reynolds leads the panel in a symphony of phrases uncomfortably coated by the word “guy”, take a drink. You’ll be hammered ten minutes in to the program.
Look, I have nothing personal against Harold Reynolds and his self-serving ramblings. He seems like a genuinely nice man and most of the time I actually get something out of his demonstrations on the diamond; but I sometimes feel dumb listening to his emphatic, annoyingly frequent use of the word “guy”. Let me paraphrase a sample, dear reader — a hypothetical spew based on several weeks of actually listening to the man:
A guy like Manny… Manny Ramirez is a guy who just doesn’t change a team, he changes a division. Guys see a guy like Manny in the clubhouse and then guys are suddenly seeing changes. He’s a guy who has the ability to go out there and be that guy that all the other guys are honing in on — a guy who can beat you every time he takes the field. And guys on the other side, guys on your side, those guys see that too. Makes them want to go out there and be more competitive guys, guys that get things done. You see guys change, not just guys on the team, but guys throughout the division.
I wish I were exaggerating.
H.R.’s inability to find a synonym for “guy” probably wouldn’t bother me so much if he didn’t subliminally infect the rest of the cast with his lecherous verbal disease. Broadcasting newbies Barry Larkin and Al Leiter have picked up on it, and the ensuing cacophony is near deafening.
But, I keep watching… ‘cuz I love the MLB Network. I can’t stop watching it. So I might have a problem.
As much as I love it, there is one block of MLB Network programing that baffles me like a Spaceman eephus pitch.
Whoever thought it would be a good idea to rerun old homerun derbies during a prime-time slot deserves to have John Kruk sit on his face during the two hours they’re being aired. The homerun derby? Really? I’m supposed to get excited about watching a bunch of superstars hit lollygaggin’ Jamie Moyer fastballs from two, three, four years ago while Chris Berman entertains himself ad nauseum with his cutesy cleverness? I didn’t care about the homerun derby the first time; why would I care now?
And even if you do enjoy the homerun derby (when it actually happens each July), do you really get excited about watching it again? Save Josh Hamilton’s gargantuan effort of 2008 — a contest which he ultimately lost — is there really anything titillating in any homerun derby that makes you say: “Yeah! Can’t wait to put aside two hours to watch that again!”
MLB Productions has done a fine job of producing edgy, dramatic, quality programs that explore the deep history and colorful characters of the game. I haven’t been disappointed with one of their productions yet. So I am both baffled and bored by the network’s decision to rerun past derbies instead of wowing us with original content. Seems like they’re missing a big opportunity there.
The good news is: if I play the H.R. drinking game, I won’t be conscious enough to watch the derby reruns anyway.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
The Michael Young saga in Texas has officially come to an end with Young agreeing to move to third base in order to make room at shortstop for the rookie Elvis Andrus. Despite his initial fussy defiance towards Rangers GM Jon Daniels’ dictatorial decision, Young now appears content to accept his fate as his inability to master the Jedi mind trick is exposed once again.
Remember? Back in 2003, Young told management he would not move from second base to shortstop to make room for Alfonso Soriano; but the force was weak with him and he eventually did what he was told.
I highly doubt we’ll see an end to his failure at misdirecting the thoughts of those in power. It just seems to be his m.o. To prove this, the video technicians at RSBS located early footage of Michael Young as a little leaguer, which documents his sloppy approach to controlling the minds of others:
Pay no attention to the anachronisms in this video. They’re there to trick you.
And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
An interesting discussion arose yesterday based on Jeff’s post about Bud Selig’s “coolness.” Basically, the question of who Selig’s successor will be introduced itself into the commentary and made for some light jabs at the soon to be ex-president. However, the more I think about it, the more I think that the best possible person for the job would be my old friend, George W. Bush. Think about it.
There’s no possible way that GWB could run the league more ineptly than
has Selig. Now, I know his record of fiscal spending has not been what
one might call conservative but Bush’s handling of the Rangers as a
managing partner showed the first flash of business acumen that had
made his father and grandfather rich men. And who knows, maybe that
compassionate conservativism would make him want to help lower ticket
prices. I can dream, right?
Additionally, the man knows and loves baseball. You get that from watching him and from listening to him talk about the game. The Rangers definitely became a better team under him than they have been in the past several seasons and his actions made construction of a new ballpark possible. In addition, his dad even played baseball while attending Yale.
All of these things make him the anti-Selig. When I see Bud walking around, I get the feeling that he’s never even worn a baseball glove. He’s the guy who’s mom pinned a note to his shirt to get him out of gym class in middle school. It would be a nice change to have someone who actually cares about the game shepherding the league.
As if these weren’t reasons enough, I’ll leave it to the man himself to give the best reason of all. In the words of our 43rd president, “I never dreamed about being President, I wanted to be Willie Mays.”
So, it may still be a few years away but I would like to officially nominate George Walker Bush to be the next commissioner of Major League Baseball. And George, if you need it, I’m sure my friend, Mr. Lung, would be more than happy to be your chief-of-staff.