Results tagged ‘ Rants ’

A 47 Percent Rant

My dubious and oft out of touch with the public colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, shocked the baseball-politico world on Monday when he compared his beloved Detroit Tigers to the stiff stylings of Mitt Romney.  Now, lining one’s self up with the far right fed Tea Party and Christian Coalition is one thing, but talking out of one’s posterior in a public forum is another.

Mr. Krause said:

The Cardinals are playing with a ragtag team and no longer have master strategist La Russa at the reigns.

Um… what?

Ragtag?  RAG?  TAG?

What’s so ragtag about being World Champions?  What’s ragtag about Holliday?  Freese?  Molina?

RAGTAG?!?!

WTF?

Carlos Beltran?  Allen Craig?  Chris Carpenter?

WHAT IS THIS RAGTAG YOU SPEAK OF, MR. KRAUSE?!?

The only thing “ragtag” about your REIGNING… WORLD… CHAMPIONS… is that they might play this before each game:

Oh, wait.  That’s ragTIME.

Like it’s time to grab a rag and wipe up the locquacious mess left by my colleague.

Hate me ‘cuz you can, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

Setting the Mahmud

RSBS Special Correspondent and Podcast Christopher Walken Enthusiast, Mr. Johanna Mahmud reports:

I Got My Knives Sharp

The most interesting man in the world…  Is it Starlin Castro?  Or Bobby Valentine, ranter of rants?

On Sunday night, Bobby V was my hero. He was attacking a sad, sad organization from the rear. From what the Cubs should be doing, to calling out everybody — president-owner-manager-scouting — it was FANTASTIC TELEVISION. He was flat out givin’ em the bizzness down there.

Valentine is probably fishing for a managerial gig, but he couldn’t be more right in his breakdown of Starlin Castro’s lack of awareness at shortstop. Valentine saw this in one inning and I haven’t heard anything like it all damn year. You can check out the video *here*.

Somebody is not teaching him right. Is anyone teaching anything? In the postgame interview Mike Quade said he would call Valentine. For wha??? Earlier in the season he said he had to call his “pitching people”. Sunday he said now he has to call his “infield people”???

Mike? Hello? Call your “I’m getting a new address people”.

Now all eyes on are on Castro. He’s the youngest player to reach 300 hits in 70 years for the Cubs.  But he also has the most errors in the National League, most of them careless errors.

So when does he get turned around? Please don’t let him become Hanley Ramirez… fat and lazy. Quade was supposed to be THE guy who could develop the most important piece of this franchise. You cannot blame Castro for any of this madness.

As a Cubs fan, I believe in nothing the organization is doing. It’s bad. It’s a joke. A travesty. Tom Ricketts still doesn’t have a list of possible GMs. He actually said this?!?!?

Look, Tom, keep it in your head, fine. But at least say you have a plan! You gotta give Cubs fans some hope. Act like you have an effing clue, billionaire fan boy, because you can’t ask Daddy for da monnnneyyyyy to bail your @$$ out. He said no, no, no.

Flat out, the development has been pathetic. I’ve been gargling with bleach to get the taste of Hendry out of my system, waiting for the next GM, the next manager.  Friedman? Valentine?  LaRussa?

Meanwhile, Quade benched Castro Monday but said the kid doesn’t have A.D.D. What a relief!

Ricketts, get a real list of who is gonna turn this thing around. Oh, and by the way, the Cubs left 15 men on base Monday night after Starlin’s benching. Without him, well, welcome to the village of SUCK.

Cheers?

–Johanna Mahmud

Follow Johanna on Twitter!

*If I’m not tweeting it’s because I’m sexting and showing off Favre style!

Forget Me Not

With just six weeks and some change left in the regular season, now is the time I lament my dear Cardinals’ now seemingly annual implosion from the top of the NL Central and into regular season obscurity.  Sure we can blame Waino’s injury.  We can blame Albert’s transformation from Machine to Double-Play Machine.  We can blame shoddy defense and the lack of a real closer, hell, blame me, I don’t care.  But in the end, there is no denying that we have lost the really important games and we’ve been real sloppy doing it.

Of course, this is the NL Central.  So until the math cancels us out, there’s no need to give up just yet.

The same cannot be said for the Tampa Bay Rays.

If the Rays were in any division other than the AL East they’d be right in the thick of contention.  Unfortunately, the way things are now, even if they do collect the fourth best record in the AL, they still won’t make the playoffs as long as post season regulars New York and Boston remain above them.  I find this a bit sad, for the Rays have gotten tremendous pitching all season long and they’ve found a way to win without high-priced free agent flops Carl Crawford and Carlos Pena.

But no one’s talking about the Rays.  And no one will.

Hm… reminds me of the one-way delusional street commonly referred to as the Republican Party.


In the case of the Rays, at least they’ll get another shot next year.  Dr. Paul, on the other hand, is stuck in a great big clogged up tube of crazy, and the exit is nowhere to be found.

Happy Friday!

Jeff

Being Stuck in a Philadelphia

philly statue.jpgThe symbols of relevance, the things that transform a simple it into that proverbial “it” are generally born all in the timing, and since the Birds on the Bat are stuck in a Philadelphia this week, so too am I.

And I don’t like it.

No, this has nothing to do with Philadelphia being a backwards place (it is).  It doesn’t have anything to do with the type of fans who cheer when the other teams’ star gets hurt (they do).  And of course, this does not have anything to do with that ^sswipe Jim Bunning (he really is an ^sswipe, folks).

Indeed, my suddenly emphatic aggravation with Philadelphia is rooted in one fella and one fella only.  His name is Ruben.  Ruben Effing Amaro (that middle name is still surreptitiously unofficial).

Why?  Why such distaste for one man?

ruben amaro.jpgBecause he gave a mighty slugger who is notoriously awful against left-handed pitching the contract extension of all contract extensions — a mesmerizing $25 million a year… for 2012 to 2016 — causing massive migraine headaches for we Cardinals fans already obsessively worrying about Albert Pujols’ future with the team.

Yeah.  Ryan Howard is good.  But $25 million a year?  He ain’t that good.

And anyone who has ever seen the game of baseball can tell you that Albert Pujols is LIGHT YEARS better than Ryan Howard, in all aspects of the game.  All… of… them.

ALL!!!

So if Howard is worth $25 million a year, then Albert is worth $30-$32 million a year, which means that if I want A.P. to remain a Cardinal for life, I and the rest of Cardinals Nation better be ready to pay $100 for a bleacher ticket, or imagine a world where Albert isn’t our savior.

(That would kill me by the way)

So thanks a lot, Ruben.  Just a week ago, deep down inside, I would have admitted to having a strange yet pleasurable affinity for the Phillies.  Dick Allen.  Mike Schmidt.  Steve Carlton.  Pete Rose.  Lenny Dykstra.  Darren Daulton.  Just the thought of those guys grindin’ it out with the “P” on their caps kinda got me excited… and I have no idea why.

But now?

They’re dead to me.

And so are you.*

Hate me ‘cuz I give it to ya straight, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

*You’re not really dead. This is what fancy writers like Al and I call “figure of speech”. It can be AWEsome. Like it is here.

Bud Selig, Fashion Cop

bud selig picking nose.jpgIt’s good to see Bud Selig worrying about the important things in the game of baseball.  Fix the All-Star Game?  Nah.  Rehabilitate Pete Rose?  Nope.  Police managerial fashion?  Oh yes.

Now, maybe Selig has a reason for this.  Perhaps it’s his version of the “broken windows” policy made famous by Giuliani in NYC.  The idea is that if you crack down on the small crimes, the big crimes are less likely happen.  But I’m really not sure how telling Joe Maddon that he can’t wear an MLB-branded hoodie would have stopped Mark McGwire from juicing.

It might be something else, something a little more personal.  I think it comes down to the age old battle between the cool kids and the nerds.  Selig may be rich but you don’t have to look at the two guys for long to figure out who has done better with the ladies.  Selig could pass for a Dali painting of Bill Gates.  SI’s Peter King apparently favorably compared Maddon to Spencer Tracy.  Yeah, those are whole different universes on the looks scale.

So, what do the nerds do when they finally get power?  They make the cool kids pay for all their previous infractions.  Here’s the train of logic and I think you can agree it makes sense: Selig gets beat up in high school because his face is already getting droopy.  50 years later he sees Joe Maddon, equates him with the kids who beat him up and decides he’s going to finally get his revenge.  Selig 1 – Baseball 0

I understand that baseball has to have rules surrounding dress.  There needs to be some, uh, uniformity (if you’ll pardon the pun).  But if instead of focusing on the much more real issues facing baseball this is where you’re going to fight your battles, you’ve just proven once again how unfit you are for the job Mr. Selig.

-A

Different Bib, Same Baby

milton bradley is cancer.jpg
Remember when you were an adolescent and all the problems in your life were someone else’s fault?  Remember when the entire world revolved around you and your desires and everyone else could kiss off?  Remember when you spent more time and energy whining and complaining than actually participating in the betterment of the world around you?

Yeah.

Well some people don’t ever grow out of that.

Dear readers, you know how I feel about the huff-and-puff man-child Milton Bradley.  He’s a waste of talent, an infectious disease, a massive weight on the hopes and dreams of aspiring baseball clubs.

And he just doesn’t get it.

From spinning make-believe stories about Chicago’s evil, racist fan base to bad-mouthing Sweet Lou for something that took place 10 months ago to constantly forgetting how many outs there are in any given frame, Milton Bradley is the ultimate poster child for what is wrong with sports in the 21st century.

Me, me, me, me, me, whaa whaa whaa, me, me, me, me, me!!!

SHUT… THE… ****… UP.

Please.

If I were Don Wakamatsu, here is the one thing I would say to this embarrassment of a professional athlete:

“Don’t say a friggin’ word. And don’t make your customary grimacing faces, don’t stare down umps, don’t do anything but play baseball all season long.  If you break these rules, you’re gone. No questions. Gone. Outta here. See ya. Go away. Never come back.”

And no, I wouldn’t care how much money I had to pay him to leave. 

In an era where seemingly nothing is certain, the one thing that can be counted on is that Milton Bradley will destroy his own team.  He has proved it over and over again throughout his entire career.

And to be quite honest, he makes me want to throw-up.

So don’t hate me (yeah, I mean you, Milton), because I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

Buster Olney? More Like Busted Phony

fire buster olney.jpgBelieve me, dear readers, I didn’t want go here today… I didn’t want to appear like I was lending credence to another crackpot theory by actually addressing said crackpot theory.  But the internets are a buzzin’ and the pressure from RSBS fans to address the situation is too great. 

So, consider this sharp tongue released…

Yesterday, I first learned of ESPN shoe-licking savant Buster Olney’s egregious aspiration to be donned the worldwide leader of make-believe (specifically, a fantasyland where the Cardinals and Phillies swap Albert Pujols for Ryan Howard) by reading the Prince of New York’s take.

He speaks for me.

And he is right.

Why does Buster Olney have a job?

Seriously, this is no joking matter — especially considering the faux affection thrown Olney’s way every time he enters a baseball conversation, whether on t.v., radio or print.

Indeed, Olney’s actions are akin to me walking into an evangelical church yelling “the rapture’s coming, the rapture’s coming, the rapture’s coming!” just because I think it’d be funny to see how people react.  (PS, the rapture is not coming… because it’s ludicrous.)

It is akin to a doctor telling a perfectly healthy pregnant woman that her baby is dead — even though it isn’t — just to get an interesting conversation going… y’know, a good old conversation about what it’d be like if her baby were dead.

It’s blasphemy.  It’s conjecture.  It’s unfounded (even though he says it isn’t).

Not even Carlos Zambrano would say something that stupid. (*I reserve the right to change my mind about this one*)

For me, the desire to continue down this ranting road is strong… but I leave it to my man-crush, Albert the Machine himself, to quash this unfettered anger by saying:

“There’s people, stupid, that like to write something when it’s not the
truth, and that’s all I have to say about that.”

Dagnabbin’ right, A.P.

Buster?  Eat a big Phillie phat one.

And don’t hate me… ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

(*Link to article with Albert’s quote*)

If I’m the Boss I’m Calling a Serious Sit-Down with the St. Louis Family

Sobriety Check Point Ahead.JPGThis has absolutely nothing to do with hot stoves, free agents or ticket sales. 

None of that is important.

Because when you drive drunk and end up killing yourself or somebody else or soembodies else, then how important can baseball really be?

Highly touted Cardinal prospect third baseman, David Freese, was arrested on DWI charges in St. Louis Saturday, adding his name to the growing list of Redbirds who can’t figure out how to call a goddamn cab when having had a few too many.

Tony LaRussa.  Josh Hancock (he died by the way because he was driving drunk).  Scott Spiezio.

And those are just the ones who’ve been caught.

I haven’t seen anything in print, but I have friends in the St. Louis service industry who assure me many a Cardinal has been seen getting into the driver’s seat of a car while drunk.  Some of those guys aren’t with the team anymore, some of them are. 

Bill DeWitt, are you listening?

This is not me getting on a high horse.  I have made mistakes.  I have made a lot of mistakes.  My mistakes have hurt people.  I make it a point not to make such mistakes anymore and I make it a point not to hurt other people anymore too.  This is called learning.  This is called life.

And no matter how you argue, there is absolutely no excuse for driving drunk.  Believe me: I’m definitely a man who enjoys his drink — even known to get completely schnockered from time to time — but ya ain’t gonna ever see me getting in a car, driving down the freeway, putting my life and the lives of others at risk.  Why?

Because I have common sense.

And if someone in the Cardinals organization had any common sense there would be a mandatory tutorial for all team personnel on the dangers (who in the world is so dumb they don’t know about these dangers already???) of drinking and driving.

I have long heard stories from Baltimore about instilling in its Oriole family the notion of the “Oriole Way”; and while it may have begun as Paul Richards’ acute focus on instructing and establishing the fundamentals of on-the-field play, it eventually became a code of conduct — a creed which all members understand, that it goes for life off-the-field too.  Nothing supersedes the Oriole Way.

How many Baltimore Orioles are driving drunk these days?

Exactly.

Wake up, St. Cardinals.  Partying your @$$ off is perfectly okay with me, as long as you do it responsibly.  But if you guys want to keep making me and the rest of your millions of fans worry about whether or not you will even be alive tomorrow, well, let me tell ya, I’d rather be a Cubs fan than deal with that kind of stress. 

Y’all oughtta be ashamed of yourselves.

Go ahead. Hate me. I could care less. ‘Cuz I know I’m right.  And you’re pi$$ing me off.

Peace,

Jeff

Ban, Ban, Everywhere a Ban

banned.jpg

Having barely recovered from my colleague’s audacious yet titillating post from yesterday, which featured the buxom awesomeness of one Erin Andrews, I am sure you can imagine how exhausted I was this afternoon.  I was so worn out that I almost didn’t even have the energy to be shocked at the following news stories:

  • United Kingdom Bans Michael Savage for Being a Ranting A-Hole

  • University of Illinois at Chicago Bans Students from Shaking Hands (thanks a lot, swine flu, how are the kids gonna hook up now?)
  • MLB Bans Manny Ramirez for Testing Positive for PEDs

Okay, I admit, that last one isn’t really all that shocking considering the myriad priors of Manny Ramirez buffoonery.  Still, to be banned for 50 games?  Now that is saying something!  Kudos to Major League Baseball for throwing the hammer at a big-time rule-breaker not named J.C. Romero!

While the entire social networking world is going wild over this steroid ban by Tweeting and Facebooking and MySpacing and Moshpitting opinions at lightning speed, let us not lose sight of the fact that there is an awful lot of banning going on in the free world — some warranted (Manny), some not (UIC students).

And like most things trendy, tired and trite, RSBS strives to get in on the action.  So here is a short list of things that must be banned in the very near future:

BANNED: Paula Abdul’s Sobriety!!!
Wonder why American Idol ratings are down?  You think Adam Lambert and Simon Cowell can carry the show?  Ha!  Think again, squarepants.  Give me a whacked out loopy Paula and I’ll show you some damn ratings!

BANNED: Kyle Farnsworth’s Glasses!!!
They are not helping!  A 7.56 ERA?  Opponent BA of .314?  Somebody get this guy some steroids!  Stat!

BANNED: Paying Attention to Rod Blagojevich!!!
Seriously, does anyone really care anymore?

BANNED: Space-Ball!!!
Now that Virgin is revolutionizing space travel, just think of how many asterisks we will need once baseball is being played there!  Stop it now while we can!

And finally…

BANNED: The Yankees’ Ability to Beat the Red Sox!!!

Oh, wait, we already did that.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy

Blocked by Barry: The Art of Being Dissed by an Overpaid Paragon of Mediocrity

barry zito loser.jpgIf I were making $126 million over seven years for a team that invested its future in me assuming I would be the one to anchor its pitching staff, I think I would probably focus on being a good pitcher.

But if it’s Barry Zito in that position — which it is — apparently none of that is important.

Dear readers, welcome to Zito’s World: a super hip fantasyland where losing 30 games in two seasons with a 4.84 ERA is worth every penny of that $126 million; a place where winning games in April is never a priority; an imaginative mirage where baseball meets Hollywood starlet meets aspiring rock star meets absolute shock that people would be just a wee bit vocal about his seemingly laissez faire attitude.

Look, there is no question that I have been a staunch critic of Mr. Zito.  Yes, I suggested his 2007 and 2008 pitching woes were rooted in his unprofessional preoccupation with movie star female companionship.  Yes, I coined the phrase “Zito Happens”.  Yes, I poked fun at his childish, uncensored Tweets which made him look foolish — pining for “cab cakes”.

But none of that seems to warrant the fact that Barry Zito — the millionaire pitcher who up to this point hasn’t done a very good job of making good on that Scott Boras super-contract — blocked me from his Twitter account.

Yes, that’s right, folks.  With over 10,000 followers on Twitter, Barry Zito took the precious time needed to block RSBS after April 23rd’s post

Juvenile as his actions are, I still cannot help but chuckle.  I mean, here I am lowly Joe Six-Pack, unpaid aspiring writer, committed MLBlogger and informed baseball fanatic, trying to get seen, be heard, find a voice…. and Barry Zito does me the grandiose favor of reading what I write and hating it enough to block me from his 10,000 plus following.

Now, I understand that being a multi-millionaire, playing the greatest game on earth for a living and personifying the American dream is probably really hard on the soul, Barry, but come on, don’t you think you deserve it?  Just a little bit maybe?  Yeah.  Yeah, you do.

Man up, Barry.  Get over yourself.  Do your job and people like me will have no choice but to shut up.

Until then, you will remain back-page fodder for the masses.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy

P.S.  Barry may have blocked me from following him on Twitter, but I can still access his Tweets and laugh because they look like they’re written by a 12 year old as they tend to focus on the importance of Radiohead, farting in the shower and men layering with scarves.  Nice work, Barry.  Nice work.

P.S.S.  Despite the aforementioned aggravation I am experiencing from Zito’s actions, I am still living a good life, visiting Washington D.C., hanging out with one of my best friends and co-author Allen, ready to see the Cardinals play the Nats tonight and tomorrow afternoon.  Heading over to the White House now.  Pics/Story to follow.

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