Results tagged ‘ Rap ’
A long time ago, in a popped culture far, far away (let’s call it the late ’90s), there was a “talented” young fella by the name of Ma$e tearing up the hip-hop scene with sub-par sleight of hand wit and a mouthful of mushy homonyms.
You may remember him (probably not) for bringing us this gem:
Broken glass everywhere
if it ain’t about the money, Puff, I just don’t care
I’m that Goodfella fly guy, sometimes wiseguys
Spend time in H-A-W-A-I-I
(Mase can you please stop smoking lah lah?)
Puff why try? I’m a thug, I’ma die high
I be out in Jersey, puffin Hershey
Brothers ain’t worthy to rock my derby
Though I’m never drugged, I’m the venom in the club
And now he’s just venom in our memory banks. But why? Let’s take a look:
Ma$e’s main talent was convincing people that he had talent. I believed it. Sean Combs believed it. The general public believed it. In fact, there was a time when you couldn’t go anywhere without hearing a Ma$e tune. Had he the vision to keep that reality in perspective, to join powers with the then still venerable Puff Daddy, we might be talking about Ma$e as a musical superpower right now!
But we’re not.
Because Ma$e went to Ma$e’s head and at his highest of high points, Ma$e left the one label that could make him an internationally hyped megastar. No one would take him on. He floundered. Then he disappeared all together. He decided to do something different…
…by becoming a preacher?
Yep. At least, that’s the story we got.
A few years (and lots of bounced checks) later, Ma$e came crying back to the rap game… hands open, knees scarred, willing to accept any deal he could get… anything… he was signed by SRC Records.
But the problem with SRC Records was this: they couldn’t release his music because Ma$e was still contractually obligated to — yep, you guessed it — Sean “Puff Daddy/P-Diddy” Combs.
The moral of the story?
Ma$e is an idiot.
Matt Holliday, you’re not far behind.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Since writing this, Matt Holliday has agreed to a 7 year deal with
the Cardinals for $120 million. That’s mo’ money, mo’ problems… but
probably worth it. Good for you, Matt!
Major League suits are set to invade US America‘s baseball-less Indianapolis this week… and they all have one singular goal: move that paper.
For those of you dear readers who respond better to visual metaphors, here’s one for ya: John Mozeliak (Ernie), Kermit (Peter Gammons), Cashman and Epstein (the Yip-Yips), and many more are all gittin’ down to ante up:
*Strong language may not be suitable for children unless your kids are related to Busta Rhymes in which case this type of language is as common around the house as naked women and blunts for breakfast*
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
This is exactly why I didn’t want to like Jay-Z’s new album, The Blueprint 3. As the resident Brett Favre of the rap game, Jay-Z has taunted us with his multiple “retirements”, all along gradually stepping away from his street-centric roots and engaging in the bling-bling-I-got-hoes-money-and-fame garbage that has destroyed my ability to find any entertainment value in modern hip-hop.
But Alicia Keys sucked me; and as much as I hate to admit it: Empire State of Mind is a killer track.
Still, there is one Jay-Z line that makes me cringe with disgust:
s*** I made the Yankee hat more famous than a Yankee can…”
Ever heard of a fella by the name of Babe Ruth? How about DiMaggio? Gehrig? Mantle? Mattingly? Jeter?
I know Jay-Z is a lot like me in that sometimes he says dumb s*** just to say it, to see what kind of reaction he gets, to be relevant, to stir up trouble.
But even I have limitations… and dissing some of the greatest players to ever play the game is certainly among them.
Shame on you, Jay-Z.
And unless you can find a way to put Alicia Keys on every song you ever do from now until the end of time, you won’t be getting my money ever again.
Hate me ‘cuz I gotz some street cred of my own, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Congratulations on winning the World Series, fellas. You kept me interested by keeping things interesting; you played great baseball all season long; you are champions of the universe. You deserve — and receive — my recognition.
But I still don’t like you.
And that’s a good thing. It’s good for me, good for you. It’s good for baseball in general.
I am human and humans hold grudges… even if they are stupid.
That’s right. 1996. Three terrible things happened to me in 1996: Tupac Shakur was murdered. The Yankees won the World Series for the first time since 1978. And MC Hammer went bankrupt.
I can only hope that this present calamity is not followed by two equally devastating events.
Luckily, it has coincided with at least one current positive from the baseball cosmos: Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher, Vicente Padilla (species name vicenteticus padillicarpeus), shot himself in the leg earlier this week near his home in Nicaragua, lending even more credence to the “Padilla Once Shot Himself In the Face” theory of explaining why he is so goddamn ugly.
Life is about balance.
I like it that way.
Hate me ‘cuz I hit neanderthals below the belt, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Image at the top courtesy of Three Frames)
The next time you begin to entertain the idea that steroids may not make a better baseball player, please remember the curious case of Jason Giambi:
Yeah. That is the same guy. Trust me.
And if you analyze his stats, you will notice a surge in the power department during the years Mr. Giambi was admittedly jivin’ on the juice. Sure, there was some inherent talent there; that’s the only way it works. Put me on some ‘roids and you will just end up with a big, nerdy ogre-man who still can’t hit a slider.
But Jason Giambi? Dear readers, the man has declined.
Despite a serviceable 2008 where a mysteriously magic mustache allowed him to overcome his initial ‘roid-wreck, the 2009 feel-good reunion with the Oakland A’s brought nothing but disappointment — so much so that Billy Beane couldn’t find any use for him at all.
“Uh. Yeah. Uh. If you love something let it go. If it comes back to you it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was. Hold me down baby.”
–DMX, Let it Fly
Well, even with all his faults (that vomit inducing .193 batting average in particular) I suppose baseball must love Jason Giambi because the Colorado Rockies just signed him to a minor league deal.
I watched MLB related news and programming all night long and no one even mentioned this.
Because no one cares.
And if no one cares that the Rockies signed Jason Giambi, then absolutely no one will care that the Rockies also signed Russ Ortiz.
Sure, the Rockies may be in the thick of the playoff hunt, but neither one of these acquisitions will factor into any type of potential success. They are both large and looming disappointments — let-downs determined to strike out with the bases loaded, to give up a grand slam, to muff into oblivion.
If I were Giambi, if I were Ortiz, I’d rather spend my time signing some hot chick’s breasts. Duh. At least by doing that you don’t risk humiliating yourself over and over again. (Again, trust me)
Hate me ‘cuz I hate on the dynamically duddy duo of Giambi/Ortiz, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
The world premier… of an RSBS original…
Produced, shot and edited by Theo Roll.
Directed by Jeffery Lung.
Starring James Tierney as Jesus.
Performed by Mauf Tauk.
Mauf Tauk is Jeff and Theo.
**Pass it on, folks. Let’s get the word out. Please send this link to everyone you know. We make this thing go viral and more RSBS baseball-related hilarity will certainly flourish.**
*Note: Kirk Gibson won the MVP in ’88, but it doesn’t rhyme and we’re cool like dat so get over it.
Celebrity fans are an important part of sporting life. The Knicks have Spike Lee, Jack Nicholson is a courtside fixture for the Lakers and the Los Angeles Dodgers of Los Angeles are lucky enough to have Alyssa Milano. Who shows up at your games and who roots for you tells you something about a team’s psyche. So, what am I to take from the fact that MC Hammer was not only present at last night’s Tigers game but was also supposed to throw out the first pitch?
In case you need a refresher, MC Hammer was the chocolate cookie to Vanilla Ice’s white cream in the Oreo that was the early 90’s radio-friendly rap scene. However, while Vanilla decided to try and remake his image and attempt a more hard-core sound, Hammer got busy throwing his money away on amenities like a dishwasher in his bedroom and soon found himself bankrupt and careerless.
Why does this story sound familiar? Oh, right. Because it kind of sounds like the ’08 and ’09 Tigers. $12 million on a broken down Dontrelle Willis? Why not. Similar money for Edgar Renteria? Sure thing.
Unfortunately, I guess it’s fitting that Hammer was supposed to be on hand to witness this team in all it’s glory. It’s probably even more fitting that he didn’t get to throw the first pitch because of a rain delay. But maybe we’ll get lucky. Maybe the Tigers’ pitching staff will look past the bankruptcy and personal failing and reach for something deeper, an anthem to prop up their recently inflated ERA. Three words: Can’t touch this.
Welcome to the club, Arlen!
Folks, this is a big deal.
a Cardinal fan rooting for the Cubs, a Red Sox fan pledging allegiance
to the Evil Empire, a Dodgers fan embracing Barry Bonds while chanting
As crazy and fantastical as those scenarios seem,
longtime Republican (albeit a moderate one as he opposed Clinton’s
impeachment and didn’t get along with Dubya so well) has done just that
by crossing back over the visible division line to find his rightful spot among US Americans who pine to progress, lean to logic, veer to victory.
No more filibustering power for the GOP?
You betchya! Guess from now on those smattering political diatribes of malcontent will be reserved for Fox News and the Vatican.
while this obvious jockeying crossover amuses me like Gary Sheffield’s
defensive capabilities, in all honesty, I hope it does not become a
trend. I mean, besides needing a multi-party system with checks and
balances, I am afraid that without Republicans, I would not have any
material to rouse fuming arguments on this site, family reunions or bathroom walls.
Let’s face it: we Cardinal fans could not survive without the
incessant, whiny yappings of hopeless Cub fans every year. As much as
we hate to admit it, ours is a symbiotic relationship built on mutual
antipathy, fundamental dislike and drunken slander — all for the love
of the game.
Dear readers, before making such a monumental switch, remember to chickity-check yo self before you wreck yo self ‘cuz wavering loyalties are, ultimately, bad for yo health.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Specter image courtesy of the US Government)
(Cardinals/Cubs image courtesy of Deadspin)