Results tagged ‘ Red Sox ’
Standing in the check-out line at my local grocer, I scanned the magazine rack hoping to find out if Khloe Kardashian had eaten herself to death or how drunk Jennifer Aniston got in Cabo while still thinking about Brad. Instead, I was subjected to an image I thought I’d blocked out 25 years ago:
Eldra “El” DeBarge.
On the cover of Jet.
Who’s Johnny… she said…
*cue the daydream montage*
I see Bert Blyleven record his 3,000th strikeout…
I see Bob Horner hit four homeruns in one game…
I see Mike Scott no-hit the Giants… the Red Sox come back to win the ALCS after being down 3 games to 1… Ray Knight skip like a schoolgirl on Mookie Wilson’s Bill Buckner nutmeggin’ dribbler…
…and… and, I… I see…
*snaps out of it*
Oh, Youppi… oh, dear, dear Youppi… no!!! It’s not FAIR! It’s not fair that El DeBarge gets a comeback and you don’t… not fair that in 2010 you’re relegated to Montreal hockey duty while El DeBarge gets nominated for a Grammy.
A GRAMMY FOR JEEBUS’ SAKE!!!
And you wonder.
You wonder why I don’t believe in god.
No loving god would subject the altruistic baseball fan to such chronic despair!!!
So hate me ‘cuz I I think El DeBarge topped out in ’86, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
And so in this Podcast…
The hot stove is so hot that we had to add more fuel to the sizzlin’ fire! Jeff, Allen and Johanna are joined by Second City’s Mark Piebenga and Red Sox loyalist Troy Jagodowski to get down and dirty on all the offseason drama. Discussion topics include but are not limited to: what Theo Epstein was smokin’ when he re-signed Varitek, the end of Troy Tulowitski, the continued morphing of the Hall of Fame, the A-Gon deal and much, much more… all to make you laugh that milk right through your nose!
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*Special thanks to our PodMaster Keith Carmack. You can check out Keith’s wicked podcast and his subsequent film projects at Undercard Films. The dude has mad skillz, so you might wanna pay attention. Do it! Now!
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Recorded Saturday, December 4, 2010
The learning curve on being a Yankees fan isn’t nearly as forgiving as one might expect given the Evil Empire’s age old stranglehold on professional sports fandom. I’m a smart guy; but even I am having a hard time understanding it all:
“We friggin’ HATE A.J. Burnett!”
“We friggin’ LOVE A.J. Burnett!”
“WHO the friggin’ frig is A.J. Burnett!?!?”
But don’t let lightning fast fluttering allegiances get ya down, especially if you’re a bandwagoneer. As long as you remember the basics (i.e. Jeter is GOD; Mo will kill you in your sleep and not break a sweat; Posada is a defense-challenged commodity) then you shouldn’t have any troubles navigating through the Yankees’ world of privileged self-righteousness.
Of course, there’s one more thing you should know: once you go there… you can never go back. You can never unsee. Never unfeel.
When Mark Teixeira went down with his injury the other night, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking…
Oh, man, these last few days living the life of a bonafide Yankee fan have been some sort of trip! Jeesh, the amount of work that goes into it… it’s just… staggering.
But overall, the sense of entitlement, inflated ego and blabbering-slandering mouth I’ve picked up have helped me transition.
Just to prove my ability, if you haven’t noticed, the Yankees still have 27 trophies. Still have iconic pinstripes. Still tout the achievements of the Babe.
we won Game 1 of the ALCS. Ha! Jesus may be on Josh Hamilton’s side,
but underneath that purple robe and thistle crown, Jesus flashes
pinstripes. Believe that!
Of course, not everything about being a
Yankee fan is easy… which is why I want to share with you my biggest
test yet: enduring Suzyn Waldman.
Jeff as a Yankees Fan, DAY 5:
Yankee posse overloads me with a heavy ear workout, forcing me to
listen to the worst broadcasters ever known: Chip Caray, Hawk Harrelson,
Joe Buck. My coaches insist this is necessary. I have to build up my
tolerance. Because I won’t have the option of turning off the radio,
even though I will most certainly want to.
ears, sore as can be, can’t take another minute of awful announcing…
so I am forced to endure a thousand papercuts on each lobe instead.
lunch time. I’m starving. And instead of a good healthy meal full of
the necessary proteins and vitamins I will need before game time, I am
presented a platter of fatty, fried foods. “What’s this?” I ask.
“Standard pre-Yankee game meal, Jeff” says the chef. “We gotta get you
full of s*** so you fit in tonight.”
I take a nap. I have a dream. I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former Yankees and
the sons of former Red Sox will be able to sit down together at a
table of brotherhood and —– what the — damn, that was a stupid dream.
Game time. I f****** HATE the Rangers. Go Yankees!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Suzyn Waldman’s voice… it’s… at
game time it’s even worse than… no… three more hours of… I gotta
listen to this crap for three more –
Are we winning? Are we losing? I can’t stop my ears from bleeding. Damn you, Suzyn Waldman. Damn you!!!
It’s all over now. It’s been over. We won. But wow… it was not
easy. I never thought I’d say this, because I find him to be a perfect
example of everything that’s wrong with modern day broadcasting, but
thank the baseball gods for John Sterling…
Now, does anyone know a good ears, nose and throat guy?
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To be continued…
Yeah, I got a big mouth.
Sometimes it gets me in trouble. Sometimes it gets me… opportunity.
So that’s why when I told Confessions of a She-Fan author, Jane Heller, that I would throw all my postseason fandom towards the Evil Empire as long as she celebrated series clinchers with pics of she boozin’, I didn’t even think to… well, think. At least, not too much anyway.
But what’s done is done. And now I’m in. With the Reds eliminated, I don’t have anything to lose this postseason… so gimme an interlocking “NY” and watch me chamelonize into a slithering, spoiled, seedy Yankees fan…
Jeff as a Yankees Fan, DAY 1:
I put aside my normal breakfast of greek yogurt and blueberries for an authentic New York Jewish bagel. It’s so authentic, it insults me and tells me to go back to Hobboken.
I tune into Sportscenter and am pleasantly surprised to see my newfound team featured in every, single, friggin’ segment. Yeah, son! Yeah!
Riding the bus, I see some chumwad in a Red Sox cap. I am brought to my knees with an overwhelming sense of disgust, nausea and uncontained anger. I march right up to him and say, “Hey, buddy, how’s the number 27 sound to ya? Huh? Yeah! Eat it, son! Eat it!” Then the bus stops and I get off as fast as I can.
The office manager was able to send out five faxes, five emails and five phone calls to our customers — all within one work day! So I showed him I cared by giving him a shaving cream pie in the face.
I turn on Sportscenter and am pleasantly surprised to see my pinstripers featured in every, single, friggin’ segment!
Some jape wearin’ a Twins cap walks by my house so I yell out “Go Yankees!” and he flips me off so I moon him then he throws a rock at my window and then I shoot him. In the face.
Ohhhhhh what a day. This Bronx Bomber stuff is really taxing; but it is good to go to sleep knowing that I rest on top of the sports universe — that all professional sports franchises in all corners of the known galaxy must look up at me, in my great big pinstriped bed. Happy and relaxed, I flip on the t.v. and let Sportscenter and its endless Yankee-love-fest woo me to slumber.
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To be continued…
Say what ya want about the mighty market divas of the Yankees, the Red Sox, the Dodgers. Go ahead and hate on A-Rod, slam Manny, spit on Youk… whatevs. Sometimes they deserve it; sometimes they don’t. It’s all a part of professional sports.
But no matter how infantile and annoying MLB superstars can be (yes, I’m looking at you, Milton Bradley), none of them quite qualify as being as toxically asinine as Nicolas Anelka and his band of busted b!tches that once formed the French national soccer team.
You think Roberto Alomar spitting on John Hirschbeck was bad? Imagine Roberto Alomar spitting on John Hirschbeck during the World Series, with a big nasty particle-filled loogey, and all his teammates joining in.
Yeah. That’s sorta what France’s World Cup was like. But at least it’s over. And now we can think about… things that are worse than France. For instance:
Duh. You knew that was comin’.
Rob Blagojevich’s Image
For all of you who live outside of Illinois, be glad you do; ‘cuz this Blago crap is just now gettin’ started for real. The lego hair, the smarmy and disingenuous smile, the creepy way he talks to every woman as if she were a dumb, money-chasin, cheap-trick-happy cocktail waitress… this dude is going to the joint. Eventually.
You knew that was comin’ too.
It makes me sick that he was in my neighborhood. It makes me even more sick to know that he was at Sox Park. And it makes me Bush-Sr-Throwin-Up-On-Japanese-People sick to know he tossed the first pitch to Mark Buehrle!
You didn’t think this could end with anything worse, did you? I’m pretty sure I heard the Astros’ team on-base-percentage was the worse on-base-percentage in the history of time, including all dimensions — even those we are unaware of yet…
That’s why they’re called the LOLstros.
Hate me. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
I’m a huge baseball fan and I love your blog but sometimes I worry about
all the blasphemy. Any chance you guys could tone that down a little?
More baseball, less blasphemy.
We don’t know no stinking blasphemy!
The following are all FACTS that our loyal interns have researched thoroughly. If you do not regard them as FACTS then that is your problem and not ours because they’ve been teaching this stuff for a couple thousand years and I don’t know about you, but anything that has been taught for a couple thousand years MUST be FACT…
Jesus Only Likes Certain Baseball Players
You will know which players he likes by the individual player’s performance. Jesus will help guys get homeruns but for those whom he detests (Mark Reynolds comes to mind) he will cause problems by making him strikeout with runners in scoring position. If this is too confusing, then think of it this way: Jesus loves Josh Hamilton, hates Aramis Ramirez. Loves Albert Pujols, hates Raul Ibanez. Loves Stephen Strasburg, hates Kenshin Kawakami.
Jesus May Be Johnny Damon
The bloodwork still needs to be finalized — the midichlorians counted over again — but we’re pretty sure that Johnny Damon still holds the key as the physically reformed Jesus on earth. He helped the Red Sox win the 2004 World Series; if that isn’t proof that Jesus is really the son of god and stuff then I don’t know what else to say to convince you. If you don’t believe, then you probably don’t believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny either… both unforgivable offenses.
The Face on this Baseball Belongs to Jesus
Don’t believe me? Well, then prove that it’s NOT Jesus’ face! Yeah, hahahaha, sucker!!! I knew you couldn’t do it. Now what? That’s Jesus’ face, dude. For serious…
Now if Jesus wasn’t real, if god didn’t want to show me miracles in my life, then how in the hell would these Jesus bats end up in my car all of the sudden? Huh?!? Well??? Exactly. Jesus put them there… ‘cuz Jesus loves me… and…
Jesus Hates the Cubs
Some things just never get old…
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
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As a Cardinals fan living in the Chi, the baseball season never really begins for me until St. Louis comes to town and I get my first taste of blood as I camp out at Wrigley for a weekend. Black eyes, sprained ankles, hoarse voice… all welcome reminders of just how deep (and serious) this rivalry can be.
But the older I get, the clearer I see, which is why I can say with brutal honesty that the Chicago Cubs are the absolute best rival a fan could ask for.
Yep. That’s right. They’re the best. Because they don’t… win… championships.
Think about it. Yankees fans, remember how awful you felt when the Red Sox overcame in 2004? And what about having to watch Papelbon’s antics during the 2007 run? Reverse that and imagine the utter malcontent suffered by the Red Sox for eons while the Yankees ran up the World Series trophy count.
Giants fans must’ve been sick watching Kirk Gibson’s shot in 1988. And likewise, those Dodgers fans who saw Willie Mays’ catch seal the deal in 1954 couldn’t have been too happy.
But we Cardinals fans… seriously, what the hell do we have to be sick about? We have the best player in baseball, we have arguably the best manager in baseball, and our arch rivals haven’t won jack scheisse in over 100 years.
With that in mind, as I prepare for the annual battle that is Cubs v. Cards, this year I’m gonna focus on the fact that this rivalry is a lame duck rivalry — that I can be confident my team will be better. Therefore I am going to focus on the visual pleasantries that (surprisingly) can be found in abundance at the Friendly Confines.
Now, wish me luck.
Hate me ‘cuz I try to see all the angles, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
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The virgin voyage, y’all!
Okay, so you knew this was gonna happen eventually… just enjoy it. We did!
And so in this Podcast…
Jeff introduces Chicago rock phenom and avid Cubs fan, Johanna Mahmud to the RSBS family. When not front-manning the intoxicating alt-rock group, Meqqa, Johanna manages to drink Jeff’s beer and fantasize about a team made up of twenty-five Alfonso Sorianos. Okay. That second part may be a lie… but this part ain’t: when these two guys start talkin’ baseball, it’s all fun and games. Among the topics of discussion: Roy Oswalt’s bulldozer, Lou Piniella’s preggers look, the Brendan Ryan pornostache hysteria, Hanley’s lollipop and much, much more.
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Subscribe to the RSBS Podcast by clicking *HERE*
Subscribe via iTunes by clicking *HERE*
*Special thanks to Keith Carmack — our engineer, director, editor and all-around sound guru. He always knows where Ryne Sandberg is. Always.
For more on Meqqa, please visit their website *CLICK ME!*
Recorded Saturday, May 22, 2010
It was nice to be the world’s unparalleled superpower following the fall of the Berlin Wall but it was also a little boring. A little rivalry goes a long way and without it, life just isn’t quite as spicy. Luckily we now have plenty of new enemies who are redefining the terms of the conflict and we can once again experience the existential angst our parents knew during the 60′s and 70′s.
At the same time, even within smaller rivalries you want to see a little spice. I’m sure Yankees fans love to see their Bronx Bombers beating up on this season’s hapless Red Sox. But does it feel quite as rewarding as beating them when Beckett was in top form? Sure, the Sox took one last night but that wasn’t exactly vintage Beckett.
Same goes for our current battles in the Islamic world. Many pundits have imagined Islamic society to be one monolithic bloc that seeks the destruction of the Great Satan but that’s a generalization that serves no real purpose. Cultural battles continue to roil majority Muslim states from Morocco all the way to Indonesia. Sometimes it’s deadly serious. Sometimes you can’t help but laugh and maybe even wish you had been there to see it.
Healthy rivalries keep the competitive juices flowing. There’s no way our space program would have reached the heights it attained without the constant pushing of the Soviets. Likewise, our current conflicts are forcing us to re-examine policies and their long-term effects on our safety and well being. And who knows, maybe if a couple more women beat up a couple more “religious” policemen, even the Saudis might grow up.