Results tagged ‘ Republicans ’
Continuing with the end-of-year holiday tradition here at RSBS, it’s time to separate myself from my imaginary girlfriend (NSFW) and ask the interns to lock my office door so I can get down to the meaty reflection of what was the RSBS year 2011. Additionally, I must begin the sad, fiery purge of Albert Pujols memorabilia. For those of you who went to public schools, you know that maintaining a fire within a small, confined room may cause ill-fated side effects, so before I start to look like Bert the chimney sweep, let me get to it…
First of all, no year would be a good year without you, the dear RSBS reader. THANK YOU, for your readership. THANK YOU for your emails, your tweets, your comments, Facebook shares and FingerTagging! And THANK YOU for continuing to make writing about the baseball-politico world a treat for us every single day.
Like my riveting and oft rousing colleague, Mr. Krause, I too have been very impressed with our special correspondents. For me, nothing says sweet Miggy-I-Love-You quite like Mark Piebenga’s His Game Is Like Waves. It presented Miguel Cabrera in a new light — that of teacher, and, considering how much Mark has taught me about what life should be about, I continue to find its lesson fitting (and helpful!).
And though I often refer to Mr. Johanna Mahmud as “the man who introduced me to the glories of the Deftones” and “the guy who schooled me on the NBA and proved why I should be madly in love with Derek Rose”, I still have room to refer to him as “the guy who writes Setting the Mahmud“! Dude puts the “tit” in titillating with every piece. The last article he wrote was inspiring, if only because he found a way to get a naked Yu Darvish, an ugly sweater wearing
Johnny Matt Damon and a crying Paula Deen all in one place; but, like Al, I have to admit that there’s real brilliance in his Theo-fied Arthurisms. Still, I’m a sucker for equating dead people to the performances of Adam Dunn and Miguel Tejada. Good work, good sir.
Meanwhile, no year-end applause would be complete without a nod to my longtime friend and confidant, Mr. Allen Krause. Known for his cynical twists on the political establishment and undying love of all things Detroit Tigers, it has been a pleasure to write on his wing. Sometimes he’s so “on” that he finds literary genius in imagery. Indeed, that endearing Krausian wit is often highlighted by rational thought. Sometimes it points out the un-fact-checked obvious, other times it gets serious, with a real call for responsibility. And, just in case you think Mr. Krause’s Libertarian-bashing makes him a soulless, automated Obamatron, this reflective piece will convince you otherwise.
But when it comes to knockin’ ‘em outta the interwebs park, I have to kowtow to the RSBS Presents series. The brainchild of Mr. Krause, RSBS Presents has enlightened us on the finer points of fandom and how to stay classy while reminding us that, ultimately, positivity has upside during times of turmoil. But the best of them all was learning how to score a Republican. And here I thought it involved finding Jesus and quoting Alex P. Keaton.
Happy Christmas, Merry Hanukkah and long live King Kwanzaa!
A lot of baseball purists hate Bill James. By attempting to intellectualize aspects of a game that had up until then been left to “experts” who used their gut feelings to lead teams in one direction or another, James sought to overturn baseball orthodoxy. These experts/purists/fundamentalists hate James because they no longer get to employ their mystical powers to direct the religion of baseball.
This should hardly come as a surprise, though. Baseball is a uniquely American sport and Americans are uniquely anti-intellectual. It only makes sense that a group of people who disparage America’s professors and other learned people would also disparage someone who tries to apply reason and science to America’s pastime.
But those who hate intellectuals the most are also those who fear them the most. The old school scouts hated James because his emphasis on the quantifiable aspects of baseball undermined their previously hallowed positions as arbiters of all things baseball. They feared losing their previously sacrosanct positions so these high priests of the game had to evolve or risk becoming irrelevant.
Something similar is taking place in the Republican party today. The party of belligerent anti-intellectualism has somehow embraced a self-styled intellectual as their new savior. The truth, though, hides a little deeper in the phenomenon. Newt, intellectual that he claims to be, brings nothing new to the game. He’s merely a priest dressed up in the trappings of an intellectual but he uses this affectation to scare his flock into believing what sounds intellectual to them. Newt is riding high on this image but hopefully his new religion will soon follow the same path as the baseball scout’s “sure thing” and the Contract With America.
Okay, technically it was more of a catfight than a bidding war, but I guarantee you it was fierce. I was in college at the time, and I somehow duped two girls into believing I was A-list boyfriend material. A gnarly girlpocalypse ensued.
It was awesome.
Then there was also the time in middle school where, for a small fee of one US American dollar, I would open up my father’s Playboy collection for viewing, all in the name of health and sex education, of course.
But I’ve never been Yu Darvish-ed before. I mean, I’ve never had a bunch of folks throwing MAD MONEY at me just for the opportunity to negotiate a contract. I know, I know, it’s hard to believe, but Nolan Ryan has never gone all in on my ass…ets. My assets. That’s what I meant to say.
Personally, I cannot WAIT to see Yu Darvish in action. I’ve been salivating at his proposed Major League entry since the ’09 WBC and now it looks like I may finally get my wish. Picture a 2012 season with an Adam Wainwright, a Stephen Strasburg AND a Yu Darvish!?!?!? Somebody douse me with Gatorade!
Meanwhile, if Yu’s people are any good, then they got their Newt Gingrich on before teams put in their final bids. You know it, I know it and the American people know it: no one sells access like the Grand Old Party.
Oh the Dems do it too.
Ron Paul. That is all.
And don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
When something like this happens:
It’s funny to think that maybe this was happening behind the scenes:
But most likely it’s closer to this:
I predict that within six months Perry’s secret male lover will no longer be able to hold his tongue. Let’s just call it a hunch.
In a stunning turn of events, Herman Cain will not be the next President of the United States. In other news, snorting pixie sticks will not get you high. The one thing that these two items have in common is that a lot of people should have seen it coming before trying it out.
So now it’s Gingrich. Oh right, and Romney. It’s like the longest and most asinine game of musical chairs ever. The only problem is that instead of removing a chair each time, they just substitute a person and make them keep playing. Please, can we just make it stop and give Romney the nomination? I know you don’t like him and I know you are afraid the Mormons are going to steal your children but there’s something to be said for having a candidate who’s actually qualified to run. What’s next, Palin redux?
The real issue is that the Republicans are so adverse to nominating Romney that they treat every new challenger like how MLB treats Kyle Farnsworth. “Well, we didn’t like him before and he hasn’t really done much but he sure looks good on paper. Eh, what the hell. Let’s give him a shot.” And, just like the Republican challengers, you find yourself wondering a month or two later what you possibly could have been thinking. And, of course, like any circle of abuse, you convince yourself that you’ll never let it happen again…
…At least not until next year when you’re looking for a middle reliever (presidential candidate) and notice that Farnsworth (Gingrich) is on the market….
Admit it. It may be Monday, but your mind is already on Thursday — Thanksgiving — the one day of the year where your sole responsibility is to eat yourself into a coma, sprawl out on the couch and watch football for 7 hours while catnapping as necessary.
You get all of that for the small price of being thankful.
And what do I have to be thankful for this year?
I’m thankful for the 2011 Cardinals. For the second time in six years I’m bragging about being a champion. And I got to be a part of it by going to the first two games. HOT DANG!
I’m thankful that, as always, whenever the Cubs triumph (Theo) they also manage to fail (Zambrano).
I’m thankful that Rick Perry has disappointed, that Herman Cain has self-destructed and Sarah Palin has invisiblized.
I’m thankful that I think I can get away with making up words.
But most of all, I’m thankful that I’ve never been punched by Mike Tyson.
Happy Thanksgiving Week Monday!
As the enemy begins yet another chapter in its century-long battle against awful, I can’t help but reflect on the one-and-done tenure of Mr. Mike Quade. I will not question the hearty baseball acumen of the man; he’s been around this long, so he must know something. But a leader of men he is not.
For me, his ascendancy of idiocy became relevant when his unruly, wild and uncontainable club donned t-shirts at Wrigley during batting practice that said “F**k the Goat” in big red letters across the back. When later asked about the “goat”, Quade said he had never even heard of the curse of the billy goat, that to him, it was just a restaurant.
I was never able to determine whether his supreme stupidity was a) that he really hadn’t heard of it or b) that he had, and he was just stupid enough to think we would actually believe him.
Either way, STUPID.
I’m not saying leaders of men need to know everything there is to know about anything and everything, but they certainly do need to surround themselves with people who are informed on myriad subjects, and they must also have enough tact to know when they’re stepping into a great big pile of nast.
So if the sexual harassment charges against Herman Cain and his playfully flippant response to them haven’t deterred you from considering him as a presidential candidate, hopefully this video will:
This cannot happen, people. This man cannot be seriously considered for the presidency. The Republicans are in deep shizz. And they know it. It’s just too bad that the answer to their problems is right there, continuously ignored, continuously shut out.
It makes me very, very sad.
Hate me. Fine. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
The way our brains work, we attempt to apply a narrative or causality to events, even after the fact, to justify what happened and why it happened. We look for points where the momentum shifts and where all of a sudden something that was unthinkable becomes inevitable.
Baseball is full of these moments. Of course Jeff will tell you all about game 6 of this year’s World Series and no one will ever stop talking about the Bartman play in Chicago or Buckner’s famous muff. Teams didn’t win or lose on those plays but it changed the flow of the game and, in retrospect, we consider it to be the dramatic reversal in the narrative.
Politics follows a similar course. In the 2008 Democratic primary, Hilary was inevitable but then Obama won Iowa and the narrative shifted. Sure, the changes may be due more to organization or groundwork but we prefer the grand, sweeping narrative and we look for game-changing moments.
This week’s Republican debate in Michigan offered the new narrative of choice for the primary season: Perry’s final flub. For a campaign that had already hit a rough patch (polling behind Herman Cain? Seriously?), they needed a strong showing. Here’s what they got:
Granted, the last time a Texas governor became president, serious doubts surrounded his mental capacity. And some pundits even point out that Perry’s damage control may have helped humanize him for the voters. But if Perry does end up losing the nomination as now seems likely, the narrative will state that this moment was what nailed shut the coffin. That’s just how our brain’s work. And how Perry’s didn’t.
Wilson Ramos Kidnapped
I know Venezuela has a vast array of domestic problems, but why kidnap Wilson Ramos?!?! While he may some day become a catching superstar for the Nationals, he only made the league minimum in his 2011 rookie season, and I can think of 18 million reasons why Carlos Zambrano would have made a better target.
Rick Perry Is a Moron
In case the whole let’s waste taxpayer money and time by devoting an entire day to praying that “God” will fix our country’s financial woes rather than taking any responsibility or doing any actual work to make things better strategy didn’t prove that presidential hopeful Rick Perry is a mindless delusionoid, then perhaps this republican debate gaffe will make it clear:
MLB & Taiwan All-Stars
Hooray! There was baseball in November… even if no one outside of Taipei paid any attention to it. I heard there were some exciting moments, but none could be considered as entertaining as my favorite Chinese baseball experience:
Inquiring minds of dear readers galore have been BEGGING to know, just who is this Herman Cain. Well, my friends, beg no more. The RSBS interns and I have been doing the necessary research, and we have come to the conclusion that Herman Cain is politics’ very own Kevin Millar.
That’s right. He’s a bumbling, fumbling hick dressed up proper who says stuff just to say stuff, even if it makes no sense.
Don’t believe me? Check it out for yourself:
Hate me ‘cuz I got the footage to back it up, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*The above also does not assume Millar might be associated with any sexual harassment… of human beings anyway.