Results tagged ‘ Sarah Palin ’

An Inconvenient All-Star

an inconvenient truth.jpgI really haven’t had that exciting of a life. There
are a lot of things I wish I would have done, instead of just sitting
around and complaining about having a boring life. So I pretty much
like to make it up. I’d rather tell a story about somebody else.


Kurt Cobain (1964-1994)

Instead of complaining about who isn’t going to the All-Star Game, I’d like to tell you a story about someone who is going to the All-Star Game:

Me.

Luckily, one of my best friends is a Cardinals season ticket holder.  And besides being the proud owner of Quincy, IL’s finest bar and grill (a place where even Mike Shannon has been known to drink) he also has a kind heart and agreed to take me along for all of the All-Star thrills, including acting as my official wing-man in my misguided quest for Erin Andrews glory.  Yes, that is still going on.  Admittedly, overcoming such built-in adversity will not be an easy assignment; it will be easier than overcoming the struggle against Nazi Germany (don’t tell Al Gore) but, dear readers, it will not be easy – especially since so many deserved, albeit inconvenient, All-Stars will not be present. 

Yet that does not mean they should not be recognized for their All-Starredness, no matter the capacity… so here are your RSBS All-Star snubs of 2009 whom I will proudly represent in St. Louis next week:

Mark Reynolds
Just like that frat guy named Hunter and his impervious flesh pursuit at the bar on $5 pitcher night, yeah, he strikes out an awful lot.  But he also surprises you every once in a while and hits some big-time bombs… or bombshells, whichever the case may be.

Mark Sanford

Stealing bases is one thing.  Stealing taxpayer money to bankroll an 8-year long international affair?  Now that’s All-Star material… because, well, it takes balls.  Balls of steel.

Stephen Strasburg
Being the most popular man in Major League Baseball without ever having played a Major League Baseball game is certainly something to tip your cap towards.  Just wait until you see the kind of velocity he can generate with those ears! I promise you: he is the best pitcher EVER in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD!

Sarah Palin

No one likes a quitter, but unlike Manny Ramirez, at least Palin looks good while doing it.

And finally…

Milton Bradley
As an unabashed Cardinal fan, there are about about 30 million reasons why this guy is a true All-Star.  Obviously, not one of them includes playing good, fundamentally sound baseball.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

***SEND US YOUR FILIBUSTERS****

Something on your mind?  Want to see Jeff and Al sweat (separately, not together, eww)?  Think you got a real stumper?  Send us your Filibuster question(s) by commenting or emailing them to us at kraulung@gmail.com. 

***Pictures of Allen shot-gunning Old Styles also welcome.

The Filibuster

Since you guys are always putting politics in baseball, why didn’t you
try to get out the All-Star vote? Not one post about voting for your
favorite all-star?  I was shocked.

Kellen
Macomb, IL

__________________________________________

St_Louis_Gateway_Arch.jpgWell, Kellen, in what may have been the largest oversight since the creation of this blog, neither Jeff nor myself exploited this wonderful forum as a bully-pulpit for some sort of get-out-the-vote crusade. However, in typical politico fashion, I am going to refuse to admit to any sort of mistake and instead claim that this was all planned.

See Kellen, despite our obvious strong feelings toward our favorite teams and players, Jeff and I are also of the belief that the political process needs to proceed unfettered. And when I say unfettered, I mean that the same 18 guys should be voted onto the team every year because of their geographic location and attendant fan base. Is Derek Jeter the best shortstop in the AL? Uh, no. But he plays for the Yankees and that means he’s going to be representing the AL anyway.

Now, I could have gotten out there and exhorted you to vote for Adam Everett instead but would you have listened? No. You would have been more than happy to follow the crowd and vote your straight Red Sox, Yankees or Mets ticket. Or, in your case Kellen, probably a straight Cardinals ticket. Seriously, Rick Ankiel as an All-Star?

But we have more important questions and issues to face. Like what could possibly be going through Sarah Palin’s head? Or why have so many famous people died in the past 10 days? My best guess so far for both questions is Swine Flu.

Don’t get me wrong, Kellen. I appreciate your question and perhaps in the future one or the other of us (by which I obviously mean Jeff) will stoop to that level and cravenly demand your vote. But until that moment, RSBS will strive to remain above the fray because *cue patriotic music* America’s game demands American democracy.

And in that spirit Kellen, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to stuffing the virtual ballot box to make sure Brandon Inge makes it in to the game. Speaking of stuffing ballot boxes, any news on Mark Sanford?

-A

Fireworks!!!

miss teen south carolina.jpgNothing says US American like a cute, dumb, South Carolinian teenager proclaiming our need to help the “education like such as South Africa and, uh, the Iraq everywhere like, such as”… well, I mean, nothing says US American like that and fireworks.  Of course.

And boy are the fireworks a flyin’.

Satiating our drama-seeking souls, Placido Polanco provided plenty of fireworks after getting clipped in the nuts by a foul tip in last evening’s 16-inning game against the Twins.  He took a long, painful breather before getting back in the batter’s box and hitting the game-winning single right back up the middle.

In Cincinnati, Albert Pujols — BASEBALL GOD INCARNATE — made a strong case for his being walked with the bases loaded.  Instead, David Weathers (whom Albert owns) threw one right down central.  Pujols wasted no time in hitting his fourth grand slam of the season.

Still, these on the field heroics have nothing on the fireworks Sarah Palin shot off Friday by announcing her resignation as governor of the great state of Alaska.

We put our faithful RSBS interns on the beat and they discovered the following reasons behind Palin’s controversial gubernatorial departure:

  • Thumbnail image for sarah_palin.jpgAlaska is boring
  • wants to move to Canada, where people actually know what a “hockey mom” is
  • needs more time to combat pro-choice, but only in cases involving middle to upper class white people
  • Todd Palin is tired of being shown up by his librarian-hot wife
  • the Washington Nationals are holding tryouts and she’s been working on a knuckle ball
  • wants to hunt down Katie Couric, shoot her and feed her to bears
  • Lorne Michaels offered her a permanent role on SNL as the new reincarnation of Dana Carvey’s Church Lady (Tina Fey’s position as Palin will not change)
  • experimenting with new medical procedure that will allow her to “grow a pair”
  • embarrassed she misunderstood the TransCanada Pipeline project did not involve weed
  • earmarked billions to provide maps to US Americans out there in our nation who don’t have maps, which will eventually aid the education like such as South Africa and, uh, the Iraq everywhere like, such as so everyone can plainly see that the “bridge to nowhere” does go to a town with a population of 50 people, all of whom desperately need maps to find that $442 million bridge

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Happy 4th, my fellow US Americans!

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

The Filibuster

Everyone hates me! I don’t understand it. It’s like I’m the anti-Midas.
Instead of turning to gold, everything I touch turns to s**t. And now
they’re even booing me! I just want to be loved. What do I have to do
to be loved?

M. Bradley
Chicago, IL
__________________________________________

milton_bradley_angry.jpgRSBS‘ dear readers know that I am always one for some good old japery, so I will ignore the fact that this question comes to us from a Hotmail address with the username LouBrockLover67 attached and assume that you, M. Bradley, were at one time a huge follower of the powerhouse Cardinal club of the mid to late 60s and just go with it.  Of course, I am also secretly holding my breath that the Chicago Tribune gets word of this post and in digging through the RSBS archives publicizes the fact that I have called a certain M. Bradley a “whiny spoiled crybaby man-child” on more than at least twenty occasions.  Hey, It worked for J-Rod and Raul Ibanez…  ah… yes, a fettered blogger can dream; I suppose that is still legal and accepted (for now).

But, at this time, what causes my greatest concern is the notion that the Chicago Cubs are being hijacked by just one individual’s antics, gaffes and overall lack of production at the plate, which runs contrary to the the aged tradition of the Cubs’ losing woes being dependent on a complete team effort (or, more appropriately, the lack thereof).

Yes, M. Bradley, everything you touch does turn to s**t, but at least you have the good sense to throw it back into the stands — with only two outs.  Look, they are going to boo you just like they boo Fukudome and Soriano and Lee, just like they booed Kyle Farnsworth and Jacque Jones and Keith Moreland before.  Cub fans boo.  That’s what they do.  There ain’t no changing that.

Still, a less hostile playing environment at Wrigley could be had if you, M. Bradley follow these simple guidelines for success: a) hit over .230 b) bash a Gatorade cooler in the dugout with a bat and c) give back that $30 million and just play for the fun of it!

See?  Now that was the easy part.  Unfortunately, M. Bradley, since Northsiders have proven over the years that they are absolutely incapable of love (see Bartman, Sammy Sosa and Dusty Baker), I am afraid that you will just have to do without while patrolling the swirling winds of fickleness at Clark and Addison.

Beer.  That is the only thing Cub fans love.  Buy the right field bleacher bums a couple of rounds of beer with that fat, zero laden paycheck and you might just get the impression that you’re liked… sorta.

Until they sober up.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff

***SEND US YOUR FILIBUSTERS****

Something on your mind?  Want to see Jeff and Al sweat (separately, not together, eww)?  Think you got a real stumper?  Send us your Filibuster question(s) by commenting or emailing them to us at kraulung@gmail.com. 

***Pictures of Sarah Palin in a swimsuit also welcome.

The Curious Case of the Academy Screwing the Pooch

Many things in life make no sense. Wonderful guys like Jeff and myself being single, for instance. Or the Cardinals winning the 2006 World Series. Sarah Palin becoming a de facto leader of the Republican party. The world is a crazy place. However, nothing reminds me of this fact quite so much as when the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announces the Oscar nominations around this time every year.

golden boy.jpg

Another mixed-up Oscar

Seriously, are you guys smoking crack? 13 nominations for Benjamin Button? This movie already won an Academy Award a decade and a half ago when it starred Tom Hanks and they called it Forrest Gump. Making the same movie in reverse shouldn’t qualify it to win another Oscar. Speaking of which, here’s an idea for the studio that will save them several million dollars. Why not just buy some old VHS copies of Gump and play them on rewind. There, you’ve seen Benjamin Button and you’ve helped save the environment by reducing demand for new movies and packaging. Don’t get me wrong, it was a cute movie. But it’s three hours of Brad Pitt being Brad Pitt and it leaves us with the oh-so-original thought that we leave this world much like we came into it. Really? I paid twelve dollars for that?

And from the inane, we move to the insane. This category breaks down into two major subcategories, “How did that make it in?” and  “How did that get left out?” In the first subcategory, we have the multiple nominations for The Reader. Yep, I’m sure it’s a good movie. Yep, Kate Winslet is an amazing actress. But this fixation the Academy has with anything Holocaust skews their judgment in a major way. Without a doubt, Ben Button also falls into this first subcategory but I think I’ve already made my point there.

However, the second subcategory is where we find the real problems. For instance, how does Gran Torino get completely shut out? For all the amazing films Clint Eastwood has been part of over the years, this one has to rank up near the top. He makes Jack Palance look like a pansy. He’s as clutch when it comes to film making as A-Rod is choke when it comes to post-season baseball. Similarly, there is no possible way you can say that Mr. Button deserved a best picture nod over both The Wrestler and The Dark Knight. Arguably, those are the best two films of the year and neither one of them is even up for the award. That’s more than a shame, that’s a crime. And neither the Boss or Clint being nominated for Best Original Song is beyond embarrassing.

Anyway, I’m done. The anger is gone. I have nothing left and I’m lying in a puddle on the floor, soaking in my own impotent, rage-filled tears. And yes, I realize that this is probably the third post in a row with only the most tenuous connection to baseball but don’t worry. Pitchers and catchers report soon and I’ll once again be on the floor, sobbing as the Tigers’ pitching staff takes the field.

-A

What Joe Carter Taught My Dad About His Son

joe carter.jpgIf you called me an insane, obsessed, socially maladjusted freak in regards to my passion for the game of baseball, you would be absolutely correct.  Try as I might to cover up the idiosyncratic ticks that put me at the top of the weird charts, there really is no denying my beyond reasonable quirkiness.  In fact, baseball has long affected my dating life, my filial responsibilities, my job.

So you can imagine the worry and fear experienced by my dearest friends and loved ones when the MLB Network officially launched earlier this year.  It has been alluded to that since the network aired, getting in contact with me has been harder than taking Sarah Palin seriously.  This I cannot deny.

Besides getting the inside scoop on all things off-season baseball from the Hot Stove Show, shedding man-tears watching Mookie’s grounder trickle between Buckner’s legs and vehemently arguing/defending the selections of Prime 9, I have also been forced to evaluate the roots of my undying passion for our national pastime and why it means so much to me.

Which takes me back to the beginning…

baby jeff lung mike lung.jpgUnlike many young boys, my father had very little to do with my interest in baseball.  As great a man as he was (still is), he always had a calm reserve — an indifferent nature towards the game.  Sure, he was a fan of sorts; but he wasn’t nuts about it in any way.  His sister was.  Yes, it’s all her fault.  My dear Aunt Alice and her husband, Uncle Iggy, were absolutely wild about baseball and they molded me into a young, opinionated, domineering superfan at an early age.

Indeed, no two people had a greater effect on my psycho-following of the St. Louis Cardinals.  They ate, slept and breathed Cardinals baseball (still do); their fiery enthusiasm infected me before I could even walk.  Upon reflection, my earliest baseball memory is the St. Louis Post-Dispatch’s front page color photo of bedlam at Busch after the 1982 World Series.  Emulating Jack Clark’s short swing and despising Don Denkinger came soon after.  With the help of my aunt and uncle, it wasn’t long before I was memorizing the starting lineup of the ’85 club and dreaming of being Ozzie Smith. 

My father took a backseat to this unruly creation of a Redbird child.  While supportive of my decision to “go crazy, folks, go crazy” while reenacting Ozzie’s fist pump around the bases, it was clear that Dad didn’t quite understand what all the fuss was about.  Despite the quizzical looks he gave when I argued to stay home and watch the game rather than go to the video arcade, he accepted the fact that his son was some kind of weirdo.

As soon as I could operate the VCR, I was recording any and every baseball game on television.  During the long the winter months I watched those games with the same intensity with which I watched them the first time.  Then I’d watch them again.  And again and again.

Thumbnail image for Thumbnail image for jeff lung mike lung.jpg“What are you doing, Jeff?” my father would say.

Shh.  It’s Tewksbury versus Sutcliffe, Dad.  Pena’s gonna throw Walton out at second. Wait and see.”

“But you’ve seen this game already.”

“I haven’t seen all of it.  There’s too much going on all at once.  I’m watching just Pena this time.  Just Pena.  Watch.”

And he would… he would placate my desire… because he saw how important it was to me.

It was very important to me.

My parents were divorced.  It got ugly at times.  I lived with my dad, separated from my sister, who lived with my mom a hundred miles away.  While my childhood spun around in chaotic circles of arguments, misunderstandings and fear, the melodic pace and harmonic rhythm of baseball calmed me like no drug ever could: the unique sound of Tom Brunansky’s bat, a whipping line-drive snagged by Pendleton at third, a Ken Daley strikeout.  No matter what the final score, baseball, with its disregard for time and its indifferent ability to create heroes and villains and bystanders, became the one constant in my life.

It kept me sane.

So it was October, 1993, and I found myself in a certain state of panic.  I was a selfish 14 year old boy who couldn’t imagine missing Game 6 of the ’93 Series and I wasn’t about to be quiet about it.  In Tulsa, Oklahoma at the time to cheer on my dad (a marathon runner) in the 15k Tulsa Run, my complaining escalated — eventually becoming more annoying than persuading.  The race was long over, but we were not anywhere near a television; the game had started and the anticipation was killing me.

“Dad, we have to go watch the game!” I whined.

“Okay, we will.”

“No, now! We’ve already missed the first inning!”

“We will.  We’ll go in a little bit.  It’s just the Blue Jays and Phillies anyway –

“Just the Blue Jays and — Dad, it’s important!  We have to go!”

Several shrills of suffering and an hour or so later we were finally in the comforts of a relative’s home, watching the game.

My dad rested his tired legs and read the newspaper while I glued myself to the t.v. set, still jittery, shaken, upset from missing the first five innings of play.  It was 5-1 Blue Jays and Dad uttered: “See, it’s gonna be a blowout anyway, Jeff.”

I grit my teeth.

And when the Phillies went on a tear in the seventh inning, scoring five runs to take a 6-5 lead, I looked back at him and said, “This is why you can never turn off a game, Dad.  Anything is possible.”

Dad managed but a glance away from his paper.

The ninth inning rolled around.  I shook with nerves at the suspenseful drama, mystique, myriad possibilities.  Dad was unmoved.  “Game’s over, Jeff.  Mitch Williams is coming in.” 

“You never know, Dad.  You never know.  You have to watch.  Just watch.”

Williams walked Rickey Henderson.

“Just watch, Dad.  Please.”

Fed up with my whining, he reluctantly put his paper down just in time to see Devon White fly out. 

Paul Molitor singl
ed.

Joe Carter dug in. 

I heard the rustling of Dad’s newspaper again, but before he could get into the reading position I shot him a glare so vicious, so maniacal, so threatening that he had no choice but to put it back down and focus on the game… just in time to see this:

http://xml.truveo.com/eb/i/168978778/a/5f62953ab8dba73576711df5b5a4d647/p/1

Unaffiliated with the Blue Jays, unaffiliated with the Phillies, but fully affiliated with the wondrous game of baseball, I shot to my feet and screamed like a little girl.  My whole being gushed with excitement, with incredulity, with a burning sensation never before felt as Carter jumped and ran the bases.

I looked at my dad, his jaw on the floor, eyes lit up like the Skydome fireworks.

“Did you see that, Dad!?!  Did you see that!?!”

“I… I saw it.  I don’t believe it but I… I saw it.”

“Don’t you see, Dad?  Anything’s possible.”

“I guess you’re right.  Anything is possible.”

If you can dream it, it can happen.

That’s the lesson baseball taught me, the lesson Joe Carter taught my dad, the lesson that comes from having a father who believes in you…

I love you, Dad.  And don’t forget… you can’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.  You said it yourself on October 23, 1993.

Peace,

Jeffy

2008: Rest In Peace (Part II)

RSBS_Mlb.made.LOGO.jpgMan, I gotta tell you. For as good as 2008 was at times, overall it was a brutal trip for those of us hailing from mitten shaped states. The Wolverines missed out on a bowl berth for the first time in 3 decades (that’s a score and a half for those keeping score at home), the Lions accomplished perfection as only Matt Millen could define it and the Tigers, after starting off the season as almost everyone’s pick to win the World Series, somehow found a way to not only lose continuously but also trade for Kyle Farnsworth. Seriously guys, Farnsworth?

But now is the time of year when we get a chance to refocus on the good things and be grateful for what we have. And honestly, we have a lot to be thankful for here at RSBS. First off, it’s great to be part of a community that appreciates baseball and politics the same way that Jeff and I do. And it’s also great to work on this project with one of my best friends who also happens to be a cunning linguist and master baseball intellect.

Granted, we don’t always agree and it’s sad that Jeff holds so much hope for the city of St. Louis (even if it doesn’t always seem that way) but, despite our differences (especially when it comes to Erin Andrews), I still have nothing but respect for Mr. Lung and his bitterness when it comes to the things bringing down our nation (mainly Sarah Palin and the Chicago Cubs, if his posts are any indication).

However, for the purposes of this end of the year reminiscing, th rules are that we are limited to choosing three of the other person’s posts that really do it for us (in that Sarah Palin firing an automatic weapon sort of way). So, without any further ado, here we go.

Honorable Mention:

Yankees Broaden Scouting Map — December 14, 2008
Sometimes short entries can say it all and that’s definitely the case with this one. Nothing else distills the essence of RSBS like scouting the Iraqi shoe-thrower.

1st Runner Up:

(Don’t) Try This at Home — October 15, 2008
Since both baseball and politics often lead people to drink, it’s only fitting that a blog purporting to cover both subjects should provide a guide. In the pantheon of drinking games, this one ranks right up there.

Runner Up:

Freakazoids and Oddities — December 5, 2008
I don’t know if Jeff just ran out of ideas and started looking at search results or what lead to this post but the fact that “Wemen hitting mens balls” is one of the most popular strings leading people to RSBS is certainly change we can believe in.

And finally, the Winner:

Time for a Major League Intervention – August 19, 2008
I still remember sitting down and reading this entry for the first time and thinking it was one of the most brilliant, insightful and intense pieces I had ever read. They can’t all be like this but I do think this piece is one of the main reasons why our readers keep coming back.

So, that’s it for me and that’s it for 2008. Pitchers and catchers report in just a little while and you can be sure that we’re still going to be here doing what we do.

-A

Not Quite a League of Her Own, But Progress Nonetheless

eri yoshida.jpg

Sixteen-year-old Eri Yoshida, a knuckleball throwin’ femme phenom, recently became the first woman ever drafted in the Japanese Professional Baseball League — which would most probably make her the first professional female baseball player in an all-male league (I think; our staff is working on this one).

Eri, a studious highschooler with a keen eye for Red Sox geriatric Tim Wakefield and his trademark knuckleballing mechanics, has proven herself quite the asset amongst her male counterparts and thus looks forward to breaking in as a rookie with the Kobe 9 Cruise this spring.

In lieu of these developments, we at RSBS (namely Me) would like to take a moment to congratulate Eri Yoshida on her groundbreaking achievement by memorializing the trailblazing feats of women sports icons both past and present because… well, because we can and we should.

And we will.

Helene Robison Britton

STL.jpg

Inheriting the St. Louis Cardinals from her uncle, Stanley Robison, in 1911, Ms. Britton broke ground as the first woman in the history of the world to own a Major League Baseball club.  During her six year reign at the top of the Cardinals organization, the team managed an average winning percentage of .441, a number which — in a round about world — popped up again in 2008 as the batting average for hitters facing the Cardinals bullpen. 

Hillary Clinton

Hillary_cubs.jpg

Okay, so she’s not much of an athlete, but she sure knows how to piss a lot of people off with her baseball-related antics.  Sen. Clinton’s meandering baseball allegiances have long been the seed of the People’s frustration.  America may not see in just black and white anymore, but we die-hard baseball fans tend to be staunch conservatives when it comes to flagrantly waving about one’s fan preference.  Don’t get me wrong: I sincerely respect Senator Clinton.  She had a great run and she would’ve gotten my vote if the desire for change in Washington wasn’t burning so strong in my heart.  I voted for that change.  And how am I (and all US Americans) being rewarded?  By seeing the same old Washington insiders posted in the highest offices under the President.

Excuse me while I go stab myself.

Erin Andrews

erin.andrews.jpg

Super hot woman who knows more about sports than I do?  Not much else to say.

Sarah Palin

sarah_palin.jpg

Now that the dust has somewhat settled, let me commend Gov. Palin on being the laughingstock of modern politics.  Not quite the Dan Quayle Potato-Head, still, she provided plenty a laugh throughout the campaign.  She’s worthy of commendation because she stuck it out and never got too rattled (unless you count that Katie Couric interview, SNL, et al).  As an avid hunter, basketball player and all around “hot mamma”, I bet she’d be a pretty sturdy fireballer on the mound late in a game.  The Cardinals need some bullpen help.  I’m just sayin’…

Allison Stokke

Allison.Stokke.jpg

*Drool… drool… drool… 

What?  She didn’t make the Olympics?  She doesn’t play baseball?  Do I even care?

Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy

A Break from All That “Inside Baseball Stuff”

Guess what.

I’m baaaack.

Indeed, after that long and winding baseball-politico season and the ominousness of losing every dime I’ve ever saved due to the current worldwide economic crisis, I deserved a damn vacation.

And vacation I did.

1108081731a_01.jpgI turned off the phone.  Eschewed the interweb.  Relaxed under the sun.  Got tan.  And I did it with family — Lung Family Reunion style. 

Which reminds me, don’t you just hate when you meet the perfect girl and you hit it off right away — so much so that you spend the entire day with her into the evening through the night and find out the next day that she’s your cousin? 

Happens to me every year.

But that’s not what I want to focus on today.  No.  You see, dear readers, while on my vacation, I missed out on some very important happenings: like Gov. Sarah Palin‘s adamant cry to NBC’s Matt Lauer that during the campaign she never got involved with that “inside baseball stuff” that supposedly divided her camp from Sen. McCain’s. 

Look, I don’t even pretend to know what she meant by calling it “inside baseball stuff” seeing how it had absolutely nothing to do with baseball; however, I can appreciate her obviously sentimental regard for greatest game on earth and implying that indeed, it’s complicated.

Because it is. 

The coast is clear now, but how is it that the Cardinals were even considering a trade for Matt Holliday?  A trade that would send away at least two (maybe more) of our most talented youngsters and leave us with a one-year rental of a player represented by Scott Boras?  Has John Mozeliak officially lost his friggin’ mind? 

The answer to that question is yes and I’m quite sure we St. Louis fans haven’t even seen the beginning of it.  Stock up on the painkillers, folks; 2009 could be a long one.

And how is it that Lou Piniella received the Manager of the Year Award?  Don’t get me wrong:  I have nothing but respect for Sweet Lou and I admire his guile, but this year he did what he was supposed to do (sorta) which was manage an extremely talented, high-priced ball-club to a winning season.  That’s like me getting rewarded for drinking beer and watching football on Sundays.  That’s what I do, people!

The Cubs were on cruise control all season until October and Lou didn’t have to work nearly as hard as the likes of Tony LaRussa or Joe Torre to get the job done with less talent. 

The one thing Lou was supposed to do this year (win playoff games) never happened.  I see that as one thing and one thing only: failure.  F-A-I-L-U-R-E.

On the other side of the Second City (my side), complications arise with Jermaine Dye and his future in a White Sox uniform.  Rumor is: Kenny Williams wants to get some fresh legs in exchange for the veteran outfielder who had a resurgent season in 2008.  I understand Williams’ point of view, but I’m pretty sure there will be rioting in the streets if Dye is traded away.  Even more rioting if Big Fat Bobby Jenks is dealt (which is also floating around the rumormill).

Just let me know if and when that’s going to happen, Kenny, because I’ll make sure to be back in South Padre until the Southside firebombing lets up.

I suppose Gov. Palin was right.  This “inside baseball stuff” is complicated.  And I gotta hand it to the Republicans.  They ran a good laughable race.  And the tides seem to be turning for the GOP: Mark Foley, while still making excuses for his pedophilia, is at least speaking to the media again; Alaska has more problems than just Palinmania; and Norm Coleman has a 209 vote lead (as I write this).

Like my boy Tupac used to always say: “Ya gotta keep ya head up.”

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeffy

Dancing with RSBS

RSBS is taking a well deserved couple days of rest following the events of October and November. However, we will back this coming week with all the cynicism and irony that you have come to expect from us. We haven’t forgotten you, though, and we leave you with this.
obama_palin_dancing.jpg

Because it can always be worse.

-A

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 66 other followers