News flash: Barry Bonds tested positive for three types of steroids.
No freaking kidding.
Guess what else. It rains in Seattle. Yeah. And if you stick your hand in a fire you get burned. And, can you believe this? … Rod Blagojovich, a Chicago politician, is a crook. Yeah, a shocker. Know what else? If you fall out of a boat, you hit water. (Unless your name is Alfonso Sorriano and it’s the playoffs. Then, no.)
I gotta tell you though, all this hullabaloo over Bonds’ cheatin’ heart is starting to get on my nerves. I know it’s against the law and all, but I could give a crap if he lied to a Grand Jury. It’s not like he shot somebody or ‘accidentally’ forgot to pay $140,000 in taxes. Besides, everybody knows he used, so everybody knows he lied. The Grand Jury knows, baseball knows, Greg Anderson certainly knows, hell, even you latte-drinkin’ Giants fans who defend the guy know. I mean you gotta be living on another planet to look at the guy and think he’s clean. Arguing about it is like arguing over who won the game three days after the last out was recorded. The guy did it — look at him — so who gives a crap if he didn’t man-up in front of the Grand Jury?
I do believe the entire Texas Rangers pitching staff has just seen their careers flash before their eyes. Why?
Muntadhar al-Zaidi — reporter for Baghdadiya Television; right handed; excellent velocity; decent control; deceptive delivery. And he’s a free agent. Well, technically he’s currently an incarcerated agent, but I think you know what I mean, my friend.
Alright, alright. He was throwing shoes, not baseballs. And that is a girly thing to do, I grant you. But hey, the Rangers already pitch like a bunch of junior high cheerleaders, so you can’t really use that against this guy. And just try throwing a shoe compared to a hardball. No way you can control a size 10-1/2 as well as the horse hide, my friend. Plus, there was some serious cheese on those things. At least the first one. I gotta think he took a little off the second one to try and throw Bush’s timing off, but he ducked that one, too. Behind a podium, I might add.
So I figure you put this guy on the mound in Arlington — where guys can’t hide behind large, immovable wooden objects — and the Rangers just improved their team pitching stats by about 20%.
Hey there, ballot boxes. I expect you’d have to be dead to have missed all the stuff flying around about our august, soon-to-be-wearing-an-orange-jumpsuit governor Roddy, and the lovely and oh so eloquent Mrs Roddy. Of course, that’s not sayin’ much, since dead people have been part of Chicago politics forever. I’m just sayin’.
But can we cut the crap already, and drop the use of the word ‘allegedly’ from the Blagojovich story? That’s like sayin’ Bartman didn’t cost us the Series cuz it wasn’t proven in a court of law. It was on tape, pal. Bartman did it. You saw it. I saw it. Friggin’ Hellen Keller woulda seen that. And Blago? His I’ll-make-you-an-offer-you-can’t-refuse back scratching has been preserved in full Dolby digital glory. Along with the supporting, delicate and poetic demonstration of the english language by that *%@# Lady Macbeth — as so perfectly anointed by the Trib.
Was it just me, or did anyone else (besides Phillies and Rays fans) feel that even if you used the $27 million microscope at the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory you wouldn’t have found one fly speck of drama in this year’s Series?
I kid you not, this was one anti-climactic Fall Classic, was it not? I mean, tip of the Joe Schlombowski lid to the Phils (though, personally, I thought Dick Cheney would appear in drag on Dancing with the Stars before Phily would win it all). And that Cole Hammels guy. He was Mr. Nastypants, I’ll give him that, pallie. But if a rain delay is the defining moment of a not-exactly-down-to-the-wire showdown, well, ’nuff said. Wake me when it’s over.
Which brings me to the point of this diatribe. What the hell do we do to get us through to mid-Feb when pitchers and catchers report to spring training?
Regarding Manny’s whereabouts next year, I quote … “I want to see who is the highest bidder,” Ramirez said after the Dodgers’ NLCS loss to the Philadephia Phillies. “Gas is up and so am I.”
What a friggin’ a-hole.
I grant you, he’s not alone. Everywhere you turn you got guys hitting a buck-75 going to arbitration cuz they think they’re lightin’ the world on fire. But, exxxxccuuuuuuuusse me! This guy was basically asked off the Red Sox by his teammates because he couldn’t be counted on. He made it crystal clear that he didn’t want to play for Boston anymore by dogging it, and pretty much treated Epstein, the owners, the rest of the team, and the fans the same way a baby treats a diaper. Well let me tell you Manny, you are not well-loved when your team dumps you but pays the remaining $7 million on your contract while you play for someone else. That pretty much says it all. In fact, it says you’re not just a garden variety a-hole, you’re a large, economy, only-available-at-Costco sized a-hole; with a capital ‘A’ and a ‘hole’ you could drive a cement truck through.
Here’s reason number 2,727,891 why I hate the Mets:
I’m sitting here watching the Sox and Rays in the 4th, when the plate umpire has to punch out because of an injury. So now we got a delay in the game until the crew chief figures out what to do. But it’s not like the guy was carried off on a stretcher. He just strolls over to the Rays’ dugout on his own power. So … Just give another ump the gear and let’s go already! Nope. Gotta call the blue off the field, like the safety of the free world hangs in the balance.
Anyway, while all this is going on, we’re treated to the analysis of the TBS announcers, including former Met, Ron Darling. (Nice last name, pal.) Well, you know where the conversation goes, right? How it’s gonna be really difficult for the pitchers to sit there for an extra 5 minutes while the umpires are grabbing a sandwich or two in the clubhouse, deciding who’s gonna call the rest of the game. Of course the resident expert, Darling, chimes in, explaining what a hardship it is for a pitcher in this situation — like the unbearable 5 minutes he’s having to endure is gonna totally unravel his mojo.
Hey there, ballot box. So, last night, after the Phillies finished wiping their feet on the Dodgers, I flipped the channel to one of those talking head news things. Well hoo-boy! They’ve all got their panties in a wad, screaming and cuttin’ each other off while reviewing the instant replay of the game I shoulda watched; Obama vs. McCain.
So here’s my take.
Obama? He’s your Mark Mulder type — smooooooth delivery; deceptive. Plus he’s a lawyer (like Scott Boras). I trust him about like Billy Martin trusted Steinbrenner. Then you got McCain. He’s like Joe Torre — been around a while; nice guy; spent time in a prison camp which, by all accounts, was almost as bad as working for the aforementioned Yankees owner. I think he’s here for the old-timers game, but that’s almost over. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter what happens, or whether you like one of these guys and hate the other one — or vice versa — you will be disappointed in the end, I guarantee. In 4 years we’re all gonna be shakin’ our heads wondering what the hell happened. Again. High hopes followed by disappointment: one helluva lot like being a Cubs fan, my friend. Plus, I don’t see either one of them getting serious about legislation that would outlaw the designated hitter, which is what America really needs.
Alright. So you know how when your team wins the Series (I actually have no first-hand knowledge of this but I’ve seen it on ESPN) it’s expected that the city throws a big party, right? And you gotta have a parade down the biggest street with bands and confetti, and a buncha people screaming like Jesus himself is in the lead car and has just agreed to a 10 year contract for a dollar a year. So I wanna know … where’s the other side of that coin, my friend?
Leading off, Alphonso Soriano:
I am — and anyone within a few blocks of my house will confirm this — pretty miffed about what I’ve been hearing out of a few of the Cubs who allegedly ‘played’ in the NLDS. Leading off, for example, we have the always eloquent Alfonso Soriano. The other day he says, “We’re a good team for  games, but we don’t do nothing after that. That’s the difference. We’re not put together for [a short series].”
I got this nice pep talk email from a woman in California, today. I know, I know. Left coasters — besides rooting for the likes of the Giants and Dodgers and stuff — are generally, you know, genuine whackos. Usually you’re just rolling your eyes when they’re lips are moving, while you listen intently for anything of substance that falls between the word ‘dude’ and the next use of the word ‘dude.’
So little surfer girl was wondering if I’m gonna keep writing the blog now that the Cubs are out of it, as though the previous 47 years of misery hadn’t taught me what rooting for the Cubs means. (See? Left coast.) I mean, it’s not like the Cubbies ever really had a chance after friggin’ Sports Illustrated started writing about our chances like the Series was a foregone conclusion. That brain trust has never picked a winner, so as soon as the first kind word appeared, Lou shoulda just had them clean out their lockers and hit the links. The season was over.
Hey, there peanut gallery. Joe Schlombowski here.
Not to beat a dead horse or anything (although that would give me a world of satisfaction right now) … not really, I’m just pissed. I mean how do you go from spanking the league all season to creating such a powerful sucking force as to risk creating a black hole in the universe? We should change our name to the Chicago Electrolux, or the Hoovers or somethin’.
To be fair, not everybody stunk it up, but as a team — and this is a team sport last I checked — we definitely played in an odoriferous, holy-cats!-who-cut-the-cheese? way. I quote Bull Durham again: “This is a simple game. You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball.” Apparently, that’s true for some, not so much for the Cubs. At least in the playoffs.