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JOSE ALTUVE, THE SMALLEST GUY IN BASEBALL, PUTS UP ANOTHER GARGANTUAN NUMBER.

· 2018 Cubs, Joe Sez, News · , ,

Hey there, piggy banks. It’s time for a little pre-season math lesson, brought to you by the twin gods of baseball negotiations; Insanity and Yurshittinme.

Baseball is a numbers game, right?

Baseball men count everything — at bats, hits, runs, steals, earned runs, wild pitches…probably even how many times a guy adjusts his junk in an inter-league game with less than two outs and a man on third. It friggin’ ridiculous. They even make up things to count, like Value Over Replacement Player (VORP). This make-me-laugh stat zeroes in on how much batters and pitchers contribute to their teams compared to a fake position player or pitcher of league-average talent. Now that’s GOTTA be somethin’ created by agents. Anyway, baseball is a game that lives and dies on numbers — national debt-size ones when it comes to contracts.

So here’s a number for ya: 151,000,000.

That’s what the Stros’ are shellin’ out for their sawed-off second baseman, José Altuve, for the next five years. Not $150 million (cuz that woulda been an insult). One hundred and fifty-ONE million. Not bad for a guy who still has to travel with his Graco Nautilus booster car seat. Did the Tuve have a stack of other big numbers last year…especially during the playoffs? Totally. But holy craptoids!

Baseball is also a game of inches.

That means at 5’6″ (66 inches) José Altuve is now the highest paid player in baseball, based on height, and will be rakin’ in $454,545.46 per inch, each of the next five seasons. That would be 2,945,436,200,000 bolivars in Venezuela — where Altuve is from — according to the unofficial but often used exchange rate of dolartoday.com. Surprise, surprise…official Venezuelan government exchange rates are considered overvalued. Of course I could say the same thing about pint-size second basemen gettin’ paid 3 trillion bolivars a year. Nobody is worth that. Not even Scarlett Johansson.

Is America great or what?!

No matter how Lester Holt tries to paint it, America just ain’t that bad. And Little Joe’s contract extension illustrates that in 4K living color, my friend. Take Venezuela, for instance, where the latest increase in minimum wage to 97,531 bolivars a month — an amount equal to $12.53 in Houston, Texas, America — means that Altuve, all by himself, makes as much money as 200,851 of his countrymen. Pretty friggin’ incredible.

America: Land of the free, home of the highly overpaid. Especially if you pretend (act) or play baseball for a living. But hey…I say more power to Altuve. Right up until they meet the Cubs in the Series this year. (Not that the little bat swingin’ munchkin needs anymore power, with his obscene slash line and all.) As far as his contract goes, though…if I were in his size 3-1/2 shoes, I’d take every penny they wanted to bury me in. Includin’ that extra million.

Are you still with me?

I know I lost White Sox fans, Cards fans and probably Major League umpires — who can only count to four and require one of those umpire counter things to do it — the moment I mentioned “math.” But for the astute Cubs fan (and is there any other kind?) what all this means is that Altuve is gonna be a Stroh for a while, the Stros are likely to be contenders for a while, and the people of Venezuela are worse than dirt poor. Whatever is worse than dirt — which I don’t know what it would be — that’s it.

Saving the best for last.

As long as we’re talkin’ about mucho bolivaro, here’s a piece of good news for the rest of us: After gettin’ boystowned by the Ricketts family the last two seasons, Cubs tickets are stayin’ relatively flat, with 2018 prices gettin’ goosed by less than one percent. This means the average ticket will set you back 518,946 bolivars, or $66.67. Consider yourself lucky, pallie. A minimum wage Venezuelan has to work through June 10th to make that much scratch.

Joe

ARRIETA’S DEPARTURE FOR THE PHILLS HAS LEFT ME WITH A SCORCHING CASE OF GONORRHIETA.

· 2018 Cubs, Joe Sez, News, Trades · , , ,

Hey there, cheese steaks, Joe Schlombowski, here. Unlike you Arrieta groupies out there — and you know who you are, my friends — I seem to have developed some sorta rash. Yep, now that the bearded J is wearin’ that stupid friggin’ liberty bell on his head, I get what I’d call “free clinic” symptoms every time (enter name of sports media conglomerate here) mentions his name. Let’s call it Gonorrhieta.

Gonorrhieta is a baseball transmitted disease (BTD). No, White Sox fans, you can’t get it from bleacher seats. You get from having a baseball fan’s love affair with any major league pitcher named Jake Arrieta who decides to walk out on you (putting the “gone” in Gonorrhieta) even though management was willing to stuff $27.5 million down his jock strap each of the next four years. Some people call it “the clap.” And while there was plenty of well-deserved clappin’ going on when he donned Cubbie blue, Arrieta’s departure for redder pastures is definitely causin’ some pain in places too dark and waaaaayyyy too sensitive to mention in this august rag. Not because he’s gone, but because he definitely chose to be gone.

The Cubs 4-year, $100 million offer was one year longer and $35 million more than what he took from the Phillies. Now I don’t know about you, but I can feel that decision in a part of my anatomy that’s reserved for Dr Golberg and his latex glove.

I’m tempted to blame Scott Boras, cuz I friggin’ can’t stand what he and the other vermin that represent ballplayers have done to baseball. But like Steve Rosenbloom pointed out in the Trib today, Boras or not, it was up to “Arrieta to say deal or no deal, and when it came to the Cubs, Arrieta said no deal.”

After signing on the line which is dotted, Arrieta said, “This is a special situation for me. It’s a tremendous honor and I look forward to making this organization proud.” OH MY FRIGGIN’ GOD! The guy goes 22-6 and wins a Cy Young in 2015, then helps end the longest championship drought in the history of history when the Cubs win the ’16 Series…and now I’m supposed to believe that goin’ to a team with a 66-96 record last year is “special?!”

Bite me, Jake.

Straight up. I’m never gonna win a Fields Medal. But I know enough about math to know this: If Arrieta, or Phillies management or the drooling sub-creatures that fill Citizen’s Bank Park (Rolls off the tongue like peanut butter coated duct tape, don’t it?) think they’re gonna turn that 66 upside-down with the addition of said fireballer, they better break out their calculators cuz their missin’ a decimal point or two. Arrieta would have to win 33 games…and do it with a team that ranked 27th in offensive production last season. There’s a better chance of Scarlett Johansson scrubbin’ my backside in the shower tomorrow morning.

So I say good riddance to Jake the Snake, who apparently so badly wanted outta Chicago that he took a deal that two years ago he wouldn’t have pissed on. Especially if he had Gonorrhieta, cuz it burns like hell when you do that.

Joe

PS. Here’s hoping for a butt-load of bell ringin’ when Arrieta takes the mound against us, my friends.

ENOUGH WITH THE SLOPE STYE, TRIPLE LUTZ HALF PIPES. IN CHI-TOWN, IT’S TIME FOR SOME FRIGGIN’ BASEBALL.

· 2018 Cubs, Joe Sez · , , , , , , , , , ,

Hey there, toe loops. Joe Schlombowski comin’ at ya from PyeongChang via my Barcalounger, where I ask you: Is curling a sport? I’m still wrestling with that one. Speaking of wrestling — which IS a sport — I would totally like to see Sumo Slope Style introduced at the Winter Olympics — two 400 lb Michelin Men slidin’ down opposing snow covered hills in their diapers, then catapulted off the jump towards each other at 30 miles an hour, where they’d meet in mid air. KER-SPLAT! Whoever lands on his feet with his diaper intact wins. Friggin’ awesome!

Except for that dream I had the other night where that human popsicle, Scarlett Johansson, was my partner in Pairs Luge (another Olympic sport I’d like to see) Sumo Slope Style would definitely be my favorite new Olympic sport.

Anyway, I don’t know if curling is a sport.

Is bowling a sport? Cheerleading? Competitive eating, pool, frisbee golf? Regular golf? If those are sports then I guess you’d have to say, yes, curling is a real sport. If, however, you think curling is more like darts — a game played in bars by guys built like me — then, no, it’s not a sport. Oh, and if I alienated any golfers, just remember this: If you’re wearin’ slacks when you do it, it ain’t a sport.

Neither is any activity that has “twizzles” as a mandatory element. Real sports don’t have them. Hockey? No twizzles. Basketball? Nope. Baseball? Give me a friggin’ break, pal. Baseball has the hit-and-run, the suicide squeeze and stealing. Ice dancing, on the other hand, has twizzles … and stuffed animals thrown on the ice at the end. Baseball has Jon Miller. Ice dancing has Johnny Weir. (The “d” was omitted for obvious reasons.) And don’t even get me started on the uniforms. I mean … I have no friggin’ idea what the hell those ice dancer guys are wearin’, except to say that I’m pretty sure RuPaul has somethin’ to do with it. Then again, I could say the same thing about the D-backs uni’s.

After 2 weeks, I’m sort of all Olympic’d out.

It’s friggin’ endless. Like a Nancy Pelosi speech on snow. Don’t get me wrong, my friend. I think anyone goin’ 90 miles an hour on solid ice, head-first with nothin’ but their wits deserves a medal just for tryin’ it. And it oughta be made of brass to match the balls it takes to do something that insane. But holy craptoids! Enough with the twizzles and back-side McTwisted Salchows already! According to my commemorative Ernie Banks watch, the clock is about to strike baseball season. And that’s another thing. Baseball has a season — 162 games. And then the playoffs are bolted on to the end of that. The Olympics? A sissy 18 days. Keeee-ryste … I’ve taken dumps that have lasted longer than that.

NBC: The broadcast equivalent of yellow snow.

I’ve spent so much time yellin’ at my flat screen the past couple of weeks, I’m startin’ to think I’ve been possessed by Sam Kinison. Why? Cuz NBC’s Olympics coverage is a lot less about servin’ up the Games than it is about a diabolical experiment to figure how many commercials per hour humans can watch before they friggin’ explode. I lost count, but I think it’s about 600. Yeah, I know that’s impossible. But then so are Tara Lipinski’s chances of ever gettin’ her forehead to move again. If there was a gold medal for Botox, she’d own it, my friend. On the plus side, when the commentator thing dries up, she’s got a big career as a mannequin.

I just thank the good Lord that MLB, TBS and FOX bring us Major League Baseball. Are we’re stuck with that halfpipe, Joe Buck, for the playoffs? Yeah. But in a side-by-side comparison with NBC’s booth jockeys, he’s friggin’ Harry Caray. Which bring me to my favorite event — baseball.

So we missed a few gates last year. BFD.

Things got pretty ugly in La La Land last year, and not just for that triple lutz, Harvey Weinstein. The Cubs were like a bobsled team without a sled; a Lindsey without the Vonn; a curler without any stones! Any, hoooooo-boy … did we ever play like we had no stones. The Cubs swung the bats like Stephen friggin’ Hawking. If you combined that with Lance Barksdale’s East German judge-like strike zone, the Cubs’ minor league bullpen and baseball’s rule 7.13, you’d have an Olympics level “What Sucks the Most?” contest that a $5,000 hooker wouldn’t even qualify for! I give the gold to the bullpen.

Still, we did make it to the playoffs. Given the way we booted the ball around the diamond, and watched it sail by for much of the season, the fact that the Cubs ended up in the National League Championship Series (presented by Camping World) ranks right up there with walkin’ on water … and maybe some of that crap I’ve seen David Blaine do. For that, I lift a frosty, Winter Olympics Old Style to the Cubbies.

And … lest we forget our pre-2016 motto … this is “next year.” Hope springs eternal. Especially when the spring in question is followed by “training.”

Are we gonna make it to the podium this year?

Until 2016, I couldn’t give a Chicago style crapolla about that. Trouble is … now I know what it feels like to walk around with a virtual gold medal around my neck. So, yeah … I wanna hear the Star Spangled banner played in honor of the Cubs again. Is it gonna happen this year? Ask your Magic 8 Ball, pallie. Based on my prediction last season, that’ll work just as well. Besides, predictions are about as reliable as a Rahm Emanuel handshake. Ask Mikaela Shiffrin.

Right now I’d be tickled Cubbie blue just to put the Olympic torch to NBC’s coverage of the Winter Games — where in Gitmo-like fashion, they’ve forced us to watch 5 minutes of commercials for every 14 seconds of action. Since I can’t do that, I’ll settle for today’s Cubs-Brewers Spring Training opener.

Let the games begin, my friend.

Joe

THIS IS IT, BABY! GAME FIVE, WINNER TAKE ALL, THE WORKS.

· 2017 Cubs, Joe Sez, The Playoffs · , ,

Hey there, rum balls. Well…this is it. Tonight’s the night. Every single thing in the wide, wide world of sports (if you’re a Cubs fan) is ridin’ on tonight’s game. Except for Harvey Weinstein. He prefers helpless young actresses. But I digress.

Yep, tonight is for all the marbles, the whole shooting match, and the whole nine yards. The entire cheese-smothered carnitas enchilada is on the line tonight, not to mention (but I’m going to anyway) the entire ball of wax. By the way, who keeps a ball of wax, anyway? Has anyone ever actually seen one? What in the hell do you do with one, and why would anyone ever want the whole damn thing? No clue.

Game 5 is the full monty, baby, and tonight’s winner takes it all, lock, stock and barrel…or hook, line and sinker. In other words, the whole schemer, megillah or kit-and-caboodle. It is, in fact, for the whole shebang. (Pull your pants back up, Weinstein. That doesn’t mean what you think it does.)

My money — if I had any money — would be on Hendricks, my friend. And nothin’ — other than makin’ it back to THE Series itself — is gonna be more finger lickin’ good than pullin’ the rug out from under the obnoxious, bearded, bat-flippin’ Bryce Harper and the rest of those yay-hoos that represent that rat infested (read: politician) city — home to The Donald.

Fly the W, pallie!

Joe

STAY CLASSY, CHICAGO. THAT MEANS YOU, MADDON.

· 2017 Cubs, Joe Sez · , , ,

I hate to say I told you so, but I friggin’ told you so.

We just lost 2 outta 3 to the Giants — one of the worst teams in baseball — after dressin’ up like a biker gang on the trip out to the coast. Another one of hippie manager, Joe Maddon’s, let’s-have-some-fun-cuz-playing-pro-ball-ain’t-fun-enough theme’d dress-up brain farts.

Having fun now, Joe?

I hate losing. Ask the missus. And losing to the Giants is the worst. Why? Cuz they’re so far outta first place (35 games) it’s like the baseball version of gettin’ lapped. Losing to them actually physically hurts … like having your nards in a vice grip. The bottom line is that this dress-up thing is every synonym for “stupid.” 

Why? Lot’s of reasons. Not the least of which is that the Cubs did the same damn thing on their first trip to the left coast this season, only instead of bikers they dressed like Ron Burgundy on account of they were going to San Diego. (If you don’t know what I’m talkin’ about, watch the movie.)

We got swept. By the Padres. Also one of the worst teams in baseball. But did we learn anything from that experience? Based on the biker thing, no we did not.

Acting like a bunch of teenage girlies ain’t helping the Cubbies get back to the Series. It’s childish, moronic and, quite frankly, it’s a colossal embarrassment. If you act like a Major League ball club, you at least have a chance of playin’ like one. From what I have observed, you dress up like Ron Burgundy or the Hell’s Angels, you play ball like ’em.

Pull your heads out, Chicago!

You had 108 years between Championships. That’s not a dry spell, it’s a friggin’ Death Valley spell. Hey Joe, Maddon, that’s not fun for us fans! You wanna have some fun, Joe? Flush the Pretty Pretty Princess routine and try focusing on winnin’ ballgames. I’ll bet the friggin’ Dodgers are having fun. Are they prancing around in onesies? No, they are not. But they’re doing a shit load of prancin’ around the bases. (Yes … they prance. They’re from LA.)

What the Cubs don’t realize is that they get to play dress-up almost every day. They have the privilege of donning the uniform of Chicago Cubs. That oughta be enough.

Of course I could be wrong. But I’m not.

Joe