News

IS THAT A BONE IN YOUR HEAD, OR ARE YOU JUST ROB MANFRED?

· Baseball Rules, Joe Sez, News · ,

BONEHEAD-MANFRED

Take a knee, Cubs-lovers.

So I’m watching Jake spellbind the Giros last night, wondering if he was facing a real Major League team or the consolation bracket in Williamsport, when, during a commercial break, I flip channels long enough to hear two jock-sniffing windbags calling a meaningless game in Boston or New York or You-Take-Your-Pick mention that the Commish is now considering — get this — a proposal from the owners’ competition committee that will do away with the intentional base-on-balls as soon as next year. No, hey, if you’re rubbing the eye boogers from your peepers right now wondering if you just read that right, believe me, I get it. I nose-farted Old Style all over the barcalounger! Oh, and that’s not all, sports fans. They also want to raise the strike zone to the top of the knee, probably because there ain’t a warm body on the planet that can hit Jake this year. Since Alex Cartright spit out is last chew, the only problem with the strike zone is that the boys in blue can’t seem to read it any better than a book of French poetry. Leave it alone, I say.

Let me ask you this, cheese doodles: is there a novocaine drip that leads directly to Robbie Womanfred’s ball bag? He’s pissed cuz the game is taking seven minutes longer this year. Seven minutes? Um, what’s the problem? The fans in Atlanta may not want to endure the pain any longer than they did last year, but at Wrigley we’re real fans who say, the longer the better. Hell, I can savor two more Old Styles and another Smokie in seven minutes! Let’s face it, hammer heads: either you’re a baseball fan, or you’re not. Don’t like being at the yard? Don’t friggin’ go! Besides, it’s not the stuff on the field that chaps my ass. It’s all the commercials and promotions and electronics and other “fan experience” crap required by the average Dodgers fan that brings the game to a screeching halt and sends me into sensory overload. Not to mention instant replay, which I hate as much as Steve Bartman must.

Now that MLB has adopted the NCAA’s sissy, college-boy slide rule, its next act could be simply signaling the intentional walk from the dugout without requiring the pitcher to make four pitches outside the zone. Is it me, or did somebody just fart? Look, pal, if you’re the Atlanta Braves and somehow find yourself in a close game with guys on second and third, one out, and — God, this is hard cuz that bunch of slapdicks doesn’t have a single good hitter — oh, I don’t know … let’s pretend that Chipper Jones is still playing, and Chipper is due up, and you know they’re gonna walk him, and (since we’re pretending) Mitch “Wild Thing” Williams is on the mound. Wouldn’t you want him to throw those four pitches and pray that one gets past the catcher so you could actually win a game? That’s real baseball, Cubcakes, not the cotton candy-suckin’ ballerina puss-chip thing Womanfred wants.

Let’s see, we already have a girly slide rule and a time limit on mound visits, thanks to the Commish. On the horizon is a new strike zone that will be even harder for the Cincinnati Reds to hit. And now we’re going to use the high school rule for intentional walks. That ought to speed the game up.

What’s next, Robbie, seven-inning games?

Joe

IT’S ABOUT TIME FOR A BARTOLO COLON-OSCOPY.

· Joe Sez, News · ,

BARTOLO-COLON-OSCOPY

If you wanna go by what the New York Post says — and in this instance, why the hell not? — it’s time we got to the bottom (literally) of Bartolo Colon, so we can find out what else the guy might be hiding (besides another woman and a couple of kids). Who knows? Maybe Jimmy Hoffa is in there?

Colon is slated to be on the hill tonight against the Nats. But seein’ as how his two-timing backside was hauled into court Monday by Alexandra Santos, who claims the $7 million-sausage-in-a-uniform is a deadbeat dad, who friggin’ knows? I mean if it were me, there’s no way I could concentrate, but then I have a conscience — something that would keep me outta this kinda pickle in the first place. Colon, on the other hand, plays for the Mets. That and the fact that he’s been HIDING the pickle with someone other than Mrs Colon — and he’s able to sleep at night anyway — mean that a conscience doesn’t come standard on the Bartolo model. (Although 3 or 4 spare tires do.)

Can’t say I’m surprised. He’s a Met (whatever the hell that is) and as a result obviously can’t be trusted. If the Post’s article is true … well … Bartolo’s got some splainin’ to do. Although, I’m not sure Rosanna, his better half — or in Bartolo’s case probably just 15% — really gives a crap. She said she knew all about his other kids. Which means she knows about Ms Santos, too. Not sure why all that’s ok with her, but I’d guess it has something to do with the bank account Big Sexy keeps fully stocked. They sound like they’re made for each other.

Pretty sad for those kids if Colon is actually their father but he’s not willing to step up and support ’em. But hey, like I said, he’s a Met. Not that this isn’t a serious deal, but the funny side of all this is that the child-support case in question is listed on official papers as “Anonymous v. Anonymous.” Because of that, the only reason you, me and the Post found out that Bartolo wasn’t so anonymous after all, was because he’d represented himself in the custody dispute, thus his name was listed as an attorney. Which means Bartolo is not only an alleged dirt bag, he also has a fool for a client.

Joe Anonymous Schlombowski

DOWN GOES FRAZIER … ER, UH … BAUTISTA!

· Joe Sez, News · , , ,

Know what I love about baseball, Cubcakes? The Code, that’s what. That good old free market system of behavioral correction that finally got Joey Bautista cold cocked on Sunday by the Rangers’ Rougned Odor. And I mean friggin’ hammered, sport fans. Shellacked like a shit house toilet seat. Odor answered that age-old question, “You wouldn’t hit a man with glasses, would you?” by drilling Joey Bats in the jaw so hard his extra pair of Oakleys fell out of his locker. Hey, Brycie, still think the game is boring? Still love how Bautista “expressed himself” with a bat flip against the Rangers in last year’s ALDS? Well, Vegas, eventually that comes with a price, as your Blue Jay buddy found out when Odor rattled his nuts like a handful of dice in a Yahtzee cup.

It appears, my Cubs-loving friends, that expression is a two-way street patrolled by The Code. Hey, I don’t care if you like the Rangers or the Blue Jays or even that corrupt gang of World Series sellouts from the south side of town, act like an asshole in in this game and you’ll get set straighter than a ten-peckered billy goat. Eventually.

Robbie Womanfred’s sissy, college-boy slide rule didn’t keep Joey Bats from sliding hard and late into Odor at second. Maybe Joey’s trying to break up the double play, maybe he’s answering back to getting plunked in the back earlier in the inning. Don’t know, don’t care. There are three things Smokin’ Joe Schlombowski does know, however: 1) Chanel-wearing ESPN babes wouldn’t have wrinkles in their undies if Joey Bautista hadn’t “expressed himself” last fall; 2) Rougned Odor landed the cleanest shot to a jaw I’ve ever seen outside the ring at Johnny Coulon’s Gym on East 63rd; and 3) with all due respect to the Rangers’ second sacker, I’m sure glad my last name’s Schlombowski.

Joe

WHY IS BRYCE HARPER SUCH A D-BAG?

· Joe Sez, News · , ,

BRYCE-HARPER-D-BAG

Okay, cubcakes. So a couple of days ago the Commish dealt your reigning National League MVP a one-game suspension and an “undisclosed” fine for his post-game MF-ing of home plate umpire Brian Knight on Monday. To that I say, WHAT A FRIGGIN’ D-BAG! No, I’m not talking about Robbie Womanfred (for once). And please don’t get me started on umpires — hasn’t been a good one since Dutch Rennert forced me to stuff napkins in my ears to soften the blow my eardrums took each time he called a strike. I’m talking about the pretty boy from Vegas who thinks baseball is “tired” and in need of more players who express themselves.

Express yourself? Really? What … the metrosexual haircut and shaved chest ain’t enough, Brycie?

You know who gets tired of Harper’s expression, besides me and … oh, I don’t know … Jonathon Papelbon? Dusty Baker, that’s who. The Nationals’ skipper doesn’t give a rat’s ass about Harper expressing himself in any other ways besides hittin’ the orb out of the house, and gettin’ his friggin’ batting average above .265; a mark usually reserved for all-pick-no-stick shortstops, not someone on the verge of signing the fattest contract in sports history. Dusty’s old, man! He’s got no patience for a 23-year-old punk who thinks his crap oughta be sold next to Chanel No. 5. He’s not interested in damage control, which Harper’s mouth heaps on him regularly. Dusty just wants to win. To a veteran baseball guy, that’s the best form of expression. It’s just harder to do when your best guy gets tossed with the score tied in the ninth.

Harper, of course, was saved when pinch-hitter, Clint Robinson, swatted a walk-off homer minutes after he was ejected. Was he grateful? No. Did he fully celebrate with his team? Also, no. Brycie expressed himself. Boom! Suspended. What a douchebag.

Maybe you can’t blame a guy for being a douchebag when, as a slightly younger kid, he was paraded around the country chasing showcase after showcase, so that Scott Boras (speaking of douchebags) could fatten his wallet. Brycie thinks he’s the best thing since Old Style in a can cuz he’s been told that his whole life. Well, pallie, 1) Old Style in a bottle is the next best thing to Old Style in a can, and 2) there’s nothin’ like a pissed off manager and a steady diet of cheese between the shoulder blades to modify one’s behavior. It’s the baseball version of B.F. Skinner. (Look it up, head-shrinkers.)

When Brycie does sign his mega-gihugic, national debt-sized contract, I’m bettin’ (perfect for a Vegas guy, right) the team that pays him will have wasted millions on an athlete that ends up sharing a booth with guys like Tiger and A-Rod. What scares me is that the Cubbies will be the highest bidder.

Joe

IS THERE A NUMBER BIG ENOUGH FOR ARRIETA?

· 2016 Cubs, Joe Sez, News · , , ,

ARRIETAS-CONTRACT

I don’t know what it is … maybe I’m just a product of the 60s, when ballplayers were loyal to their teams (even if it was because the owners were as much slave owners as they were team owners). Still, when I read that Jake Arrieta — who’s havin’ by FAR the two best years of his career — is willing to walk away if the Cubs don’t offer him a minimum of $200 million and 7 years, I just wanna slap his greedy little Wall Street face.

I get it. Arrieta won the trophy last year, and he’s looking like Cy Young himself this year, while Strasburg — an inferior pitcher, if you go by the numbers — just penned a seven-year extension with the Nats for Jesus money. Plus, if you throw in the deals Price and Scherzer got (both 7-year stints for more than $200 million) then mix all that information together in the context bowl, then yeah, it sounds like Arrieta is worth what he and that bottom-feeder Boras are gonna be asking for. However, it’s totally friggin’ unreasonable in a world where garbage men are gettin’ 60-some grand a year to wade through Chicago’s trash, no matter what it’s doin’ outside. And what really rubs me raw is when I hear some of these guys, who drive Bentleys outta their 10 car garages to the ballpark, talk about how much they care about the fans. Quite frankly it insults my intelligence. Limited though it may be, I got enough gray matter up there to tell when a guy who plays a game for a living is dropping his kids off at the pool … and I’m the pool.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m grateful for everything Jake has brought to the Cubs. I admire his work ethic and his focus. And there’s no getting around the impact he’s had on this team and its win/loss record. To be fair, he also said he’d like to stay in Chicago. I appreciate that, I do. It’s the way he said it that chaps my backside. “I made it clear I like Chicago.” Arrieta said. “I think everyone knows that. If I had it my way, I’d stay here.” To which I have to ask one question: “Well, Jake, who the friggin’ hell do you think is making the decision?!” That whole “if I had it my way” line of thinking is the most condescending kinda bull shit there is. No one points a gun to a player’s head and forces ’em to put their John Hancock on the starvation wage that $130 million for 5 years would be. The player makes the decision. Period. Even if a shark like Boras — who makes his living off of the backs of people with talent — wants more.

The fact that this is even up for discussion at this point in the 2016 season, thus possibly causing an unneeded distraction, is beyond me. It’s like we already won the World Series or something, when we haven’t even been in the damn thing since the year we dropped the bomb on Japan. Wouldn’t it be better to focus on checking that item off the list first, before everyone gets their panties in a wad over the assumption that Arrieta will march through the season (80% of which has yet to be played) in the manner he’s established thus far? There’s plenty of time to contemplate the $20 beer prices and tickets so expensive you gotta have a co-signer to buy, likely required to keep the likes of Arrieta from feeling under-appreciated. If we could just concentrate on winning the division instead of being confrontational within the organization, I think that would be a better use of everyone’s time. And us poor SOBs who are scrimping and scratching to save enough to go to a game or two — you know, those fans everyone always says they care so much about — we’d appreciate it.

Joe