Red State Blue State

Sounding the Alarm

As though any further proof was needed that we live in a crazy, mixed-up world, I submit the following:

Miguel Cabrera has an alcohol problem but says he feels like a new man after a stint in rehab.

Kyle Farnsworth has somehow avoided resorting to alcoholism and even has a legitimate shot at becoming a starting pitcher.

I don't mean to sound the alarm too early but if these two events taken together aren't a sign of the apocalypse, I'm not sure what is.  Baseball: Drama as compelling off the field as on.

-A

Valentine's Day Leftovers

Writing is therapy.

So let's give this a try.

Valentine's Day weekend may be over, but the imperfect thoughts left to simmer in my consciousness are still very active -- so much so that I feel the only way I can avoid them is to disclose them to everyone who reads these pages.

Indeed, I have a pretty unhealthy crush on Jenna Fischer (Pam from The Office).  It's a new thing.  It'll go away, eventually... I think.

But just so you understand my pain, this is what dealing with this crush is like:

 

  

  

  

  

 

They say that without pain, you will never really know what it feels like to feel good.

But it still hurts like hell.

Hate me, just don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeff

- - -

PS. This picture essay originally appeared on Sky God!, my alter-ego site, which you are all welcome to check out. Updated often. Though be warned, things are definitely rated R over there.

Ninemen's Morris: No Sweeter Sibilance

Prattling ninny! 

 

Eastman Thune proved a Little Lord Fauntleroy!

 

I can’t think of a greater malfeasance than the continuation of your poppycock and piddley-poo!  While casting a vote for the windy-city murderers to appear in the La Belle Serie Mondiale is a safe (some would say namby-pamby?) bet, the notion that Detroiters would be denied another time is tantamount to an Irishman demurring at an unwatched distillery.  A foppish fantasy!  Nonsense on stilts!

 

Ty Cobb dominated ripped up the basepaths and the shins of his opponents throughout the last saison, and this correspondent sees no reason why this status should not remain quo.  And while a Killer Cubs World Series is plausible, there is no reason to suggest they would easily win.  They do indeed feature a murderous pitching rotation, led by Three-Finger Mordecai Brown (27 wins to 9 losses) and his bewitching colleague Orvall Overall (20-11), and lead all the leagues in Chadwick’s newly devised Earned Run Average (a tetchy 1.74).

 

But curse you Thune, calling for their dominance for the duration of the cententary and beyond is nothing short of swinging a dead cat in a Chinese opium den and feigning surprise when striking a harlot.  It’s a virtual certainty, man!  They have the most devilish fireballers, the dandiest batsmen, and a crackerjack defensive infield of Tinker, Evers, Chance, and Steinfeldt.  Sweeter sibilance couldn’t be dreamed up for any newsman’s reel.

 

Be that as it may, your tone of conciliation leaves me no choice but to lob up a softball prognostication for you to masticate upon, Alabaster, and I will not equivocate.  Look you to this come springtide: this season will show an unlooked-for boost from the man of your last column.  I predict a mighty effort by those Cuyahoga Clippers, the Cleveland Naps.  Arrogant namesake though he may be, I predict Napolean Lajoie will lead his upstart brigade nearly into the pennant, only to have his efforts dashed by Cobb’s wizardry. 

 

Confound you Old Man Winter, when will you forsake your slumber for the gilded lilly of Lady Spring?  Men and boys alike trudge through the mush and brave the howling gales for your respite.  Come soon.  Please?  We need your sweet breath, and the following crack of the bat.

- - -

Written by

Silas 'Red' Quigley
Editorial correspondent for the Boston Wax-Intelligencer.  Editor/Publisher of various workers rights publications, sporting weeklies, and Ladies Garment Journals.  As a youth he was attache to Henry Chadwick (claims to be the uncredited co-creator of the box score).

For more on the nature of Ninemen's Morris, please click *HERE*

Ninemen's Morris: A Reign of Dominance Will Commence!

Quigley!

 

You are a turd-encumbered wretch!

 

(Just thought that I would remind you.)

 

Ok.  Throw your bananalla peels at me, for I readily accept them.  While I am typically a soothsayer unparalleled in my ability to prognosticate outcomes in all matters, sporting and otherwise, I must nonetheless admit an insipid failure.  In the ante-annum, I was quoted as follows:

 

…while the Detroiters seem to be a lock to waggle the pennant American (hopefully they will be able to hoist it a few times before Cobb uses it to rid his posterior of residual defecate), they will nonetheless fall hard in the World Series, at the hands of Chicago’s dear Orphans, the mighty child bears, the blessed Cubs themselves.

 

While the Bengals of Windsor’s cross-water tongue-thumber did, indeed fall in Global Series showdown, it was not at the hands of the mighty Cubs, but rather the scurvy-lipped Buccaneers local to that intersection of Three Rivers known for its defecation of steel.  Local-boy Honus Wagner, though on the down-slope of his career, was somehow able to rise up and help the Alleghany Arses take the match-up in seven.  He out-hit the cur Cobb .333 to .231, and stole six bases, establishing the new Series record.

 

I was so angered, that I took all of my Honus Wagner baseball cards (I had roughly 30 of the brand new T206 series) and relieved myself on them before setting them on fire.  I guess I must find something else to leave my unborn (and unconcealed) son.

 

If I have been silent for some time, it is out of shame.

 

But let it be stated now!  In 1910, the Chicago Cubs will once again win the World Series, once again placing this, the greatest of the nine-men’s quorums National or American, once again at the pantheon of the game!  A reign of dominance will then commence that will surely last the duration of the Millennium, and far into the next!

 

What say you, Quigley?

 

You ding-bat!

- - -

Written by

'Alabaster' Eastman Thune
Former editor of the "Follies and Whatnots" section of the Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

Currently unemployed.

"Alabaster" is known for coining the popular quip:  "An Irishman and his whiskey are like the Father Sky and his Sun - you are guaranteed that the latter will show up in the former each day of God's blessed week."

For more on the nature of Ninemen's Morris, please click *HERE*

Swing Away, Al!!!

Dear readers!  Stand up!  Celebrate!

Let's dance!

For today is January 15!  And that means today is Mr. Allen Krause's 31st birthday!

And since it is my jaded pal's special day, I thought it best not to rip on how he looks like like a young (albeit more intelligent) Joe Maddon; so instead I am going to go against the RSBS norm and actually do something nice for him!

That's right, folks.  Y'all know that Al is a huge (sometimes annoying) Detroit Tigers fan... so today, to help Mr. Krause celebrate his very own life, I would like to present three awesome Detroit Tigers facts that I researched all by myself (with the help of the RSBS interns).

Happy Birthday, Al old buddy!

Awesome Tigers Fact #1:

Since the birth of Allen Krause, the Detroit Tigers have lost 2,546 games!  And that fancy schmancy fact includes four whole seasons with 103 or more losses, like that stellar 2003 season when the Tiggers lost a mind-blowing 119 games!

Awesome Tigers Fact #2:

Despite being Mr. Krause's boyhood hero while boasting impressive numbers over 20 Major League seasons, good old Alan Trammell is NOT in the Hall of Fame!  For real!  I'm serious!

Awesome Tigers Fact #3:

This fella made $10 million in 2009 while putting up these gaudy numbers: 1 W, 7.49 ERA, 7.5 BB/9

Them's all true facts!  So don't hate me 'cuz I'm right!

I have known Mr. Krause for over twelve and a half years now and I can honestly say -- without even a smidgen of doubt -- that one couldn't ask for a better friend than Allen.

And I mean the hell out of that.

Happy Birthday, brother!

Peace,

Jeff

Obligatory McGwire Mention... and Some Other Crap

Mark McGwire Quotes (that I made up):

"I didn't want to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger or Lou Ferrigno.  I wanted to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Lou Ferrigno COMBINED!  ON 'ROIDS!  ARRRRRGH!"

"My talent comes from the 'man upstairs' and lemme tell ya, the 'man upstairs' is F***ING JUICED!  ARRRRRGH!"

"Yeah, I take Viagra, but just to stay healthy. It doesn't help me bang hot chicks for hours and hours and hours at a time!  ARRRRRGH!"


Other Crap:

My duplicitous and oft abrasive colleague, Mr. Allen Krause, has been busy conjuring up all sorts of facetious baseball scenarios, one of which embraces the Selig-spawned, Selig-spun "world" World Series, proposing to pit the Major League Baseball champion against the... the... Japanese baseball... league champion?  What?

Uh, excuse me, Mr. Krause, but... uh... insanity called, they want their madness back.

First of all, this is a Bud Selig ploy -- a major league trick to make you think he's actually working towards the betterment of the game.  Preposterous!  The World Series is called the friggin' World Series because it boasts the two best baseball teams in the WORLD.  No Japanese champion can hang with the MLB champion.  If they could, then all those Japanese players would already be playing in the MAJOR LEAGUES! 

Ah, such treachery.  It saddens me to see Mr. Krause, someone so smart and so spry, take such a gigantic dip into the crazy-pool.  But wait.  Yes... it gets worse...


Some More Crap:

...Because somehow Mr. Krause got it in his head that once Albert Pujols' contract is up with the Cardinals in 2011, that the perennial MVP candidate will be out to find a new, more financially sexy organization to call his home.  Mr. Krause even mentioned the possibility of seeing A.P. wearing an old English "D" across his chest!!!

Total f***ing horse****.

Sorry.  Had to go there.  Ahem...

Like the Tigers always have Ty Cobb, so too will the Cardinals always have Albert Pujols.

Don't worry, Al... at least you will always have the image of Alan Trammell in a Tigers uni, forever.

Oh, wait.

Hate me 'cuz I pull back the curtain, just don't hate me 'cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeff

(McGwire image courtesy of Coffee with Adam)

Albert Ain't YOUR Girlfriend

Enough babble from the crazy train that is the interwebbed rumor mill, dear readers!

Stop.  Breathe.  Focus. 

Now, let's look at this Matt Holliday signing for what it actually is: John Mozeliak & Co. finally growing a pair and making the St. Louis Cardinals perennial contenders for years to come.

And if you think they made this offer to Holliday without considering the task of signing Albert Pujols after 2011, then you need to be committed... or move to Wrigleyville.

Either way, Holliday is a Cardinal.  And Pujols is a Cardinal.

So no more talk about a potential move by one of the big money teams to snatch up Albert and take him away from us in his upcoming free agency.  It ain't gonna happen.  He ain't nobody's girlfriend but ours.

And I mean "girlfriend" with the utmost respect.

'Cuz sometimes really bad things happen to girlfriends:

Don't hate me.  'Cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeff

(Image courtesy of Skull Swap)

Three Reasons Why Being Derek Jeter Ain't Bad

Reason One:

Reason Two:

Reason Three:

And don't even get me started on all the kinky Tiger stuff.  If a man as famous and powerful as Tiger Woods wants me to sleep with his girlfriend, you bet I'm gonna do it.

Don't hate me.  'Cuz I'm right.

Peace,

Jeff

(All images tastelessly and mercilessly ripped from the interwebs)

If I'm the Boss I'm Calling a Serious Sit-Down with the St. Louis Family

This has absolutely nothing to do with hot stoves, free agents or ticket sales. 

None of that is important.

Because when you drive drunk and end up killing yourself or somebody else or soembodies else, then how important can baseball really be?

Highly touted Cardinal prospect third baseman, David Freese, was arrested on DWI charges in St. Louis Saturday, adding his name to the growing list of Redbirds who can't figure out how to call a goddamn cab when having had a few too many.

Tony LaRussa.  Josh Hancock (he died by the way because he was driving drunk).  Scott Spiezio.

And those are just the ones who've been caught.

I haven't seen anything in print, but I have friends in the St. Louis service industry who assure me many a Cardinal has been seen getting into the driver's seat of a car while drunk.  Some of those guys aren't with the team anymore, some of them are. 

Bill DeWitt, are you listening?

This is not me getting on a high horse.  I have made mistakes.  I have made a lot of mistakes.  My mistakes have hurt people.  I make it a point not to make such mistakes anymore and I make it a point not to hurt other people anymore too.  This is called learning.  This is called life.

And no matter how you argue, there is absolutely no excuse for driving drunk.  Believe me: I'm definitely a man who enjoys his drink -- even known to get completely schnockered from time to time -- but ya ain't gonna ever see me getting in a car, driving down the freeway, putting my life and the lives of others at risk.  Why?

Because I have common sense.

And if someone in the Cardinals organization had any common sense there would be a mandatory tutorial for all team personnel on the dangers (who in the world is so dumb they don't know about these dangers already???) of drinking and driving.

I have long heard stories from Baltimore about instilling in its Oriole family the notion of the "Oriole Way" -- and while it may have begun as Paul Richards' acute focus on instructing and establishing the fundamentals of on-the-field play, it eventually became a code of conduct -- a creed which all members understand, that it goes for life off-the-field too.  Nothing supersedes the Oriole Way.

How many Baltimore Orioles are driving drunk these days?

Exactly.

Wake up, St. Cardinals.  Partying your @$$ off is perfectly okay with me, as long as you do it responsibly.  But if you guys want to keep making me and the rest of your millions of fans worry about whether or not you will even be alive tomorrow, well, let me tell ya, I'd rather be a Cubs fan than deal with that kind of stress. 

Y'all oughtta be ashamed of yourselves.

Go ahead. Hate me. I could care less. 'Cuz I know I'm right.  And you're pi$$ing me off.

Peace,

Jeff

Pla-Po Leaves MoTown

Well, if the "news media" and its "official reports" are to be believed, it appears that Placido Polanco will be leaving the Motor City for the City of Brotherly Love. Pla-Po (a name I gave him that just doesn't seem to be catching on) will take his Gold Glove and join the not quite World Champion Phillies, leaving Detroit slightly more sucky. If that's possible.

Now, as bad as this news is, it was made worse because I found out about it in the same way I inevitably hear about most bad news involving the Tigers, a gloating email from Jeff:

I'm sorry for your loss of of Polanco back to the Phils. 

Tigers suck.

J

You know what else sucks? You suck. You......sucker.

There, now that I've finally added a certain level of maturity to the discussion maybe I can move back to the important question which is, what do we do now? My lucky wood carving of Simon Bolivar practically screams out to address the problem by acquiring more Venezuelans. But I think the number of Chavistas on the team right now already leaves the Tigers in danger of imminent nationalization at the hands of El Jefe. Not that this would present a problem for Detroit considering what has happened to its other industries.

No, the solution lies elsewhere. And since I've always believed that uncertain times call for intellectually suspect and overblown measures, I'm pretty sure I hit upon the perfect plan. I am calling for Lou Whitaker to step out of retirement and once again man second base. Of course there will be naysayers against my "Draft Lou" campaign but those are the same people who say that it was a bad idea to put a banker in charge of regulating the banking industry. That worked out all right in the end so why shouldn't this? Come back, Lou! Let's see some of that 1984 magic all over again.

-A