Tommy Can You Hear Me

Tom Verducci, I’d like to preface this by saying I’m a big fan. Huge fan, even. Considering you’ve racked up national sports writing awards like the Yankees have racked up championships, I’m sure I’m not the only one. Your writings have anointed you as one of the great caretakers of the game of baseball, and your first-hand take on what it’s like to participate in a Major League spring training or to umpire a spring training contest, are writings that enrich our enjoyment of America’s Pastime.

But I think someone needs to tell you (and I’d like you to sit down when you hear this) you are NOT a Toronto Blue Jay. Just because the last ever Canadian baseball team decided it would be a good idea get some easy publicity and let you roll around in the sand for five days doesn’t give you entry into the fraternity that is “The Show.” And I mean, seriously, how close can you get to some guys after knowing them for five days? Vernon Wells is not your homey. BJ Ryan was probably not going to be the first one to tell you that he’s hurt, despite the posturing of his team, and Doc Halladay is not your huckleberry.* Outside of proving to the world that baseball players are outstandingly good compared to the rest of the planet, the most notable thing you did, really, was listen to a lecture on why eating feces is bad, and most of us get those lectures at work all the time. I get them daily.

Will never go to the bathroom and then touch the spread

And now you’re playing in the Hall of Fame game? Josh Lyman in the West Wing (Brad Whitford’s character) had a terrific line, saying “There comes a time in every man’s life when he realizes he won’t be playing professional baseball.” That time in your life is now. You’re a lot like that weird guy in Happy Gilmore following around Shooter McGavin, a man would do anything to be closer to the sport. It’s beneath you, and it’s embarrassing. Journalist’s forays have often yielded disastrous, though hilarious, results, and before you know it, your wife is going to have the ass** because you’re spending all your time in the batting cages getting ready for your next “story”, in the utterly insane notion that some team, somewhere, will actually give you a shot. Madness, I tell you. The D-Rays might have been up to it once upon a time, but they’re actually somewhat respectable right now. The Brewers, despite their impending doom, also will not want you. Toronto has seen what you have to offer, and still no sale.

Well Gustavo, I'll be at the Red Lobster if you change your mind!

Keeping this up makes you the journalistic equivalent of Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite. Uncle Rico was funny because he was a loser. You’re not yet a loser. However, you’re getting very, very close to being one, so consider this an intervention. You might have been a Toronto Blue Jay, but you’re not any longer. Channel your athletic drive into beer-league softball, or better yet, kicking the crap out of Boston sports writers for an afternoon. The sooner you realize this, the sooner you can return to you fantastic writing. It’s not quite the show, but you’re still part of the game.

*Because you need to know where this is from:

**and this too.

Cult of Matsuzaka (FotZ): Motown No Mo'!!

This just in-- Matsuzaka nukes... D-Troit City motha-what!!

Out of all the places in the western hemisphere, only Mexico City rivals Detroit in corruption, poverty, decay, and predilection for violent takeover and revolution. The city is generally perceived as an urban war zone, not unlike post-liberation Iraq, except the denizens of Rock City are on a whole better armed.

The following has caused much destruction in Detroit:

Pre-crackdown Devil’s Night*
OCP’s takeover of the city and the creation of the ED-209
The Shady Records-Murder Inc. rap war

What's not pictured is the shooting of the firemen
None of this has ever reached the amount of destruction from the divine wrath of Matsuzaka. Want to see the body count? Nine inning complete game. Five strikeouts, and a homerun allowed to Curtis Granderson, who through his outstanding blogging, has been seen as a favored son to the fellowship of the ZAK. To see a comparison, Moses was also favored in the eyes of Matsuzaka. Also, don't let JERKOFF YANKEE FANS tell you that Detorit can't really hit, and that there are a few more months in the season, because that's a load of crap, and they are delusional.

Rarely is there anything that can stop the pan-dimensional human embodiment of divinity and the space-time continuum, and there was nothing that could stop Matsuzaka today. Not the armies running the streets of Detroit at night, not the zombified octopi who hurl themselves at Red Wings games, not the guy who threw that drink at Ron Artest, and not even the combined forces of the 313 and the free world bitches (with the help of/special guest appearance by Joel Zumaya on Guitar Hero). In fact, if you went underneath the mansion of Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick and found Robocop, and re-activated him, not even he would stand against the righteous justice that is Matsuzaka.

So where does Detroit go from here? I say nowhere. Now that the city has been obliterated, it’s obvious that it’s time to move on and rebuild. The Tigers will have to forfit the rest of their games, and the citizens will be looking elsewhere for salvation. Luckily for them, the Cult of Matsuzaka (FotZ) will be giving out free stress tests and copies of our bible at the blast’s epicenter, consequently smack dab in the middle of where the old stadium used to be. Those who haven't had their skin melt off yet can enjoy that, as well as a complimentary choice of beverage. And no, morons, sake won’t be served, because that’s just racist. Also, if you choose not to come, I heard Flint, MI is always eager for another round of destruction.

I think this is necessary

*This is a fantastic website.
**As is this.

Wells and Brothers Giles Eat Midget

According to Padres’ beat writer Corey Brock (via The FanHouse), Emmanuel Lewis was spotted in the Padre’s visiting clubhouse after their game with the Braves on Monday. Lewis, known most notably for his role in Webster and the Surreal Life series on VH1, is a scion to little people the world over for helping them earn the respect and dignity not seen during the dark times in history when they were used as plane movers and drink tables. Apparently Lewis was laughing hard after being tickled by Brian Giles, who may or may not have been wearing clothes at the time. According to sources close to me, the Giles v Giles are naked all the time, so the beat men don’t even record it, while Mike Penner looks on with permanent confusion.

Do you guys REALLY think this is degrading?
The Pads are a hilarious franchise, intentionally or unintentionally so depending on perspective. Greg Maddux pees on rookies. The Giles brothers have a partiality towards nudity and bad jokes. David Wells is the John Daly of professional baseball*, except he consumes even more drugs, food, and booze, if that’s even possible. Let’s not get into the whole “Steve Garvey Is Not My Padre” fiasco. But now if you throw a midget in the mix, even one as prominent as Manny Lewis, then you’ve got the clubhouse of legends. While the LA Dodgers might be nicknamed “Red Sox West” by people too interested in both the Red Sox and the West, it seems like the Daddies are actually following the mantra:

Fat veteran secretly despised by the media = Boomer
Guys who get naked and rub their cocks all over each other/everything = Brothers Giles
Midget = Lewis

That being said, is there anything more potentially dangerous than David Wells, the Giles brothers, and Emmanuel Lewis together in the same place, in any circumstances? Rumor has it happening that night, and the results were tragic. Only the four of them were at Magic City in the A-T-L--Maddux needed to hydrate, Peavy was still striking people out, and Kevin Kouzmanoff was having PacBell install the Mendoza line in his house.


Anyway, every person who goes to a strip club tries their own kind of mojo out on the ladies. Ballplayers are no exception. Boomer was screaming at the DJ trying to get the girls to dance to Muscadine while taking out his fake teeth and showing them off, resulting in general disgust. Emmanuel Lewis was telling the girls that even though he is a “little person,” (his words, not mine) his penis is still a larger than average size. Meanwhile, Brian Giles was working his own kind of mojo:

Stripper: You wanna dance, baby?

Giles: Let me tell you a joke.

Stripper: Oh-kaayyy

Giles: Ok, why is six afraid of seven?

Stripper: Cause seven-ate-nine!

Giles: (overly excited) Wow! You got it!

Stripper: Yea! My three kids at home tell that joke all the time.

Giles: ...Ak-warrrrrd.

Eventually, things descended into madness. Because of general weirdness and the midget getting grabby, none of the women would go up in VIP. Out of boredom, Brian and Marcus took their pants off and start simultaneously cock-whipping Manny Lewis, who probably enjoyed it too much. Boomer was so blasted off Cuervo and painkillers that he thought it was some kind of perverse tenderization ritual, and they were all going to try and eat the little fucker. So Boom grabbed him up like a big toothless bear, and ran out the club cackling like a maniac. Giles-squared tired running after him, but fell down the stairs since their pants were around their ankles. By the time they got back to the hotel, Lewis was already half eaten.

Some of this story may be true… I’m simply operating off hearsay and my own insanity. Regardless, no one will ever see Emmanuel Lewis again, and without their magical clubhouse chemistry, the Daddies are not a lock to make it to the World Series.



*Or is it John Daly is the David Wells of golf?

Fear Delmon

Reading the essential AOL MLB Fanhouse, I came across this little tidbit on the Rays and their lack of hype.

So where's the respect [for the Rays]? Where are the "Fear Delmon" T-shirts and Carl Crawford Nike ads?

Why, indeed? The very least Delmon Young can get is a t-shirt. If anything symbolizes the “Booyah” generation, it’s athletes with freakish athletic talent coupled with penchants for criminality, destruction, and a flagrant disregard for authority. If Michael Vick is given million dollar contracts for dog fighting, and Sebastian Telfair is given shoe contracts for gunplay, then Delmon Young is absolutely a role model for the new generation of criminal athlete.

Delmon signed out of a California high school for six million dollars, immediately making him the highest paid Devil Ray since Jose Canseco. At age 18 he started out in single-A ball, where he racked up minor league all-star selections and player of the year awards. After a banner year in 2005 for both on and off the field activities, Delmon finally made it to the show for good at the end of 2006. Although he’s put up respectable numbers in the majors, his projections are far more impressive for the destruction outside the realm of traditional baseball.

Delmon has made it a practice to physically assault umpires, which according to notables such as William Ligue Jr., is every fan’s dream come true. In the minor leagues in 2005, Young gave an umpire a chest bump that Lou Pinella would be inspired by, earning him a paltry suspension of three games. A year later, Young would become the standard bearer for nihilistic rebellion when he intentionally hurled a bat at an umpire for handing out one of the worst third strike calls ever seen in AA baseball.

C'mon, that pitch was outside
A 50 game suspension resulted, but it did not slow Delmon’s progress in “Booyah”. When asked by a reporter how he felt about being held back in the minors, Delmon said that the organization was “cheap,” and that “when it comes to free agency, [there’s] no use trying to stay around there for the long haul.” Rational observers might think that because of the bat incident and attitude, the Rays felt Delmon lacked the emotional maturity that’s required for the major leagues. Madness! A similarly talented Ken Griffey Jr. was in the majors at that age, but he did have to suffer through occasional spankings by his father in front of Jim Lefebvre and Harold Reynolds.

And speaking of family pedigree, according to police forces in the district, Delmon is also a known accomplice (or sibling) of Washington D.C. arch criminal and drug lord Dmirti Young, whose sole presence has single handedly caused crime statistics to skyrocket, with long term residents wishing for the halcyon days of the crack epidemic and Marion Barry. Experts now say Southeast DC is a war zone markedly worse than Detroit on Devil’s Night, or a post-liberation Fallujah. If Dmitri is Avon Barksdale, then Delmon is Stringer Bell.



Tampa Bay is no place for Delmon Young. Rumor has it Tropicana Field was created to house homeless people in case of a Katrina-like disaster, with the intention of performing sociological experiments when the residents eventually dissolved into cannibalism and madness. This vibe is palpable throughout the arena, and does not make for a pleasurable viewing or playing experience. Young will not stay. In that well placed tirade against the team mentioned previously, he said that his goal was to “Get your six years and leave.” Can you imagine the publicity he'll get when he's a Yankee? By that time Joe Torre will be dead, replaced by an animatronic robot who cares little for things like "character" and "hustle."

Is there any player in sports who we should fear more than Delmon Young? Of course not. Marcus Vick and his twin gats doesn’t have the army that Delmon has behind him in southeast. After getting fired by the Celtics, Bassy won’t have the money. Until LeBron James starts doing drive-bys out of the Hummer that his momma bought him, Delmon will be the athlete that symbolizes the "Booyah" generation. And that, my friends, is outstanding.

The Brewers are Doomed

Surprise, bitches. After what can liberally be called the 1st half of the season, the Milwaukee Brewers are atop their division for first time since Micheal Jackson was black. The Brewers’ history since then has been one of ignominious failure, losing most of their games with remarkable frequency. They’ve come around of late, due to some deals that have made the 2003 Curt Schilling hose job look like No! No! Nanette*, and the rest of the division (read: Cardinals! Cardinals! Cardinals!) being the poster children for organizational dysfunction.

This is sort of cute, because the Brewers really barely even qualify as a major league franchise. They play in the National League, which in some eras has been grounds for contraction. Their mascots are on par with most minor league teams, the slide is beyond kitschy, and has any prominent recent major leaguer even been the best player on the Brewers? Richie Sexon doesn’t count, and Roy Oswalt is better. Also, do we need to even get into the Mr. 3000 debacle? No other team would be comfortable being associated with such a travesty, but the Brewers felt right at home. The entire back story for the movie was that the Brewers were even historically bad, and they still said “ok?” Anything for publicity, right Uncle Bud?

At least it was better than Pride
Such a joke of a franchise can’t possibly be successful for this long, so naturally they’re doomed. Ben Sheets is bound to get re-injured sooner or later. Rickie Weeks, the second coming of Gary Sheffield, is going to start airmailing throws over 1st in no time. Eventually their players will become old enough to drink and all hell will break loose, with a sex boat cruise that makes the 2005 Minnesota Vikings look like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir in comparison. This is so obvious, it’s barely even a story.

Immerse yourselves in the waters of Lake Minnetonka

The real story will be what Bud Selig will do when the Brewers begin to falter. Will there be instant Vince Mcmahon-style rule changes? Sausage races counting as runs?** The infield fly rule extending to the 1st and 3rd base crowds? Sending in Bill Alphonso as the special guest umpire? The question is not will this happen (it must) but how hilarious will it be? Selig has always struck me as a feckless, doddering old coot, whose dealings with the steroids controversy reminds one of the Iran hostage scandal, but with far more disastrous global consequences. Bud should get his Vince on-- it’s not like his legacy can get any worse. All things considered, it’ll probably end up saving (at least in terms of entertainment) what will eventually become yet another lost season for the Brew-Crew.



*Nice job on that one, Joe Garagiola. It only cost you your reputation and career.
** This will, of course, have either the Pirates or Cubs re-sign Randall Simon. But considering the direction of those teams at this point it’s probably to be expected.

UPDATE: No comment from the peanut gallery?

Cult of Matsuzaka (FotZ): Heresy in Boston!!

Julio Lugo... I’m not angry at you. I’m just not angry at you. There is no punch line here, this is not a joke, I’m not going to go and say that I’m FURIOUS... AT YOU... because I’m not, I’m not, I’m just not. Because I... I understand the position that you have been put in to, by your acquisition to the Boston Red Sox, the chosen team of our savior, Daisuke Matsuzaka (pbuh)*. I’m sure you realize on some celestial level conveyed to you, by Matsuzaka, that He is a pan-dimensional cosmic entity and the fact that you would even set foot on the same filed as Him, even for an inning, will fill the rest of your days with the bliss and peace that cannot even nearly be described in any language invented by humanity. This knowledge, combined with this righteous force of the most wonderful and raw comic energy swirling around you like a glorious typhoon, I’m sure it is a bit daunting, and I grant you that, and I understand.

But even then, Julio, you cannot ALLOW two

GODDAMN ERRORS in the same

GODDAMN

INNING!!!**


Threre is a strategy here, ok? There is a freakin'. strategy. right. here. Your job is not to simply beat the competition, ok? It is your job, and Matsuzaka’s, to grind their freakin' bones into toothpaste. Toothpaste with little red ribbons in it, just like AquaFresh. Do you know why the ribbons in this toothpaste are red, Julio? Because they’re filled with bone marrow, and DNA, and I don’t know what else, I’m a theologian, not a medical doctor, but that’s what you gotta do. The toothpaste, it might taste like Tom’s of Maine, all chalky, but you’re not there to make a good tasting toothpaste out of bone, because that would be impossible.


Matsuzaka’s plan is to intentionally load those bases. Intentionally walk those hitters, and load those bases, ok? And then when He gets those hitters out, they realize they simply have no chance against Him. Once the mind game is won, the physical game is easy, and the spiritual game can commence. Those errors of your not only screwed your team, they fucked Matsuzaka, and they might have screwed over the immortal souls of those players and the millions watching around the world.

Now, Julio, you recovered for yourself quite nicely. You had a ground-rule double right after your errors, you played well in the field, you accounted for yourself and your team quite nicely, and you deserve all the credit in the world for that. Perhaps Matsuzaka was testing you, as He tests me, to see if you could recover from this. You did, congratulations, la-dee-freaking-da. Do you know that there are those of us who flagellate ourselves daily out of gratitude just so we can watch Matsuzaka? That we put off our wives, our lives, our children, to hang on every glorious pitch He throws, because that is what will teach us about salvation? He forgives you, so do I, just be better next time, or we will not be so forgiving.

Is this not the face of intimidation?
BTW, everyone, don’t listen to DICKHEAD YANKEE FANS who think that giving up 7 ER somehow prevents the Messiah from being worth 100m dollars before He ever threw a pitch in the major leagues, because they’re freaking jealous liars! My inbox is filling up with this same thing, over and over again, people denegrating the Fellowship of the ZAK, insulting our Emmanuel, and I don’t want to hear it! Here's one:

Slick,

How does it feel to see Matsuzaka give up 7 ER to the fucking Mariners, pussy boy? Enjoy the next five days, you cultist whacko.

Love always,


Jesus

PS—Go Yanks!

grraaaaahhhhhh!!!fsddddddjhvc!!


*I don’t need to keep on typing this, you get the picture.
**The apostate official scorer, probably some college-level nimrod who wanted to get a job with the "Sawx" changed the 2nd error to a hit after the game. Obvious, total, crap. Check the play-by-play.

The Five Fabulous Weeks of the Marty Miller Program*

Marty Miller, Director of Performance Enhancement for the New York Yankees, has been summarily relieved of his duties following the most number of injures on his watch to a platoon of men ever not directly involved in lethal and armed combat. The Yankees first hired Miller out of BallenIsles Country Club in Palm Beach, Florida, which is appropriate, considering the team is made up of a bunch of geriatrics. But having a “czar” of performance enhancement was a ridiculous notion before it was even conceived, making it one of baseball’s few (but glaring) pre-emptive failures.** And why is it thus? Let us count the ways!

First off, you can’t possibly trust anyone who goes by their nickname on their business card. It shows an outrageous lack of civility, and stretches the boundaries of good taste. He went by “Marty?” Are you going to put that on the top of your letterhead? What the heck is that? Before you know it, good and decent professionals will be calling themselves “Will” instead of “William” in a business setting. Dogs and cats, living together, mass hysteria.

Never drive angry.
Second thing-- Director of “Performance Enhancement?” Do you see those quotes? I think Jason Giambi’s performance has been enhanced quite enough over the years, don’t you? I mean, his comeback from 2003 was basically the stuff of miracles, and proof to everyone either the benefits of a clean lifestyle or better living through chemicals. Not to mention getting the Sheff out of the kitchen don’t make it less hot, baby.

Might be the greatest picture in the history of the Internet, right here.
And speaking of stretching, apparently Miller wasn’t interested in it. Now, I’m not expert in the philosophies involved in allowing world-class athletes to reach their potential, but hasn’t stretching been in basically every single self-fitness guide since the times of Teddy Atlas? Are we trying to go beyond the paradigm here? Is stretching too “new wave” for you, Marty?

Let’s Survey the Damage:

Johnny Damon—Hamstring problems that persist to this day.
Mike Mussina—Injured for a month.
Chien-Ming Wang—Injured for slightly less than a month.
Hideki Matsui—Injured, and just recently returned.
Jeff Karstens—Injured hamstring, out to start the season.
Phil Hughes—Injured for 8-10 weeks, might be back in time for the All-Star game.

According to some sources, Brian Cashman had a “sleepless night” when trying to decide whether or not Miller should be fired, which makes the independent observer wonder which inmates exactly are running the asylum that is the Bronx Zoo circa 2007. That list seen above? That’s not a disabled list, that’s a hit list. You couldn’t send a sleeper cell into an enemy locker room and cause that much destruction.

“Marty” has been the worst trainer for a baseball franchise since the Greg Anderson fiasco, and that guy is in jail. It appears to me that Miller got off easy. Don't forget to tell the folks back in BallenIsles to stretch, Marty, and don't pretend that you and "Jetes" are friends-- he probably hates you.

This will be your house of pain.

*C'mon. You guys gotta know know where this is from.
**Others being the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, The All-Star game counting, and actually recognizing David Ortiz as a 1B all come to mind.

Jeff Weaver: Back on the Pot

Saturday of this weekend while I was at the NFL draft, Jeff Weaver was losing. This wasn't any kind of losing, though, this dude was getting firebombed like the Germans at Dresden. By the Royals! Kurt Vonnegut, wrote an entire book out of his experience, all I’ll try to do is bang out a few paragraphs.

Everyone knows Weaver smokes pot. We suspected as much back in 2000, when he was a super prospect/best player for the then-hapless Detroit Tigers. A stewardess on a Tigers flight in a lawsuit against an uncomfortable (AKA overly sexy) working environment saw Weaver walk out of the lavatory in a "puff of smoke" and the "smell of Marijuana behind him."* Besides that little tidbit, he’s also from the LBC, which according to some, is where weed was practically invented. Also, is it just me, or does he look like he's high all the time?


He stopped smoking when he was with the Cardinals when he helped them win the World Series. It's the only explanation why such an awful pitcher suddenly turned good. So why is he back on it now? Maybe because Seattle is a dystopian super-structure, whose mocking name of the Emerald City hides the town’s wretched underbelly. Do you know what there is to actually do in Seattle?

1. Drink bad, overpriced coffee and fellate oneself
2. Listen to Grunge
3. Play Nintendo
4. Get in infinitely meaningless arguments over if PC or Macs are better.

Do you know who loses in this kind of situation? Everyone in Seattle. Hence, Weaver losing all his games. It’s a vicious cycle, and when you’re in a vicious cycle, you get back to your roots, and try to do what first made you successful. And considering Dave Duncan’s semi-miraculous pitching tapes self-destructed upon Weaver’s exit from St. Louis, all Weaver’s got left is the ganja.


Seattle manage Mike Hargrove, whose intellectual capacity places him somewhere between John Kruk and an igneous rock on the smartest beings to ever grace the human experience, has decided the best place for Weaver is in the bullpen. This will be, predictably, a disaster, making Weaver the most expensive, ineffective reliever since Kyle Farnsworth (an intellectual midget in his own regard).** Weaver’s last significant experience in a relief role came in the 2003 World Series, where after getting through one inning and giving a fist-pump that made Francisco Rodriguez’s slap-assery look like Sanjuro Yojimbo in comparison, gave up a laser of a homerun that literally dented the side of Dolphins’ Stadium.

Obviously, the Mariners shouldn't have signed Weaver. Hell, no one should have signed Weaver. His very acquisition is a total and abject failure, and this sort of incompetence should surprise no one-- Mariners GM Bill Bavasi has been doing this shit for years. How have Adrian Beltre and Richie Sexon turned out? I hate to make such an easy joke here, but Weaver's probably not the only one on drugs in Seattle.

This, Jamie Kennedy, is how you kick it old school

*This article is impossible to find online without a search via Lexus-Nexus. However, a gentleman at NYYFans.com copied and pasted the entire thing here. Very funny stuff.
**Consult The Dugout for more insight and hilarity.