The Brewers Are Still Doomed

Have you ever eaten a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup while sitting on the toilet? It’s an interesting experience to say the least. The sweet, chocolate, peanut-buttery taste caresses your taste buds in their succulent awesomeness, but because of the look of the candy and the place you’re sitting, the thought never leaves your mind that “Oh my God, I think I'm eating a giant sample of stool!” That’s basically how I feel about the 2007 Milwaukee Brewers. It might look and taste good, but after thinking about it, things go downhill pretty quickly.

The positives about these guys are the platitudes: “They play the game the right way,” “they have a lot of youth and enthusiasm,” “the game comes easy to them,” etc. Have you ever actually looked at the way their lineup is constructed? The starting pitching is not that great, and wunderkind Ben Sheets is still an injury waiting to happen. After one more ten strikeout game his arm is bound to explode. Ace-closer Francisco Cordero has been among the NL’s best this season, but this is the player who made a Howard Hughes style meltdown in Texas look like cold feet before marriage. Before you know it, the guy will be blowing saves, throwing up like Willie Beaman in the bullpen before games, and keeping his urine in plastic bags.

"It’s the wave of the future"
The hitting is not much better. JJ Hardy has been playing over his head for a while now, and is due for a regression. Do you really thing he’s going to hit 35 HR’s, and have a slugging percentage around .500? There is no chance the 2nd coming of Alex Rodriguez could play in Milwaukee-- it’s seriously not possible. Besides, the guy is basically the Brady Quinn of professional baseball. Is this the kind of dude you’d really want your team to rely on down the stretch? And speaking of “stretching,” “closing windows”, and JJ Hardy, let’s just say that the one in the upper-deck isn’t the only chute that Bernie Brewer is sliding around in.

“Oh my God you guys, I think I’m getting a clue!”
And speaking of horrific regressions, how about 3B, SS and OF Bill Hall? It seems like last year was the serious aberration, and this season is indicative what Hall can do. This guy’s strikeouts make Mike Cameron look like Tony Gwynn, except thinner and not nearly as black. Not to mention that by the time Hall is finished getting worse, the guy’ll be playing in AAA, and will have by that time committed a fantasy baseball holocaust not even the owners of Andruw Jones have ever seen.

If these things happen (and the way things have gone for the Brewers and their fans, they must) then the team’s division rivals are bound to overtake them eventually. Although it’s generally not a good idea to count on the Cubs for anything other than national embarrassment, the 300 million dollar men are starting to come around as of late, and are only about four games back in the division standings. In addition, the computer projections have always like the Cards in this division, and if Albert Pujols makes up for the time that was lost earlier in the season, and the Rick Ankiel experience gives the team a Josh Hamilton-level boost, then the NL Central crown will be ripe for the picking.

Time to face the facts—the Brewers are doomed. The club right now is hanging by a thread, and is probably a Paris Hilton hookup away from all out implosion. They might have tasted pretty good at first, but all you’ve really been eating is a nice chunk of feces. It might have taken a little longer than I originally projected, but the season is over nonetheless. Enjoy watching the playoffs at home once again, gentlemen, and please watch where you eat.

Too weird not to post.

Scott Boras Smokes Crack

Scott Boras, baseball super-agent for Alex Rodriguez, Barry Zito, and the soon to be free agent Carlos Zambrano, has a new idea that could have only come from the mind of someone using powerful and deadly mind expanding drugs. Some might say it’s strange for someone so rich and influential to be under the influence of such substances, but ever since Ed Muskie got all whacked out on Ibogaine in 1972, anything is possible in America if there is enough corruption involved. New York scribe Bob Klapisch describes the idea in depth: Expand the World Series to nine games, with two of the 1st nine games in presumably neutral grounds and warm-weather cities to enhance the stature of the game. This will give high-profile business types yet another glory-hole to suck-off their high level clientele.

First off, this plan is complete and total lunacy. Baseball is supposedly already planning on extending the playoff format to seven-game series in the division and championship series. Throw in an extra two games in a warm weather city will push World Series games deeper into November, which will make fantastic television when the Red Sox, Yankees, Cubs, (and if God is kind) the White Sox and O’s will be playing in the snow. Second thing, unless the games are played in outer-space, can there really be a neutral ground in baseball? A site like Florida has the Marlins and future powerhouse D-Rays, Texas has the Rangers, and even though no one in California takes baseball seriously, it’s still got three five teams in state. If the Braves play the Tigers in Miami, who is going to have more fans in attendance—the team that plays a few hundred miles away, or a team that plays in the city that’s the US equivalent of Port-au-Prince?

Believed to be your average Haitian.
And do you know what’s worse outside of this general insanity? It’s that the doddering old nincompoop Bud Selig is actually taking the time to humor him. In case everyone didn’t already know, the labor-vs.-management struggle that in many ways has been the history of professional baseball, makes the mass genocide between the Hutus and the Tutsis look like a skirmish between the Hatfields and the McCoys by comparison. This is the guy who has been drastically driving up the price of free agents for years, now has the ear of the principal negotiator for ownership? Bart Giamatti would be rolling in his grave.

Maybe Boras has his motives. Maybe he thinks that by expanding the stature of the Series it’ll make baseball more popular, his players higher in demand, and ere go, himself more rich. Maybe by playing a game always in Florida, teams can just transport a 600 pound (and by that time, client) Miguel Cabrera via semi-truck instead of a much more dangerous private jet. That’s an Aalyiah tragedy waiting to happen. But more realistically, Boras is smoking crack. Tina Turner said that crack was for poor people, but is there really any other explanation, here? Crack makes the mind feel crazy things—paranoia, mania, and fanatically greedy. All these were in play when he came up with this blasphemous idea. Lay off the crack Scotty, and our game will be just fine.

"Remember kids, don't smoke crack."

UPDATE: There are five California baseball teams: LA, San Fran, Anahiem, San Diego, and Oakland/Freemont. Thanks to Ben, Rob I., and the people who e-mailed.

Andruw Jones Ruined Your Fantasy Team

No U can not has cheezburger.
With once again having a game where he’s struggled with his hitting, perennial Silver Slugger and 40-homer man Andruw Jones has officially fallen below the Mendoza Line, and committed against fantasy owners what can only be called, accurately and conservatively, a holocaust. According to ESPN.com fantasy services, Jones is owned in 100% of all leagues, meaning that not only does every fantasy baseball owner everywhere have Jones on their team, they are also being screwed by him. As is with every year, Jones’ maddening potential is too good for a sell-low trade, or an outright drop, so fantasy teams with fewer options for power production must continue playing Jones, and basically carry out the fantasy version of a death march to Bataan.

If you’re even a modest follower of statistical analysis, you know the book on Jones: Eschew the low batting average and strikeouts, you’ll earn points through walks, home runs, and RBI’s. Throw in the fact that Jones is in a contract year, and you have a potential 1st round pick that might hit 50 homers and drive in 125 runs or more. However, even the stat monkeys have begun to rattle their cages and throw their feces at this abomination of a season:

OBP: .299
OPS: .680
WKRP: -1.0 x 10^15

"Especially when you write that strikeouts are a bad thing!"
If this were any other player in any other organization (save for maybe Seattle and Jeff Weaver) you would drop him from your lineup, and possibly investigate having him killed, depending on the laws of your state and/or country. However, this is no ordinary payer—this is Andruw Jones. Jones has “potential.”

Potential is the silver-haired siren who gurus and players chase when building a championship team. She nestles up to your side and caresses your face, whispering insights and wisdom in your listening ear: “Do you want to be known as ‘Sell-Low Slick’?” she coos. “You know he’ll hit those 40 homers sooner or later. Drop or trade him now, and he’ll start to hit for another team.” And you know what? She’s right! So you hesitate, you try to stick it out a little longer. Meanwhile Brad Hennessy, Yovanni Gallardo, and Brad Hawpe stand unclaimed on the waiver wire and mock.

If he's there, get him now.
Not to go all Bill Simmons here, but sometimes the worst thing you can have in any kind of relationship is a little bit of potential. Potential is the inspiration that lets the Yankees give Jaret Wright a three year deal. Potential is the motivation that convinced you that Peavy would finish with a winning record last year. Potential is the idea that makes you hang on to the loser girlfriend when you think she can be something. Newsflash people-- Wright sucks, Peavy was nowhere near a #1 starter last year, and the girlfriend is a screw-up. Also, seriously, no one thought she was hot.

Yoda once said that hope is the source of humanities greatest strength as well as our greatest weakness. Or it could have been one of the guys in the Matrix. Regardless, this belief in a false potential is screws all people who buying into it for too long. This includes any and all people unfortunate enough to have Andruw Jones, who has probably ruined your fantasy team. In more positive development, Jones got his 1st hit in about 25 at bats last night; does this mean he’s turning the corner? Would it change our options even if it did? It’s real doubtful. Really though, it’s just one more sign that’ll keep us all here stuck hearing the same old song, and listening to all those damn whispers in our ears..

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?

Griffey Jr. out with a colon

Finding inspiration for writing can be hard. Your mind wonders, you hammer out sub-par columns, or you just plain-ol’ cruise the net. Sometimes, in those rare instances, you must act like Rousseau, and walk among the forests in the search for inspiration.*

This is not one of those times. Ken Griffey Jr. (as Al Micheals would say) is out with a colon.

Griffey confirmed that he was diagnosed about six months ago with diverticulitis, or inflammation of the colon.

There are just so many ways you can go with this! I don’t know about you, but when I’m confronted with a medical problem, I got to WebMD.com, just like any normal person. What do you think, I’m going to go to a “doctor”? A “shaman”? A “faith healer”? They all amount to modern quackery.** Besides, Tom Cruise told me that body thetans are making my soul hurt. Psychologists should be jailed. You’re just being glib.

Diverticulitis is a sometimes painful condition that develops when pouches diverticula that form in the wall of the colon, part of the large intestines become inflamed or infected.

Most of the time, diverticulitis can be treated with dietary changes and-if there is an infection-with antibiotics. About one-quarter of people with diverticulitis have complications, such as an abscess, fistula, or obstruction of the colon, that require surgery.

Wayyyy too easy. Way, way, way, too easy. Griffey, much like Mike Piazza, is one of few major league players one who is almost always questioned about his sexual orientation. Even though he’s married with kids, he just kind of looks gay. Like Kordell Stuart. Or Jeff Garcia. Or Mike Piazza. Now he has gay rumors and an inflammation of the colon? Let’s just say it’s probably going to start more flames than it’s going to put out. Is this “diverticulitis” contagious? Is it an STD? Should we check Brandon Phillips just to be sure? Or maybe Jason LaRue? He’s a catcher, after all, and this sort of thing can spread.

This sorry episode marks the end of Ken Griffey Jr.’s career. When you can’t play because you’ve hurt the muscle that’s attached to your anus, then I’m sorry, it’s time to hang up the spikes. He has now officially had every single injury a baseball player can have, outside of cancer and losing a testicle a la John Kruk. He’s broken hands, wrists, legs; he’s pulled hamstrings and quads; and now, he’s even injured his colon. This sort of thing should happen only to a couch potato who eats chicken friend steak daily, and is into sexual sado-masochism. Griffey is a professional athlete who makes Carl Pavano look like Cal Ripken Jr. If you think Barry Zito’s contract was bad, just take a look at Griffey’s. Albatross doesn't even quite define it. Call it a Spruce Goose, complete with total and utter failure. You’ve had a great run, Kenny, and you’ve provided people who watch baseball with a lot of laughs. Most of them generally at you as opposed to with you. But it’s time to retire. Take your ball and go home, that is, while you still have it.

Was the 1995 ALDS Griffey's Illmatic? I think it might have been.

*For more, consult the Reveries of the Solitary Walker. However, this book is quite wretched, and I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.

**Modern Quackery. This is a magazine that would sell itself.

I can't believe I put modern philosophy and ass jokes in the same post. It's like college did and did not happen at the same time.