DO ARRIETA AND BUMGARNER BELONG IN THE DERBY?

June 13 · Joe Sez, News · All Star Game, Home Run Derby, Jake Arrieta, Madison Bumgarner

Hey there, fly swatters. Joe Schlombowski, super Cubs fan here with my 2 cents on the upcoming All Star break’s Home Run Derby. Unless you’ve been vacationing on Neptune, you’ve seen that Jake Arrieta and Maddison Bumgarner are lobbyin’ to show off their power hitting chops by participating. Maybe on Neptune — or Mars or Jupiter or even Uranus — that’s the way they do things, but on Earth, not so much, pallie. (By the way, I most definitely don’t wanna know how you do anything with Uranus.) On this planet, the Home Run Derby is for guys who are relative experts at hittin’ yard shots. Arrieta and Bumgarner? Pitchers. Damn good ones, too, but I don’t wanna see them pulling a rib cage muscle tryin’ to imitate Babe Ruth. Not Arrieta, anyway.

To me, the Derby is like the Miss America Pageant. Now I don’t know about women, cuz I’m a guy, but when guys are forced to watch the Miss America Pageant — and we all are now and then — we agree to it for one reason and one reason only; to see which babe looks the hottest. We don’t really give a crap about whether they can tap dance and juggle at the same time, or can give an intelligent answer to the question, “If you could be a hammer or a nail, which would you be, and why?” We just wanna see the swimsuit part — the part they’re really good at. That’s it.

MadBum and Jake are great pitchers and they’re fun to watch pitch. You might even say they’re good hitters … for pitchers. But if you wanna be in the Derby, you gotta be a great hitter, with no qualifiers. And … AND … you gotta do it with power, my friend. I’m about as interested in seeing them in the Home Run Derby as an evening gown.

CHRIS COGHLAN RETURNS TO CHICAGO. WHY?

June 10 · 2016 Cubs, Joe Sez, News, Trades · Chris Coghlan, Mario Mendoza, Shalamar, Theo Epstein

CHRIS-COGHLAN-RETURNS

Hey there, flap jacks. I freely admit that I’m not ever 100% sure what Theo is doin’. Hell, I’m not even 27% sure. But then that’s why he’s runnin’ the best baseball team in an 800 light year radius and I work in a sausage factory. I’m not complaining. Me and sausage are like Bert and Ernie, milk and cookies, Rogers and Hammerstein. But I think we can all agree that runnin’ the Cubs is a better gig, and definitely comes with the kinda fringe that puts my annual Christmas bonus case of red hots on the top of the shame pile. And hey, kudos to Theo. The Cubbies are treating the rest of baseball like a baby treats a diaper. Love it.

But this Shalamar trade with the A’s for Chris Coghlan? I don’t get it.

MAYOR GIVES A BLACK EYE TO LITTLE LEAGUE BASEBALL.

June 08 · Joe Sez, News · Jay Farquahar, Little League, Mayor of Monee

Wow, there are a lot of assholes in the world, aren’t there? On the world stage you got your Kim Jong-un and Vlad Putin (and I’m just scratchin’ the surface here). America’s got the mouth that roared, Donald Trump, and the mouth that lied, Shrillary Clinton. And much, much closer to home — practically peekin’ over the backyard fence — we got Jay Farquhar, the friggin’ Mayor of Monee. I’ll say this, though, the size of the stage has no bearing on the size of the a-hole.

A couple of days ago, Farquhar, while coaching his son’s Little League team, got so upset over an umpire’s call, he friggin’ broke the guy’s jaw … in two places. Full disclosure: I want to personally rearrange an ump’s face at least once in every game, but 1) I would never actually try to do it, and 2) I’m not talkin’ about Little League umpires. Take Angel Hernandez, for instance. If Hollywood made a movie about the guy, they’d call it “Legally Blind.” And … AND … he’s one of those narcissistic umpires that thinks every last one of the 40 thousand fans packed into Wrigley came for one reason and one reason only — to watch him call the game. Idiot. “Angel.” Pretty ironic name considering where he’s gonna spend eternity.

Sorry, I got a little side-tracked there. My point is that Little League is a place where kids are learnin’ the game. This is how you throw the ball, this is how you catch the ball, this is how you hit the ball, this is what you do in this or that situation. That’s pretty much it. There’s no room for Earl Weaver lessons, and even if there was, the worst that could happen is kids would develop a more complete vocabulary. But that’s it. To my knowledge, Baltimore’s over-caffinated firecracker never ever took a swing at an umpire. Farquhar? Breaks a guy’s jaw. You’d think a politician would be more diplomatic, right? I mean they’re supposed to be masters at the art of compromise. Yeah, they may be corrupt, they may speak outta both sides of their mouths, but fists are typically not part of a politicians party platform. Not this guy, though. And I don’t buy his claim that he was acting in self defense. What a pile of crap.

FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY, STING LIKE A BEE. GONE LIKE THE WIND.

June 07 · Joe Sez, News · Muhammad Ali

MUHAMMAD-ALI

Muhammad Ali.

There may be 6 or 7 people on Earth who don’t know that name … and that’s a liberal estimate. Muhammad Ali died last Friday. (I’d ask for a moment of silence, but silence and Muhammad Ali didn’t exactly go together.) Ali was a true heavyweight, and I’m not talkin’ about boxing. Life was his sport, and he excelled at it. Referring to his prowess in the ring, Ali used to say he was the greatest of all time. But his greatness wasn’t bound by the ropes, or his indescribable talent, or how hard he trained … not even if he won or lost. Ali was great because of his humanity, which is interesting because his chosen profession — boxing — has often been characterized as inhumane.

My first memories of this man were as a kid. My dad — who at the time continued to refer to him as Cassius Clay, as did the media — would rant about Ali’s conscientious objection to the war in Viet Nam and refusal to submit to the draft. I was way too young to know what was goin’ on. I didn’t know what the “draft” was, or where Viet Nam was, or why my Father wouldn’t call Ali by his chosen name. I mean, when he talked about John Wayne he didn’t call him Marion Morrison. Over the last 50 years, though, I figured out who my father is. Think Carlos Zambrano, only more so. I have to cut him some slack on this issue, though, cuz I also learned about the Nation of Islam and Elijah Muhammad whom Ali followed, and whose teachings included his claim that “the white man is the devil.” Men aren’t perfect. That includes Ali, and my dad.

IS THERE ANYTHING WRONG WITH THE CODE OF BASEBALL?

May 30 · Baseball Rules, Joe Sez, News · Buster Olney, Chase Utley, Noah Syndergaard, Rob Manfred, Umpires

Code: \ˈkōd\
1) a set of laws or regulations
2) a set of ideas or rules about how to behave

Codes, unlike rules, are often unwritten and informal. No official book. No company manual. No government-like posters in the lunch room. They’re phantom collections of understandings between members of a group. For example, Chicago has a hot dog code that says you never, ever, never, never ever put ketchup on a hot dog; there’s no law preventing it, but if you’re from the Windy City you just wouldn’t ever do that. And if you did, you’d have to take the extra-large ration of doo doo — justifiable, by the way — that your friends would dish.

There are other kinds of codes, too. Like, say, a code of ethics. That’s the kinda thing Hillary Clinton wouldn’t recognize if it jumped up and took a bite out of her pantsuit-wearin’ donkey. Another would be a code of conduct. Donald Trump couldn’t identify that one if it was sittin’ on top of whatever it is that’s already sittin’ on top of his head. But that’s not what’s at issue here. In November, yes. What I’m talkin’ about now, though, is a code of honor. Semper Fidelis is the Marine Corp version. It means remaining faithful to the mission, to each other, to the Corps and to country, regardless of whatever kinda hell is happening all around them. Even the Mafia has a code. It’s called Omertà, and it means you never rat on your friends, you don’t cooperate with authorities, and you keep your nose outta the illegal actions of others. If you’re a wise guy, Omertà isn’t something you wanna treat with a casual attitude; like Alfonso Soriano used to have in the batter’s box. You could end up wearin’ cement shoes. If you’ve ever seen Prince Fielder run, you’d know that’s somethin’ you want to avoid.

Which brings me to the point; that unwritten code in baseball that says if one of your guys takes out one of our guys — whether it’s a hard slide into second base or some chin music that actually hits a high note — there’s gonna be some kinda retaliation. It’s part of the game — even the sissified, pink tutu-wearin’, give-a-warning-to-both-teams version Bud Selig turned it into. When I was a kid though, if you did a Chase Utley against the Cards, for example, you’d have to expect Bob Gibson to attempt a little brain surgery on you the next time you came to the plate. Not givin’ someone a tit when they’ve obviously tatted you is just plain cowardly, my friend. It’s baseball, not figure skating, and if you’re gonna put on the uni it’s your duty to stick up for each other. Period. Plus, it adds a dimension of Omertà to things, cuz you never know when, where or necessarily who is gonna pay the price. Bryce Harper thinks flippin’ bats and admiring your own work at the plate makes the game more interesting? That’s just ego in a very jackassian sorta way. Throwing a 97 mph heater at a guy’s numbers, on the other hand, tends to start a conversation — one that uses ALL the words in the english language, and that sometimes ends up in a spontaneous all-team dance on the infield grass. Now that’s interesting, pallie. You can keep your friggin’ bat flip.

HOW OLD IS TOO OLD TO PLAY BASEBALL?

May 24 · Joe Sez, News · Big Papi, David Ortiz, David Ross, Ichiro Suzuki

PAPI-AND-ICHIRO

Baseball, like every other sport on the planet, except bowling, pool, arm wrestling and darts, is a young man’s sport. I’d throw in competitive eating, too, but 1) I’m not sure it’s really a sport and 2) the older you are, the more practice you’ve had so, technically-speaking, you should have an advantage. Take me, for instance. I money-back guarantee you that I can eat any 20-year-old you want into a coma. And the only thing I have in common with an athlete (other than Bartolo Colon’s waist line) is ESPN — I watch it and they’re on it.

Seriously, most highlight reel stuff in baseball is done by guys under 30. Mike Trout, Bryce Harper, Giancarlo Stanton, Clayton Kershaw, Andrew McCutchen, Chris Sale, the Chicago Cubs … I could go on. It’s a ridiculous list of super-human mutants that do wicked good, mind-blowing things with bats and gloves and arms with monotonous regularity. (Uh, that means “all the time”, White Sox fans.) Yeah, sure, I know … baseball has guys as old as rocks, too. Sometimes you see ’em in the dugout. Guys like Koji Uehara, R.A. Dickey, David Ross, the aforementioned Bartolo Colon, and A-Rod. (Those last two are jaggoffs … but so far, Manfred, in his one man quest to remake baseball into shuffleboard with a clock, hasn’t instituted any mandatory retirement age for jaggoffs. Yet.) But most old baseball guys, that aren’t in the booth, are scouting or coaching or managing other guys; younger ones who don’t make grunting noises when they get out of a chair.

A SOUR NOTE IN SAN DIEGO.

May 23 · Joe Sez, News · Buster Olney, Gay Men's Chorus National Anthem, San Diego Padres

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvSFul9Dksc

As far as the National Anthem snafu in San Diego goes, I’m thinkin’ everybody oughta step back for a moment, un-wad their panties, take a deep breath, count to 10 and get a friggin’ grip on reality before the entire sky (and the rainbow that’s in it) falls to pieces. Seems like one got away from them, rather than a decision on the part of the Padres organization to throw a little chin music at the Gay Men’s Chorus. I mean, seriously, is that something they’d do on purpose?

And how about the reaction by Buster Olney, demanding that MLB “investigate what happened with the National Anthem in SD and, if necessary, come down with full weight of discipline.” Geeze … how ’bout calling out the National Guard, Buster? Maybe a Senate hearing is in order. Perhaps a couple of years in Gitmo for the Padres’ front office. Nobody was kidnapped, held at gunpoint, or had their head chopped off. A little perspective would be nice.

Seein’ as how this happened at a ballgame, I personally think it shoulda been handled the way all bad calls are handled in baseball; The head Chorus guy shoulda got in the face of whoever was runnin’ the show on the field and given him his best Earl Weaver imitation. I mean right in his face — screamin’ and kicking dirt, and yelling at the top of his lungs (which gotta be like Lou Piniella lungs cuz the guy’s in a chorus, after all) and spittin’ on the guy until he got tossed. Woulda made for a much better show, and I’m pretty sure everybody that has anything to do with baseball would be on the side of the Chorus … but in a realistic way, instead of acting like Donald friggin’ Trump.

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

Joe

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

May 21 · Baseball Rules, Joe Sez, News · intentional walk, Rob Manfred

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.

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

May 18 · Joe Sez, News · Bartolo Colon, New York Mets

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!

May 17 · Joe Sez, News · Blue Jays, Joey Bautista, Rougned Odor, Texas Rangers

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MXON4JDuv7E

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