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.
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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.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3niGu9d_pY
The other day, I made a wise crack about the play the White Sox made at first base which, I admit, was pretty awesome. Mark Buehrle chases down a ball up the line and, on a dead run, scoops it to Konerko between his legs to nail Eric Hosmer at first. Highlight reel stuff.
Nonetheless, seeing as how it’s against my religion to say anything nice about the White Sox, I went to their Facebook page and posted the following comment: “BFD. When your right fielder pegs a guy at third with that kinda throw, then pop off. The class of Chicago plays at Clark & Addison my friend.” Figured I’d see if anybody on the South Side had any detectible brain activity. That, and the fact that I absolutely LOVE poking Sox fans cuz they’re so easily agitated. Not sure why that is, but rumor has it it’s the cheap material in those Victoria’s Secret panties they like to wear for good luck.
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One of my favorite things about baseball is that no matter how long you’ve been following the sport, somethin’ happens in most games that you’ve never ever seen before. I used to think this applied to everyone but the Cubs, cuz year-in and year-out, you could pretty much count on tomorrow’s game being a carbon copy of today’s game, which was a bona fide duplicate of yesterday’s game; another notch in the loss column. Not any more, pal. Last year we took a major detour from the yellow brick road, and this year … well … this year we fired up the John Deere, set the height to “zero” and have been mowing down anyone and everything in our path. In that regard, I guess we’re still sorta monotonous, but in a really friggin’ good way.
So anyway, yesterday I’m watchin’ us against Pittsburgh, right? It’s early — just in the 2nd — so the wheels haven’t come off the Pirate ship yet, when a grounder gets tapped up the middle. Lester grabs it (nice job). But now he’s gotta throw it to first and, as we all know, that can definitely present some things you’ve never seen before … like the ball ending up in Section 134. But this time, it’s so friggin’ jammed in the webbing of Lester’s glove, he can’t get it loose. Unbelievable. But does he panic? Hell no! He wads the whole thing up — mitt and all — and heaves it to Rizzo for the out. Now I’d never seen that before, but here’s what really blew the foam off my medicine: The same two guys (Rizzo and Lester) did the exact same thing last year — almost to the day — at Wrigley. I don’t know how the hell I missed it. I coulda been playin’ hide the salami with the missus, which is about the only thing that can throw me off my Cubs game. Who could blame me?
I’m not sure what this does to my theory about something new happening in every game. For those of you that saw it last season, it doesn’t hold. But for those of us who missed it due to a land slide or tornado or some other force of nature — oh … it was a force of nature, alright — it was new to us this time around. Anyway, it was such a genius move it was worth a little deja vu all over again. In Yogi we trust.
Joe
PS. You wanna see something you’ve never seen before, and that will make you get down on your knees and pray you never ever have to see again? Take a look at Lester’s post game attire. A fashion “don’t” of galactic proportions, it illustrates the single most amazing achievement in all of sport: A blind man can pitch in the Major Leagues. No wonder the guy can’t throw the ball to first base. He can’t friggin’ see it.
Hey there, cheese puffs. As I look back on the first month of the season, I think it can best be summed up by channelling a little Harry Caray: HOLY-FRIGGIN-COW! I mean, that was like the Kate Upton of opening months! Sure … maybe there’s a freckle here or a hair slightly outta place there, but pretty much you just wanna sit back and dream about it, and hope you never wake up.
It was the best start we’ve had since 1907. 1907!!! For example, in a measly 84 games ahead of last year’s pace, the Cubs reached 10 games over .500. We outscored our opponents by like 3,000 runs. I exaggerate, but you get the point, right? How about the bats? And the staff! Arrieta was named National League Pitcher of the Month. Duh; 5-0, a 1.00 ERA and a no-hitter (against Cincinnati, which made it all that much sweeter). Go ahead … try and find a weakness, pal. There ain’t one. I’d like to point out that we did nearly all of it Schwarberless. Can you begin to imagine what April woulda been like if Schwarber was healthy? They woulda had to add “Cubs” to the Richter Scale.
If I could point to anything that would benefit from a little of Schwarber’s best Babe Ruth imitation, I’d say it’s Stephen A. Smith. This guys is a wind bag of Bruce Froehming proportions, and proved it beyond any doubt when he accused Arrieta of juicing. (He said he wasn’t ‘accusing’, but then went ahead and put it out there. Call it what you want … that’s a full-on accusation.) What a colossal pin head! If the guy knew anything about Arrieta, his work ethic and the adjustments he’s made to his mechanics — in short, if he’d done ANY research at all before shooting off his pie hole — the thought of juicing would never have crossed his itty-bitty microscopic mind. But that woulda meant actually doing some work, which would take away from running his turbo-charged, noise box. Personally, I don’t think a guy who’s been slammed by his colleagues for sexist comments, and who was suspended by ESPN for essentially saying that some women bring domestic violence on themselves, oughta be throwin’ any stones from his glass house. In fact, how the hell does he have a friggin’ job when Curt Schilling doesn’t? Makes no sense.
So, except for Stephen A. Smith (and, yeah, I think I know what the ‘A’ stands for) trying to piss on our parade, April was about as killer as it gets. Let’s hope May is the same.
Joe
For a loud mouthed guy from Chicago, I’ve been conspicuously silent since Curt Schilling threw his wild pitch the other day. The missus asked me if I could be like that more often … and on stuff that has nothing whatsoever to do with Schilling, or gas station bathrooms in North Carolina. That reminds me: Mets fans, please don’t eat the urinal cookies.
As far as ESPN brooming Schilling, I look at it in kinda the same way the Cubs handled that human IED, Carlos Zambrano; no shortage of talent, but a total friggin’ disaster waiting to happen. And eventually, it did. Ka-BOOM! To ESPN, Schilling had become a problem that had to be dealt with. But ESPN’s real problem is they’ve got too many lawyers, and not enough nuts. What ever happened to “The opinions expressed by whoever are not necessarily those of this station or its management?” Plus, it’s not like he walked onto the Monday Night Baseball set wearing high heels and a pencil skirt to make his point. He reposted a tasteless photo — yes, it was tasteless — on his personal Facebook page, with his own commentary. The hypocrisy at ESPN is staggering. They flush Schilling, but still fawn over serial hole-chaser (of the non-golf course type), Tiger Woods, like he’s the Dali friggin’ Lama.
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This play has been making the rounds on social media like Yasiel Puig just cured cancer and balanced the federal budget. On the same day. Most every comment I’ve read makes this throw — which, I admit, did nail the guy at third — into something other-worldly; like God himself breathed some sorta biblical power into Puig’s arm. My charitable side, if I had one, would assume these guys never saw Roberto Clemente, Fred Lynn or Reggie Jackson throw a ball from the wall — not 20 feet inside the warning track— to nail a guy at 3rd or home. Happened all the time, my friend, and I saw plenty of them myself. Even Chicago’s own hero-turned-juicer, Sammy Sosa, woulda made that throw better than Puig.
I saw Puig’s throw the night it happened. Who didn’t? ESPN and every other jock sniffer on the planet ran it to friggin’ death. Hell, Jennifer Aniston could walk down Michigan Avenue stark-friggin-naked and she wouldn’t get that kinda coverage. (By the way, if she ever does that, I’ll be checkin’ off number 3 on by bucket list.) But like I said, I can’t argue with the end result; Puig nailed the guy. It’s the way his throw was characterized — by sportswriters, no less — that’s chaffing my backside. It was called “a laser” to third. A laser? Look … I may be closer to a Christian Scientist than a rocket scientist, but I’ve seen enough Star Trek to know that lasers don’t come in “rainbow”, which is exactly what that throw was, pal. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought the game was in St Louis with that kinda arch.
Anyway, while we’re busy dipping Puig’s arm in bronze and adding a wing to Cooperstown to keep it in, let’s try not to crap all over the guys that perfected the art of the cannon shot from deep right center. Have a little respect for the game, and the guys that made it great by doing the impossible, not just flippin’ bats and shit.
Joe
Of all the mind-numbing things that I couldn’t possibly care less about, we have the 4,327th reason why baseball kicks football’s ass; Deflategate. Does anybody with an IQ higher than a door knob really give 2 craps if a little bit of air was sucked outta some footballs 2 Super Bowls ago? That’s like still arguing about a bad call at second base in a 11-0 game from 2014. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, we’ve added 2 or 3 trillion dollars to the national debt over that period of time! A stark raving lunatic or a pantsuit-wearin’ pathological liar are likely to be president! And the Cubs are the hottest team in baseball! But the geniuses at NBC think we should care about a little air in some balls?! Gimme a break.
Who is it that makes these decisions? I swear, if you could wire together the brains of everybody in the NFL and everyone sittin’ above the mezzanine level at 30 Rock, you couldn’t power a 10 watt light bulb. If Roger Goodell and Tom Brady wanna keep swinging their itty bitty man parts at each other, I say let ’em. But do we really need to hear about it on the national news? Cuz if we do, maybe we should also get the Wenatchee River steelhead count, and live coverage of the Cheese Rolling Festival in Brockworth. It’s not news, people.
I guess if you’re a Patriots fan, maybe you think it’s news. But if you’re in that part of the country, I’ve got some news for you; IT’S FRIGGIN’ BASEBALL SEASON! You should be thinking about Big Papi, Pedey and the Sox. Or at least Gisele, who is like a set of those special radial tires; “all season.” So, puh-leeeeeeeeze, can we bench the Deflategate noise already? Nobody gives a crap.
Joe
As noisy as the Cubs bats were tonight — and it was like a friggin’ Linkin Park concert on steroids — they couldn’t quite drown out the silence of Cincinnati’s, who failed to produce a single base hit (not a little squib, not a dying quail, nothin’) against the super-hero arm of Jake Arrieta. You’ve heard of the zone? Well, wherever the hell that is, Jake’s smack dab in the dead center of it.
To be honest, I felt a little sorry for Cincinnati tonight. I mean, not sorry enough to feel bad; sorry in a way that I wanted to spare them the embarrassment of stepping into the batters box against this guy right now. Plus, it was just a colossal waste of time. It woulda been easier for everyone if, instead of stepping into the batters box, they just penciled in a strike out, or weak ground ball or pop out in the score book and then headed back out on the field. (Probably would have made Rob Manfred, MLB’s official time-keeper, happy.)
Likewise, instead of pitching to the Cubs tonight, it woulda been easier if Finnegan had just turned around and thrown the ball into the gap, or over the fence or something. 16 runs on 18 hits. In tennis that would be called “abuse of ball.” Love it.
I feel like I oughta be drooling over the offensive production more, and normally I would. But holy crap!, Arrieta has 2 no-no’s in his last 11 regular season starts. And … AND … the Reds haven’t been no-hit in the regular season since 1971, which I’d guess is long before most of you were born. That’s 7,110 games.
And tomorrow, we get to play these guys again.
Joe
Normally I would just let this slide past me, since it seems to be a relatively frequent occurrence these days … kinda like how I don’t pay attention to whatever idiotic thing just came outta The Donald. But one of these teams was the Cubs, so I gotta put in my 2 cents. And that’s this:
The utter stupidity of some Little League coaches (and some Little League parents, for that matter) never ceases to make me wanna secede from the human race. I’ve been around baseball since I was in diapers, so I’ve seen my share of this kinda thing. Like I said, it’s not that uncommon. What’s uncanny, though, is that every damn time — at least it seems like it — the eunuchs involved are the sorta loud-mouthed know-it-alls that have as much useful knowledge about baseball as I do about string theory and particle physics. I money-back guarantee you that’s the case here.
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