June 13, 2009
The Cleveland Indians won a game Thursday night when rock star Shin-Soo Choo smacked a single into a seagull grounded in the outfield in extra innings. In a city that has been eternally cursed by a water nymph residing in Lake Erie, this cannot be a good thing. Some sort a wicked retribution surely most follow, like Marty Schottenheimer being named head coach of the Browns again.
The fact that the seagulls have recently made Progressive “We Can’t Spring For a Good Looking Spokeswoman” Field their home is rather unsettling. How long will it be before those birds go all Hitchcock on the few remaining people who live downtown and tear their flesh from their bones with their dirty little beaks? Will Mayor Frank “Cool Hand Shady” Jackson be able to recover from the Ohio Supreme Court’s ruling against the City of Cleveland’s requirement for employees to live within city limits and muster a defense against the invading predators, or will he take to the hills with his fleeing work force?
Not so long ago, during the false revival of the nineties, the city had the chance to appease the Erie water nymph by constructing a large monument to burning Cuyahoga in the form of Ralph Perk’s bowling shoe topped by an eternal flame. The city declined, choosing instead to believe the past could be forgotten because some drunks were willing to consistently moor their boats outside some really rot gut bars. Alas, waiters and waitresses cannot sustain a tax base, and the window for redemption soon closed. John Hart went mad, the city willingly gave its hopes and dreams to the Lerner family, soon downtown the boards were back up, and the seasons began being tracked by the announcement of undisclosed injuries of members of the Cleveland Browns.
Now as Cleveland faces another exodus of tax payers as its workers scramble to the suburbs, perhaps the true Cleveland apocalypse is set to begin. A couple of years ago, the midges made the scene, now it is the gulls, just daring Indians’ employees to feed them Alka Seltzer so they can explode like martyrs in a fine red mist, setting in motion the next chain if events that will result in fiery destruction.
Or maybe the status quo will remain.
May 22, 2009
I knew victory would be denied in the Cavs’ series opener against Orlando the instant the blimp shot of a fully lit, but empty Jacobs “Progressive Can Suck My Bum” Field . Yes, the Indians were on the road in Kansas City, but there the Jake was attracting an array of flying insects because the Powers That Are in Cleveland feel the insecure need to showcase their city.
Just who do these clowns think they are fooling? Everyone knows downtown is a shit hole — the stadium lights of a not so new baseball stadium aren’t going to change that. People across the land aren’t going to say, “Wow, look at that cool baseball stadium! Honey, let’s vacation in Cleveland this year.”
If the city leaders wanted to properly showcase the city, images of prostitutes who have reclaimed their rightful turf around Jacobs’ Field would be shown. Add some shots of the long unemployment lines and decaying schools, then throw in the perennial orange construction barrels that are a band aid on the festering cancer of decaying infrastructure. Show the desolate Flats that once offered the false hope of urban renewal.
Burn, Cuyahoga, burn.
May 20, 2009
Kerry Wood 8.31 ERA, 20.5 Million Dollar Contract
Mark DeRosa .724 OPS, 5.5 Million Dollar Contract
These two are doing their best Dellucci/Borowski imitations.
May 19, 2009
As a recovering gambler, I rarely offer prognostications because “recovering” is a euphemism for “failed.” However, I think the Indians are about to rattle off some wins starting tonight in Kansas City — nothing empirical about this hunch; the Tribe stinks. However, I have a feeling they are going to rough up the Royals, including Mr. Greinke on Thursday. After that, it is a trip to Cincinnati, the town where happiness goes to be murdered by Guilt, Repression, and Self Doubt.
May 19, 2009
Much has been made of Tampa Bay’s manager Joe Maddon’s lineup card mistake that forced pitcher Andy Sonnastine to hit on Sunday, but Eric Wedge’s blunder went pretty much ignored. Wedge, in the midst of another hellacious bender, mistakenly penciled in Ryan Garko at LF and Mark DeRosa at first base. The move cost the Indians when the extremely immobile Garko lined up out of position and couldn’t get to a routine ball that turned into a double for Sonnastine.
“So what?” said Wedge after the game. “We would have only lost 6-5 instead of 7-5. Do you think that would have been a moral victory? Hell no — I would have still let Carroll bat in the ninth instead of Sizemore because I want to send a clear message to Grady: ‘If I am going to lose my job because of you, your pretty little ass can pick up some splinters on the bench.
We’re not in it to win anymore — this season is like a karaoke version of that interminable Don McClean song — music can’t save your mortal soul and moss doesn’t grow fat on a rolling stone. How is tripe like that still remembered while the genius of Soul Asylum is mostly forgotten? Frustrated Incorporated — now their is a lyric for this season. All you suicide kings and drama queens, forever after happily, making misery. That is what I am talking about, not some dreary dirge about Buddy Holly that won’t end. Buddy Holly was a pussy!”
This team is misery personified. We can’t pitch, and we can’t catch. We run the bases like LaRussa drives after a few drinks. The GM thinks we can put out the inferno in the bullpen with napalm. My prima donnas get upset when someone steals against us when we are down 9-0. Hello? No lead is safe with us; why should the other team just roll over, especially when we will give them a few extra outs a game? Sometimes I wish that Shapiro would just shoot me, but that will never happen because Dolan won’t spring for the bullets.
When told of Wedge’s comments, Dolan exploded. “Who does that anemic Grizzly Adams thinks he is? Buddy Holly died for our sins. Has he no sense of decency?”
May 15, 2009
Say what you will about soon to be fired Eric Wedge, but the man did run Milton Bradley out of town. Bradley is at it again, moaning that his suspension for making contact yet another umpire wasn’t reduced. From Bradley:
“I never get treated fairly. It’s just me. It’s exactly what I expected. I’m Milton Bradley. And you expect me to get crazy and throw stuff and do whatever. But I don’t do anything spur-of-the-moment, although it may seem like that. There’s a reason for everything, and things happen. And you move on.”
Milton, just about everyone of your batshit crazy incidents was spur of the moment. Yosemite Sam had powder kegs that were less volatile than you. Sure, in this particular incident, you just touched hat brims with the umps. Sure, that doesn’t get a normal player suspended. However, you are not normal; you have a long history of this type of shit, and the League is tired of it. You are about as pleasant as the thought of the upcoming Creed reunion album and tour — a polar opposite certainly, but the flip side of the coin. Milton, just imagine spending a couple hours with four vanilla white guys who don’t want to talk about anything other than forgiveness, rebirth, and their undying love for each other. Pretty frightening thought, eh? That is how baseball feels about you, so anytime you pull your batshit stuff, you are going to get spanked hard — such is the life of an asshole.
Speaking of Creed, just why does their lead singer. Scott Stapp, evoke so much hate from people? Sure, the band’s music sucks, the band is rather dorky, but this guy is treated like he raped the Pope’s puppies.
May 12, 2009
Lou Merloni launched a cruise missile into the Bud Selig “Let’s Blame It All On The Players” steroids defense with a very damning accusation that a Red Sox team doctor instructed players how to properly take steroids.
As more players get nailed in testing or have confidential test results released (Manny Ramirez’s record were leaked today) and feel the feigned wrath of the sportswriters, more players are going start talking to ensure they aren’t the only fall guys. In fact Donald Fehr should suggest his players to do this that — the code of silence needs to end to protect the players interests. All parties were complicit in the sham; why should one only be taking the heat for it?
Once the players and owners dirty themselves, they will point their fingers at the complicit sportswriters who nudged and winked their way to exclusive stories. These guys were silent for years, and now they are about to find out that the majority fans are very tired of the moral goose-stepping posturing from a bunch of whores who line up to get a spot on “Around The Horn.” The free buffet to find out quickly that the free buffet spread is not going to offer them much cover.
Once the above guilty parties are good and sullied, the proper attention can then be turned the fans who pretended not to believe anything was amiss. They were like twelve year olds who still believed in Santa Claus — they were old enough to know damn well that Jolly St. Nick was a farce, but played along with the scam because there was something in it for them — “Mommy and Daddy (Selig and MLBPA) told us Santa was real (steroids aren’t a problem); why were we supposed to believe otherwise? It can’t be our fault; we just listened to the adults.”
The entire mess is headed to its delicious proper ending.
The smoke between asleep and dreams
And in that clear blue undertow
I saw Royal City far below
Borders soft with refugees
Streets a’swimming with amputees
It’s a Bible or a bullet they put over your heart
It’s getting harder and harder to tell them apart
Days are nights and the nights are long
Beating hearts blossom into walking bombs
And those still looking in the clear blue sky for a sign
Get missiles from so high they might as well be divine
Now the wolves are howling at our door
Singing bout vengeance like it’s the joy of the Lord
Bringing justice to the enemies not the other way round
They’re guilty when killed and they’re killed where they’re found
If what’s loosed on earth will be loosed up on high
It’s a Hell of a Heaven we must go to when we die
Where even Laurel begs Hardy for vengeance please
The fat man is crying on his hands and his knees
Back in the peacetime he caught roses on the stage
Now he twists indecision takes bourbon for rage
Lead pellets peppering aluminum
Halcyon, laudanum and Opium
Sings kiss thee hardy this poisoned cup
His winding sheet is busy winding up
In darkness he looks for the light that has died
But you need faith for the same reasons that it’s so hard to find
And this whole thing is headed for a terrible wreck
And like good tragedy that’s what we expect – Josh Ritter
May 11, 2009
“I’m a broken man,” said Eric Wedge after the Tigers swept the Indians this past weekend. “The dream is over. I am astounded it ended like this. Slash a mentor on American Idol? How did it come to this? Rock is dead, man, just like this lousy team I manage.”
May 7, 2009
Going into tonight’s games:
Adam LaRoche was hitting .354/.446/.708 in Pirates’ wins and .146/.226/.271 in their losses. Tonight he went 0-4 with three K’s. Guess how the Pirates did?
Grady Sizemore was hitting .043/.185/.042 as first batter of the game and .150/.277/.225 to lead off an inning.
The Indians had been outscored 61-44 in the seventh and eighth innings. Instead of trotting out another lame arm, the Tribe moved Aaron Laffey to the pen and watched him pitch three scoreless innings.
Zack Greinke already had 104 Pitching Runs Created this season. Last year only seven AL pitchers had over 100 PRC for the entire season. The next closest pitcher in PRC in this season is Dan Haren with 43. Boston Ramon Ramirez has 31 PRC in 15.3 IP, which leads all AL pitchers including starters.
May 5, 2009
Dear Jilted Red Sox fans,
Manny Ramirez really didn’t like you. He thought you were a terrible lay, plus he faked 78.2% of his orgasms with you (he was thinking of someone else the other 21.8% of the time). Now he is happy that he is far, far away from you. This is all your fault. Now get over it and move on. Manny has.
Dear Yankee Brass,
How is that new stadium working out? Potential riots are always grand PR. Who was the doofus in charge that told his people to tell the fans last night’s game was called because of weather? You get the fans in the park and get them to blow their concessions money before you announce the game is called. Oh, you probably don’t have to fear the stadium finance subpoenas. After all, you would have never done anything improper. Getting the press angry at you was a sheer brilliance also. The world is tired of fluff pieces; angry scribes telling the world what a piece of excrement your new digs are will certainly draw fans who want to check it out to see if the reporters are wrong.
Dear Mark Shapiro,
Another fine job of building a bullpen. Go ahead and give us your annual lament about how hard it is to construct a pen. Meanwhile, your team blew its seventh save of the year this afternoon by giving up seven runs in the seventh inning. The good news is that your closer’s ERA (7.20) is slightly lower than your third starter’s (7.46).
Dear Larry Dolan,
One of the job requisites of a MLB general manager is to build a bullpen. Your guy in their now is woefully inadequate in this regard. We have seen this movie before, and it does not end well.
Dear City of Cleveland,
LeBron James will one day depart as all things good must leave Cleveland; it is a law of nature. The only type of people who stay behind are the invalid, Bill Livingston and you — and Bernie Kosar because anywhere outside of Northeast Ohio, he was the third best QB in his division when he played.
Dear Cubs fans,
1908.
