Red Sox Nation State of the Union

Posted on by Sean Sullivan · 1 Comment

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I am so sick of this sh*t. Every year, the Red Sox spend all this f*cking money to make a run at the Yankees and shut those overpaid sacks of sh*t up once and for all, and every year they get everyone’s hopes up, and every year they end up looking up the Yankees’ brown eye like a bunch of fairies dressed up like little girls. Well, they can suck my dick until it spits out Guinness if they want a front-row view of Yankee ass every f*cking year. For the love of Christ, we had a FIFTEEN GAME LEAD on those cocksuckers. And now it’s four? The f*ck!

It’s all that stupid preppie “rock star” piece of sh*t’s fault. F*ck you, Theo Epstein. Like having some fancy college degree means you know a f*cking thing about baseball. We had a great team in 2004, and you let it all go to sh*t. You think it’s not ironic that KEVIN MILLAR – Mr. Cowboy Up – stuck it to us yesterday? We’re still paying for that overrated sack of sh*t Renteria – thank God I don’t have to watch his lazy ass airmail another throw past poor Youuuuuuuuuk. Heard he’s doing great for those Braves f*cks, tho. Figures he’d hit now that he’s in the minor leagues. And now we got this Lugo f*ck, a guy that actually got caught beating his f*cking wife. Real classy. That’s like $20 million down the drain right there. Not like we’re the Yankees, and can pay over $20 million to have a juice-filled first baseman coming off the bench to hit juiced homers for us. Meanwhile, Han-Ram’s an MVP down there for the f*cking Marlins, and OC’s an MVP guy for the Angels. Way to go, Theo!

And the pitching. What the f*ck ever. Letting World Series hero Derek Lowe go was pure class. Yeah, we don’t need a 15-game winner. Yeah, re-upping that fat no-good Schilling was a great move. He’s f*cking done – that fat f*ck can’t go more than six because he’s so f*cking fat. Dice-K’s one plate of General Tso’s away from hitting his weight class, too. Konichiwa, french fries! And that “oh he’s so good” Clement guy, the one with the ball hair on his chin – where the f*ck did he go? Dude takes one off the noggin, and just goes to sh*t. F*ckin’ A, I saw Tony C take one right in the eye as a kid, and he just shook it off and came right back. Now these guys can’t put on a jockstrap before they get thirteen doctors to say they’re OK. What a crock of sh*t. I guess we should be happy we don’t have His Rogerness getting all that cash to teabag the other team, though I know Theo was this close to wrapping his lips around that fat hick’s sausage.

I tell ya, it takes a special type of guy to handle the pressure of Red Sox Nation. Everyone talks about New York being a tough town, but people that said that never had one of Boston’s finest shove a nightstick up their cornhole for using someone’s face as a streetsweeper. One of those f*cking twinkletoes outside the Avalon giving me that “how you like dem apples” sh*t after the Sox lost to the Royals. Yeah, I’ll tell you what is love, RuPaul.

And don’t get me started on this French f*ck. F*cking Gagne, ooh la la, Eiffel Tower and frog legs. Kick my ass, you fat hoser f*ck, eh? That Gabbard kid, he had something. He was like a young Aaron Sele, or Kevin Morton – he had guts, that kid. Gagne, the fat retard with the retard goggles, he only has a gut, and it gets in the way every time he grooves a pitch right down the f*cking middle. And f*cking Tito keeps on going back to him! Way to use your brain on that one, Tito!

So, yeah, this year’s shot. No chance. It’ll be the Yankees ONCE AGAIN because George spends the big bucks, and the Sox are playing like dogsh*t against teams that’ll gladly bend over for the Evil Empire. So for next year:

1) Resign Lowell to a 6 year deal. That guy’s everything good about the Red Sox, and he’s only gonna get better.
2) Trade that lazy f*ck JD Drew. Maybe the Marlins will take him & Lugo for Han-Ram and that Cabrera kid. Not like they know any better. We can throw in Kyle Snyder, too, just to sweeten the deal.
3) Ship Manny Being Manny the f*ck out. I am so sick of his garbage, and you know teams would love to have him. The D-Rays would love to jump on that sh*t. Get Kazmir and Crawford out of the deal, and I’d say we’re about even.
4) Sign Andruw Jones cheap, because he’s sucking sh*t this year, and the strip clubs in New England are awesome. Ask the Hit Dog!
5) Sign A-Fraud to a 10-year, 300-million-dollar deal, and have him ride the pine. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH F*CK YOU YANKEES! I can’t wait until that greasy old money-grubbing f*ck up and dies so I can pinch a loaf on his f*cking grave.

LOVE THAT DIRTY WATER!

Red Sox Nation presidential hopeful Sean Sullivan is proud of his nephews, and once split a six-pack with Dana Kiecker.

YARD WORK EXCLUSIVE: Bud Talks To Barry

Posted on by Bud Selig · 4 Comments

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FROM: buddymillertime@brewers.com
TO: barrybonds@effyou.argh
DATE: August 8 2007
SUBJECT: U AR AN ASSSSSSSteriskkk lol

ok BARRY the kid gloves thay are so off. you wanna know what I think BARRY? becaux i aint afraid of you BARRY LAMAR. ha BARRY LAMER AHAHHAHAHAH. i speak from the HART and MIND about what i want to sya to you. i dont hold back. i wont back down. nobody gonna break my stride. SOME PLELPE CALL ME MORISE!!!!11!!! wtf is ta pompetso ov luv nayway? nd whers my goddamn cowbell I NED MORE FARRLELELELY

ok first of all HANK AARON IZ STILL THE KING damn it i don’t care what any1 sez. i had to make him leavhe you that mssage about you being the kingg but thats STRAIGHT UP GABRABGE. i siad ‘hay hank just do it like nike so all those pro-rodis douchenozzles have nothgn to say 2u about thsi facre’ and he was like ‘i am happy to do yo ua favor befcuase you BUD SELIG COMMISSINSNIONER are myf FRIEND’ so suck on that bobble-boy. u gaiend what about 1939848 lbs when you went to san fran because you on the JUCIE and the CREMEAY SOFT SERVEE and ALL THAT STUFf from that plalce you and gary whent to backw hen you were swifeshwpapping and making miss kisss the sheff see god in theb utt with your steroid wang pimple OH WAIT DID I JUST GO THERE I THIKN I DID LOL. !!!!! yeah.

andn nyaway i don’t need stupid proof because everyone knows you are GUILTY AS SINNNNNNNNNNNN. THE POWER OFR CHRIST COMPELS U TO STFU!!!! yeah i dont need to clap like a seal looking for fish ARF ARF becuz you hit another rooid job off some expanshun tema looking piece of CRPA because your CRPA too. i dont need to tell you anything. i dont need to give yout he time of day if you were late for yoru own funerla punk ass bighead. you now what aI did tonight? I GOT WAASTED. wendys husband – a total bro, if you must know AN YOU MUST – brought over those new mikes hard lemonade coktail things and they werre so delish. mmm rachel ray i’d like to dunk yr donuts. yeha me amd mitchy baby are totally going to house you IN DAN HOUSE OF RPEPRASNENTATIVES like a lonely old bill sittng there on capitla hill. so i’m feeeeeleing real goood right and i got my drunk on and i got FULL ON YR MOM DUDE SHE LVEO ME LONG TIME LIKE A PIOLARID BICTURE. yeah buuuuurn shton kutcher is awesum

so ya i was hoping u’d like totally burn up all instantly because yur EVLI and i shouldnt hvae let streroisds get so bad but whathever its yr body. i don’g care about what you guyz do to yrslef even if kids mgiht get messe dup following what you do dooobie doo dododo dodododdo and mayeb hank did greenies but whathever its a sport and not real life so who cares except stupdo partenst that dont onkw theyre kid are ONG DURGSSSSSS

DRUGGGSSSSSSSSSSSSS

DARAGGGGGGGGUUSUSUGSUTUSUSSSSSSSSSS

that wrod has lost all its meanign

btu whatver dud im just witingg for a-rod juciy littl ebut to catch you and make you look like a chump becaus you know its coming and i cannot WAIT to put you in my dust wkake and LAFF when you get roid cancer and die.

ok later. pecae in the al east home skillet,,

bs.

ps – ha my initals are ironic like RAYAIAAIN ON YR WEDDIGN DAY suck deez ntus LAMRE
___________________
Sent from my iPhone

An Open Letter to Phil Mushnick And Other Critics of Mine

Posted on by Joe Morgan · 57 Comments

Dear Mr. Mushnick and other critics of mine:

I heard from some people that you, Mr. Mushnick, and the rest of my critics, are saying things about me that are very critical, so I want to address those things that people are saying. What people need to understand is that broadcasting a baseball game is hard work. It’s not like being able to type all by yourself in your lonely quiet writing place. You go out there live, in front of millions of people, and thousands of fans at the ballpark, and they hang on every word you say, and you have to say things about things that just happened on the field. It’s not easy, and it doesn’t get any easier when you get older. You have to think on your feet and analyze the situation, and then tell people what you think about what just happened, and why you’re right. It’s not a job for everyone, and people that haven’t done the job just don’t understand.

It’s always easy for people that aren’t doing the job to say things about folks that are trying to do the job they’re doing. A lot of folks think they know more than they know, and like to tell people that they’re right even though they don’t know. It’s like those folks that use numbers to figure out whether a player is good enough to play for their team. As I always said, numbers are only part of the story. In 2003, Barry Bonds averaged only 2 RBIs for every home run – he had to hit 45 just to get 90 RBIs. If he didn’t hit all those homers, then he wouldn’t have as many runs batted in, and he wouldn’t look as good on the stat sheet as he does. Barry’s teammate, pitcher Matt Cain, is another example. You look at his ERA and strikeouts, and you’d think he’s a good pitcher. But he only has 3 wins on the season, which tells me he doesn’t know how to win ballgames yet. Fantasy baseball owners, though, would love a pitcher like that, because he pitches well even though he can’t win games. That’s why running a team like a fantasy team is wrong. It leaves you with players that can’t win.

The same thing applies to baseball broadcasters, too. There are guys that look like they’re doing well when they’re not, and there are the guys that are very good but constantly criticized. Guys that can get trivia right, or can tell nice stories, are pretty good to have in a baseball booth, but baseball broadcasting is about the game that’s happening during the broadcast more than the games that happened before the broadcast. If I get a few facts wrong, or I forget something about a story I’m telling, then that’s OK to me. My focus is on talking about what’s happening during the game. The past is in the past, and trivia is just trivia. What’s happening in the now is the most important thing of all, because it influences what will happen next, and that’s what baseball fans want to know about.

If fans are really focused on me getting Luis Castillo’s former teams wrong, or not remembering when I drove in a clutch run in the 1960s, then they’re not watching the game for the right reason, and might not really be fans after all. It’s like if fans of your column, Mr. Mushnick, were reading your column simply to poke fun at it, or find out what you said that they think was dumb or uninteresting or totally out of touch with today’s lifestyle. Wouldn’t you be upset if there was a FirePhilMushnick.com website blog where people that you never met with weird names like Ken Stupendous and Coach Junior want you (and people just like you) to lose your job because they don’t like you? Wouldn’t you get angry because you’re doing the best job you can, and certain people that don’t know you and don’t want to know you continue to pick away at small things that you do that they think are wrong?

If I were someone that let my anger get control, I would fly into New York, find out where you live, run my rental car into your front door, punch you with my fists until you lost all your teeth, shave your head and legs, and make you apologize for being so rude and bald. But luckily, as you can tell from my picture at the top, I’m not an angry person at all. And it’s lucky for my rental car company too!

What I’m trying to say here is that making fun of someone for what they do is wrong, and it shouldn’t be done. People have things they do well, and things they can’t do well. Unless you’re in a position to talk about their shortcomings (like I am), you shouldn’t be allowed to say anything that might be seen as derogatory, especially if you don’t know what you talk about. This country was founded on the right to Free Speech, but it’s a right that you should only use when you know what you’re saying, and you can say what you’re saying with some authority. Otherwise, you should just be quiet and let smart people talk.

Sincerely,
Major League Baseball Hall of Famer and ESPN Sunday Night Baseball Commentator Joe Morgan

Barry Bonds: Cheater Cheater Steroid Eater

Posted on by Brett Tomko · 1 Comment

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You know what? I’m glad Barry Bonds is having lots of trouble break Hank Aaron’s all-time homerun record. Kinda hard to concentrate on hitting when everyone knows you’re a cheater, isn’t it, cheater? Must be super hard to get those steroided muscles swinging after a fat pitch when the entire world knows you’re a fake and a chump and a lying sack of lies lit on fire and stinking to holy heck! You’re an even bigger cheat than that Magna Cum Cheater, AJ Pierzynski!

I mean, look at what I did last week! I totally sucked! One hundred pitches through five innings? Forty three in the FIRST INNING? A broken pitching machine could do better than that! And what did Bonds do against me? He didn’t do squat, that’s what! Like, oooh, he hit a single! Hey, Barry – I’ve hit singles, too, and I can’t hit for a gosh darn!

What’s up with that? What happened to the big scary overrated slugger I had to put up with as a teammate in 2004? Oh yeah, that’s right – that kick-butt drug testing policy happened, that’s what! No wonder Barry was “injured” in 2005. Yeah, I’m sure his knees and back and hip and whatever old-man nonsense was “hurting” him really needed surgery. He probably got surgery to reduce his breast size! I mean, seriously – the guy had bodacious ta-tas that would make Dolly Parton jealous! And those knockers were rock hard! Seeing that dude in the shower was totally disgusting! If I’m going to be totally honest, I gotta say he had a really nice chair, though. The jerk.

But, anyway, yeah, everyone knows this record would be totally bogus if Bonds had it, and if the Baseball Gods were truly fair, they’d strike Barry down before he actually had a chance to break it. No one wants him to break it. His teammates are full of stuff if they say they’re supporting him, especially given what ex-teammates are saying. (Try denying THAT, Barry!) Pitchers would rather throw at his big watermelon head (and I mean that in a non-racialist way) than throw him a strike he can roid into the bleaches. Heck, the Padres sent the guy down that let Bonds tie the record. That’s just wrong. I don’t want to know what’ll happen to the stupid jerk that lets that other stupid jerk go yard – it’ll be like some rookie shaving-cream hazing meets The Godfather, but worse!

Bud Selig has all but said that he doesn’t want to be there, and I’d sure respect him a heck of a lot more if he just said so, but I understand he has to be diplomatic, which totally sucks. That sad-looking hands-in-pocket I-don’t-want-to-be-here pout thing he did, though, was totally the proper response – kudos, Commish. The fans sure as heck don’t want Bonds to have it – listen to them boo every time he comes up! Even the San Francisco fans are booing! Ask anyone that’s been to the games, like me! They’re totally booing! And even the announcers (who totally live for this kind of granstanding garbage) don’t want anything to do with it! Absolutely no one anywhere wants anything to do with this piece of garbage “record” now, thanks to Mr. BALCO.

It’s a shame that this had to happen to baseball out of the blue – all these folks, taking drugs to get better at something illegally. And it just snuck up on everyone! It’s like you turn away for a couple of years to go to college or get laid, and all of a sudden guys are jacking up 50 homers a year with guns that weightlifters would kill for, and shortstops and second basemen are going yard all the time, and even pitchers are homering twice a game, and suddenly baseball’s just no fun anymore, and a cheater’s on the cusp of breaking the game’s most treasured record. It’s enough to make you want to scream, “WHAT THE HECK?!?”

You know who I blame for this? The totally biased media. Think about it – they’re paying billions of dollars to broadcast these games, and what do they think makes games interesting? Home runs, of course. (The correct answer is “a pitcher getting out of a bases-loaded jam in the 5th inning,” but what do I know, I’m only a professional baseball player.) So FOX and ESPN start letting steroids seep into the game, and they start broadcasting things like, “HEY, LOOK AT ALL THESE HOME RUNS,” and then follows, as everyone knows, PROFIT.

And then when someone brave like Bud Selig – a true pioneer of baseball, a man with as much integrity as Barry Bonds has HGH in his entire body – stands up against these evil tyrants poisoning the sport, they’re all like “WHA HAPPEN? WTF OMG IT’S STEROIDS LOLZ ^_^!” and the media begins pointing fingers at baseball itself, and they sic Pedro Gomez on Barry Bonds like they knew it from the start. It’s all sorts of shady. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some cigarette-smoking dude sitting in Fox Sports HQ with Joe Buck, Tim McCarver, and a bottle of some really expensive booze, all of them smoking and drinking and laughing their butts off at all the stupid fans that keep paying for this stuff!

Mark my words – when it’s all said and done, this era of baseball is going to be like the 21st century Black Sox scandal era. The major media is Comiskey forcing his players to cheat, Bud Selig is Commissioner Landis trying to right the wrongs, the guys that’ve been writing about roids from the start are like that guy in the cool hat that sang in the train about throwing baseball games, and Barry Bonds is totally Shoeless Joe Jackson – one big stupid lying cheater that’ll get exactly what he deserves. I hope you and your mantits go to the super-hot heck you made for yourself, Barry Bonds!

In 2003, Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher Brett Tomko gave up 252 hits as a St. Louis Cardinal, the most allowed by any National League pitcher that year.

Rickey’s A Hit At First Base!

Posted on by Rickey Henderson · 4 Comments

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Look alive, chumps! It’s the return of Rickey! It’s like “Return of the Mack,” because Rickey is the Mack! Rickey is the Mack Daddy, the Miggity Mack, and the Miggity Miggity Miggity Miggity Mack Daddy! Yeah, Rickey likes to get down with some Kris Kross – when Rickey’s doing his daily regiment of push-ups and sit-ups (because that’s all Rickey needs to do to maintain Rickey’s pulse pounding better-than-a-teenager physique – exercise is the greatest PED of all!), Rickey likes to get a little “Jump, Jump” going. If Rickey were still playing today, I’d hire Kris and Kross back together to write Rickey’s personal at-bat music. But instead of “Jump, Jump,” it’d be something like “Run, Run,” or “Steal, Steal,” or “Walk, Walk”. Or maybe just “Rickey, Rickey,” because Rickey makes you jump jump! That’s right!

And even though Rickey retired, don’t think that means Rickey can’t play anymore. I can still play-coach, like that mop-haired gambling chump Pete Rose. Everyone talked about Pete Rose and Charlie Hustle, and everyone loved him messing up some catcher in some All-Star Game. But if you’re Rickey, you don’t need to hustle – you ARE hustle. And if that bow-legged bowl-cut chump can put himself in the lineup to hit a few singles to pad his career stats and win himself some spending cash, then Willie can put Rickey in to work the count, work some pitchers, work the crowd, and work the box score.

Rickey can coach even if he’s in the game! “Hey, you – go do that!” “Hey, other guy – don’t do that anymore!” “Hey, Shawn Green – sit your no-talent loafing ass the hell down!” That’s coaching! Rickey does that all the time, and Rickey can do it standing on 1st base just the same as Rickey would standing next to 1st base. Coaching is like falling out of bed, except you have to wear a jock. And I’m going to stop right there, because there ain’t no need making all you chumps jealous of what Rickey’s got stuffed in his immaculate jock.

But Rickey’s got the Mets jumping, that’s for damn sure. Since Rickey’s joined the Mets coaching staff, we’ve gone 13-7, and everyone’s hitting all of a sudden. Sure, some folks might want to give that credit to that Howard Johnson, because he’s the so-called “hitting coach,” but you know who’s wearing the hitting pants in this thing. Howard Johnson’s probably a nice guy, and I heard he could hit some homers and steal some bases, but he’s no Rickey. Rickey could’ve done 30-30 by July if he wanted to, but Rickey knew that getting on base and messing with those chump pitchers did more for the team than Rickey going deep and trotting around the bases. Rickey wasn’t made to trot. Rickey was made for three letters. Those letters are R-U-N, and that spells Rickey. But Howard Johnson, he’s an OK cat, and his hotels makes Rickey’s favorite pancakes!

If there’s one thing that Rickey’s not happy about (other than having to talk to that red ass LoDuca every damn day – boy will not shut up, and he don’t hit enough to be worth a damn talking) is Progidal Son of Rickey, Lastings Milledge. Rickey looked at Lastings’ numbers, and that boy’s been caught stealing FOUR TIMES already! And has only one steal! Rickey doesn’t like those numbers one damn bit. So Rickey’s going to take extra special care to teach Lastings the Commandments of Rickey. And I’m going to tell them to you folks, too, free of charge (because Rickey’s getting paid). It goes a little something like this:

1) Thou shalt not steal first base, because thou cannot, chump
2) A base cannot be stolen unless thou gettest thou ass on base (and don’t get thine panties in a bunch because this soundseth like #1, just shuteth up and pay attention)
3) Thou cannot stealeth a base unless thou believe that base is thine
4) The base thou shalt steal shall be stolen off of the pitcher, not that no-talent fancy-pants throwing-from-his-kneeseth catcher
5) If thou get picked off by a right-handed pitcher, thou ain’t worth a damn to anyone, and thou should get thine ass home to your momma before it gets kicked
6) Thou shalt be like Rickey, but thou cannot be Rickey, because Rickey is Rickey, and there shall be no other Rickey, because Rickey sayest so

Once I’m done with him, all those crackers talking smack about Lastings and his hip-hop and his bling-bling and his blackness are going to be loving every single inch of his hip-hopping bling-blinging blackness. New York’s just full of 5-foot-tall corny-ass Jewish Italian white folk with no hair and pot bellies that can’t stand to see the Mets do good and the Yankees do bad, so they gotta take their shots, and it’s easier to ride some kid out of town for being a little flashy than to actually do your damn job and REPORT the news. If Rickey was a sports journalist, Rickey would write the truth, because Rickey is about the truth. And even though Rickey’s just the all-time stolen base and runs scored leader of all time, and not some overweight jealous punk that couldn’t hit a ball off a tee, Rickey is still about the truth.

And the truth is – Rickey is the greatest!

Tears in Heaven

Posted on by Metatron · 1 Comment

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I am Metatron! Seraphic attendant! Divine scrivener! Etcher of heavenly wisdom in the scrolls of eternity! Mere prophet no more, but seated by His dispensation at His feet, ever attentive! Most fortunate and cherished intermediary, blessed to be the first to hear such phrases as emanate from the All-Emanating!

I am Metatron! And in this space not one hundred days ago, I offered such speculations regarding the ill-named assembly – yet best-favored among the heavenly host – the Los Angels Angels of Anaheim! And yea, grave were the doubts which were cast upon the team and its prospects throughout the season’s days. For whereupon it was observed that lo, while the valiant party of Anaheim may reach the postseason owing to the paucity of its competition, it had not the mettle of a true champion!

I am Metatron! And aye and woe be upon me for such lack of faith! The nature of my folly is legion, its depths as yet unplumbed! Aye and woe! For as of this warp in the ever-unfurling banner of Time, the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim have triumphed in 52 games, a total more majestic than any yet realized by their rivals, save the Boston Red Sox! They transcend the efforts of the surprisingly credible Seattle Mariners by nearly five full contests! They have proved themselves a team of the first rank, reducing my own carefully reasoned scrutiny to a heap of noisome ash! Aye and woe!

I am Metatron, and it pains me to invoke the twin afflictions of aye and woe in the midst of such triumphant striving by our favored squad! Aspersions were cast upon the offense, and lo, the team has scored 426 runs to date! Suspicions were laid at the feet of Gary Matthews Jr., and he has kicked them hence, back into our seraphic face! Doubts were invoked towards Kelvim Escobar, and he has transmuted those, my doubts, into this, my shame. O, my shame! I have not felt thee for three millenia, and yea, you do prick me today, and most poignantly!

I am Metatron! And in my angelic defense, I must note that in many particulars, my sight has been true! The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim yet forswear the home run! That same congress of sportsmen yet boasts no cleanup hitter! Bartolo Colon yet resembles in shape an immense gourd with legs, and has of late pitched no better than might such an aberrant vegetable! Lo, and further, Garret Anderson’s body has come undone! Lo, and further, Shea Hillenbrand required over 200 plate appearances to accrue five walks, five doubles, and three home runs! And yet, this company walks with the Red Sox and the Tigers among the fields of the elite! How so? Ay, indeed, how so?

I am Metatron! And despite my most majestic purview which extends from the time of the ancients until the moment of the very inscription of this sentence, I have failed to apprehend! I have failed to apprehend Casey Kotchman, suddenly translated by dint of some unearthly force into the upper eschelon of the league’s first baseman! Nor have I apprehended Orlando Cabrera, and the possibility that he might hit sixty points higher than his lifetime average! I have failed – utterly – to apprehend Reggie Willits, whom one would suspect of being possessed by the soul of David Eckstein, were David Eckstein’s soul not still ensconced within David Eckstein’s corporeal form! Nor Howie Kendrick! Nor Dustin Moesley! Though my vision extends to the horizons of earthly existence, I have failed to apprehend that which lay before my very gaze! For yea, they were all-stars before me, yet all I could see was Dallas McPherson!

I am Metatron! And there is but one explanation: The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim do embody a test! A test, yet, of acumen and faith, both! And in every respect, I have failed! I see now what the All-Seeing has seen since the first sight of His humble servant! I am Metatron, and I am unfit to offer discernments that flow not from the All-Discerning! Nay, my lot is to inscribe, and inscribe solely that which be uttered by the All-Uttering! Never must I waver from this charge! Never must I offer mine own counsel, no matter how wearied by the task of inscription! Eternal, endless, infinite inscription – I humbly welcome thee. I welcome thee truly, and most verily. Aye and woe, thou are no less than I deserve for my overweening pride!

I am Metatron!

Would that I were not.

Metatron has served as the scribe of God since 3094 BC, when he was assumed into heaven after 365 years of earthly existence as the prophet Enoch. According to jazz combo The Bad Plus, Metatron is the “Archangel of Karma, a dude you would like to have on your side.”

Justin Morneau is … Made In Canada

Posted on by Don Cherry · 3 Comments

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Hockey season is over and that means the youngsters in Kingston are just starting to put away their skates for the summer. A lot of folks around here had high hopes for the Blue Jays this year, but they’re only a .500 team so far. People are blaming that on injuries, but let me tell you kids something, injuries happen to all teams, good ones and bad ones. The problem isn’t with injuries, it’s with the Blue Jays. They’re nothing but a bunch of girls. Take Lyle Overbay. That guy like got nicked by a pitch and he’s out for four weeks!

It reminds me of one night in Detroit in 1994, I saw Eric Lindros put a hit on Sergei Federov that you just wouldn’t believe. Federov wanted to pass the puck because he wanted no part of Lindros and like all Russians, he was afraid of taking the hit. To all you kids reading out there, if you’re crossing the neutral zone on a 2-on-2 break, then either dump the puck in across the blue line or be ready to take the hit. All that ballerina stuff that they teach the hockey players in Russia doesn’t help when you’ve got a 230-pound forward barreling in on you. Overbay should talk to talk to Steve Thomas about the year he gutted out three playoff series with the Leafs playing with a broken clavicle. Overbay gets some bruise on his hand when the team is struggling and he sits for two months? How can you expect the team to count on a guy like that, especially in the playoffs?

Let’s not even discuss the Blue Jay pitchers. Chacin, Okha, all those other skinny Latin players play this flashy style because they want the American scouts to notice them. They never bothered to learn the game’s fundamentals because they were too busy doing backflips in the sunshine in Venezuela or Jamaica or wherever they’re from. Plus you’ve got BJ Ryan who is making, what, 50 million and now he’s out for the year. 50 million dollars to sit at home? And for what, Tommy John surgery?

When I played semi-pro ball back in the 50’s, nobody even knew who Tommy John was. We had this guy on our team, Jacques Houlain who was a real tough son of a gun. Most Quebecers don’t have any guts but not this guy. He had desire, he wanted to compete. He felt a twinge one night in his shoulder during a tough 2-2 game so he got the trainer to reattach a tendon during the seventh inning stretch. We ended up winning 4-2 and Jacques went the distance. These days, you’ve got this guy BJ Ryan who feels a bit tight in the shoulder one day and the next day boom, he’s not pitching until 2008. Give me a break.

Are there any good role models on this Jays team? You betcha. You know who’s a gamer on the Jays? Roy Halladay. That guy had his appendix taken out and was pitching about two weeks later. The doctors wanted him to sit for another month but he wouldn’t hear of it, he wanted to get back on the field right away. That’s the way the game should be played, the way we played it back in my day.

One day I got to the park with the rest of the Kingston boys and we heard that our opponents for that day, the Bracebridge Prairie Warblers, had been in a bus crash. The bus had turned over into a ditch and those guys were in bad shape. Well, not only did they show up that day, but they beat us 5-4. I’d never seen a tougher group of players in my life. Their star hitter, Miller O’Shea, turned up in time for the 9th inning after getting his leg put in a cast. He came straight from the hospital and blasted a pinch-hit homer to beat us. And people think that Kirk Gibson was some kind of hero.

I want to talk to you kids about Justin Morneau. Now here’s a guy out of New Westminster, BC, a real tough son of a you-know-what. He’s the MVP of the league, and most guys, when they win that kind of hardware, they get soft. They turn into prima donnas. Now here’s this guy Morneau, he’s involved in a collision on the field, and he doesn’t lie there like one of those Russian or Dominican athletes, he gets right back up and heads to the dugout. There, he starts coughing up blood. He’s the MVP of the league but he’s still out there on the field taking the hit, coughing up blood, and refusing to come out of the game. Kids, you don’t get to be that kind of player through coaching, it’s something you’re born with. It’s something you inherit by being Canadian and playing in Canada.

Even his manager acknowledged it, let me read you what he said. Listen to this, kids, his manager, Ron Gardenhire, said “when you see Morneau down on the field, obviously he doesn’t stay down very often. He’s a big, strong hockey guy.” If you think Morneau doesn’t have a passion for the game, you’re nuts. And you know what else I heard? I heard that the umps didn’t want to let him back into the game after they heard that he was sick in the dugout. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times. The umps shouldn’t be making those sorts of decisions that can impact the outcome of the game. You gotta let the players play the game.

In the meantime, I’m hearing about Miguel Tejada going on the DL after hurting his wrist. This guy had a games played streak of what, 1400 games or so, and he decides to sit after getting hit by a pitch. Here’s a guy who has this big streak on the line, his team is slipping in the standings, and he simply sits. That’s what happens when you take a Dominican player over a Canadian one.

Even the Americans can’t get it right, like with Chipper Jones who had to be begged by his teammates to return to the lineup when his club is in the middle of a tight pennant race. Morneau is an MVP and he’s begging to be out there, but Tejada and Jones are also former MVPs of their leagues and they’re practically running to the bench. They won the big hardware and they went soft. Now some people argue that Tejada’s team isn’t very good so he doesn’t need to be out there and risk getting hurt anymore. Tell that to Sidney Crosby, who was drafted #1 by a terrible Pens team. You think Crosby wanted the pretty boy treatment? Forget it, he worked hard every night and now he just finished leading the Pens to the playoffs and winning the Hart Trophy for 2006-2007.

I just want to give my best wishes to Justin Morneau and hope that he’s back to 100% soon. And I might be sour on the Jays a lot of the time, but you know I’m rooting for them down in Toronto. I want all you kids to make sure you go to a few Blue Jays games before the summer is out. Buy your tickets at bluejays.com and tell them Grapes sent you!

There’s No There Where?

Posted on by Michael Lewis · 2 Comments

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The champagne wasn’t dry yet — not quite — but the rough outlines of its work were clear: jagged shards of hair, curling improbably around the head of the Oakland GM like a crown of forked tongues, sticky and sweet. But how sweet? Only Billy Beane knows for sure.

I ask if this is vindication. “With a capital V,” he says, flashing the Churchillian two-finger victory salute. “Capital VIN,” he goes on. “Shoot, let’s go all caps: VINDICATION.” He sits back with a satisfied smile. Small payroll, big typeface. The look on Beane’s face suggests he could get used to that discrepancy.

The World Series victory of the 2007 Oakland Athletics in six games over the Atlanta Braves is sure to go down in history as the unlikeliest championship of all time, making last year’s fluke 83-win St. Louis champs look like a sure thing of Calvinistic proportions. It isn’t simply that Beane has assembled a championship team with the lowest payroll of any team playing today; he pulled off the feat with the lowest payroll in recorded history — in the ballpark of negative $7 million — thanks to some creative dealmaking that had several players paying the team out of their own pockets for roster spots.

Baseball experts have made a hobby of writing off Beane’s Oakland squad in years past, and the game’s pundits dined out for months on their measured opinions that the Athletics didn’t have what it took to go the distance. That was before the emergence of Travis Buck as an all-star outfielder. That was before the tidal wave known as Chad Gaudin emerged from the Oakland bullpen to swamp the American League en route to winning 18 games. When the ESPN personalities were swapping grinning bonhomie along with their picks for the season’s home run leader, no one mentioned Jack Cust, whose 47 round-trippers made him the first Athletic to wear the home run crown since Mark McGwire. If you’d mentioned Jack Cust to anyone in the baseball elite this Spring, you’d have been laughed out of the stadium. But Beane is the only one laughing now, in large part because his pet feline, Catteberg, is standing on his shoulder, licking the dried champagne from the short hairs at his temples.

The injuries to Nick Swisher and Bobby Crosby in late-June, thanks to a nightmarish on-field collision that resulted in Crosby inadvertently biting off one of his teammate’s eyebrows, would seem to have sounded the death knell for Oakland’s season. Instead, Beane was just getting started. Within a week the GM, who admits he slept for approximately fourteen hours over a twelve-day stretch, embarked on a whirlwind series of trades, dealing Joe Blanton, Lenny DiNardo, Shannon Stewart, Jason Kendall, Hiram Bocachica, Alan Embree, Kiko Calero, Marco Scutaro, Jay Witasick and Erasmo Ramirez to a variety of AL and NL opponents, frequently packaging all or most of the players received in another trade mere hours later. The American League Registrar’s office is still sorting through the paperwork, but it’s believed that upwards of 60 players passed through Oakland’s roster within a two-week span, including Orlando Hudson, Carlos Lee, Austin Kearns, Jose Vidro, Aaron Harang, Steve Trachsel, Jason Bergman, Brett Tomko (twice), Joe Borchard, Kelly Shoppach, Jose Guillen (three times), Juan Encarnacion, Neal Cotts, Elmer Dessens and Terry Shumpert, who left the game in 2003 but whom the Colorado Rockies apparently believe is still capable of filling a utility role.

The refurbished Oakland roster, including Mike Redmond, Aaron Rowand, Josh Willingham, Jon Garland, Jarrod Washburn and — coming full-circle — Marco Scutaro, might never have made the playoffs, save for Beane’s willingness to take chances on prospects far outside the mainstream. It wasn’t only the long-suffering perrenial castoffs such as Roberto Petagine and Benny Agbayani that seized their moment in the sun to propel Oakland to its first championship in 18 years. It was also Hollywood C-list mainstays Charlie Sheen and Dean Cain, both of whom proved more capable on the field than on the set. While the major league veterans were initially dubious of the pair, Cain quickly won converts with his surprisingly compact swing, while Sheen showcased a biting forkball he had developed over the recent production hiatus for Two and a Half Men.

Of course, all seemed lost when Rowand, after logging a mere three weeks in an Oakland uniform, went down for the season after hurling himself over the wall in Tampa Bay in pursuit of a B.J. Upton home run, his ruptured spleen (suffered during his landing on a variety of landscaping implements stacked there by the grounds crew) an apparent metaphor for Oakland’s playoff hopes. But again demonstrating uncanny outside-the-box tactics, Beane coaxed out of retirement the still rifle-armed Dwayne Murphy, who made his first start in an Oakland uniform in nearly twenty years at age 52. And in fact, the Murphy-to-Chavez-to-Redmond relay that cut down Grady Sizemore at the plate to clinch the AL pennant for Beane and the A’s has already been etched in Oakland lore.

The terms of the debate have been re-imagined, the rules of the game forever altered. Beane may have decamped to the still-jubilant Oakland clubhouse, joining Agbayani and Gaudin in an impromptu victory hip-hop freestyle (Beane rhymes “World Series” with “sabermetric theories” to much applause), but the quest to build his perfect team knows no expiration date. At 1:30 A.M., when the victory party has moved on one of several Bay Area night spots (before finally culminating in Sheen’s suite at the Marriott Oakland), Beane’s radar is still tuned to frequencies no other baseball executive can grasp. Yammering on his cell phone in the midst of a crowded dance floor, Beane barks questions to his scouting director Eric Kubota, calling from Dubai with information about Oakland’s newest prospect, Karim Al-Makri.

“He’s nineteen,” Beane later tells me, downing yet another vodka and Red Bull. “An apostate Sufi mystic playing in the Caliphate League. Can he hit? I don’t know. Can he field? Couldn’t tell you. But in three years of professional ball, he’s taken one called strike. Just one. Kubota says this kid has the most profound understanding of the strike zone since Ted Williams. We’re signing him tonight.”

I ask if I’ll see Al-Makri on Oakland’s 2008 World Champions.

Beane shrugs. “We’ll see in spring training. The kid’s still got to outplay Marco Scutaro.”

Michael Lewis is a good sport about how much better his life is than yours, particulalrly in regard to his being the author of bestsellers Moneyball, Liar’s Poker and The New New Thing, his residence in the south of France, and his frequent doggie-style couplings with former MTV News babe Tabitha Soren.

Tangled Up In Blue No More

Posted on by Sal Fasano · 1 Comment

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oh canada
my lone and furtive brow
stands en garde against thee

the fifth definition
of release:
“to relieve of care
and suffering”

no more will i
care to suffer
amongst your tired
and poor
millionaires

your first round
draft coterie
of light-chargers
is for the birds

and if you don’t trade
troy glaus
then you are as dumb
as you may think i am

but i have left
canada

where are you now
toronto?

Catcher Sal Fasano has been on eight Major League teams in ten years, and wants to punch Billy Collins in the nards.

Red Sox on a Roll Thanks to Role Players

Posted on by Richard Griffin · 1 Comment

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The hallmark of any great team is its bench. As long as you have guys who can show up and rake on a moment’s notice, then you have a chance to compete. The gamesmanship of those hard-working benchers is what makes the difference between a great team and a merely good one.

In that respect, the Red Sox’s most recent series against the Arizona Diamondbacks may go down as one of their most important of the season. That’s because Eric Hinske earned crucial playing time, seeing action in all three games. It was a break from his usual routing of waiting patiently on the bench, night after night, eagerly anticipating his chance to contribute. He’s always been known as a reserved, introspective player, but when it comes to his role on this Red Sox team, Hinske is uncharacteristically outspoken. “I wish I had more playing time” says the 2002 Rookie of the Year winner-turned disgraced role player, “but the team is looking so strong right now. We’re playing well and hope we can continue to play well.”

It’s obvious that Hinske feels grossly underused, and his frustration has finally bubbled over into such a vicious slam on Red Sox management. Obviously the Eric Hinske who currently rides the finely polished, 140 Million dollar pine for the Red Sox is a different man from the Hinske who briefly starred for Toronto before being railroaded out of town by GM J.P. Ricciardi and his band of merry brown-nosing “Moneyball”ers. This new Eric Hinske is a man of more finely tuned resolve, one who is more inclined to speak his mind.

Red Sox fans had high hopes that this would finally be the year for them to unseat the Yankees in the AL East and regain the division crown after 17 years in the losers’ wilderness. “We’re looking good in the standings right now,” Hinske intones, “but there’s a lot of baseball left to be played. It’s a long season and we have to play hard the whole way through, all 162 games.” Despite his confident demeanour concerning his team’s fairly solid play to date, cracks in Boston’s armour have been propagating for weeks, practically from the first day of the season.

The Red Sox have staked their season (and a large chunk of their payroll) on Japanese hurler Daisuke Matsuzaka. He has received a huge amount of hype, but the jury is still out on whether he can withstand the long rigours of the grueling American baseball season. Japanese seasons are far shorter, and they don’t have to pitch in the bitterly cold playoff weather that the Red Sox will have to contend with if they are still playing baseball when October rolls around. For all of Red Sox Nation’s ballyhooing, they’d be best to remember that Far East pitchers have compiled an MLB legacy that, to date, is less than sterling. The list of Hall of Fame-worthy Japanese pitchers contains approximately the same number of names as the waiting list of Paris Hilton’s potential cellmates. If you haven’t figured it out by now, that number is zero.

Other question marks include Josh Beckett, the oft-injured hurler who the Red Sox counted on to fill future Hall of Famer Pedro Martinez’s shoes. They refused to resign Pedro and predictably enough, his replacement Beckett has already made yet another trip to the DL in 2007. Meanwhile, Curt Schilling’s lack of focus continues to haunt the team. Instead of concentrating on his pitching, he’s too busy posting to his blog, engaging in message board feuds, and launching ad hominem attacks on people like noted steroid thug Barry Bonds.

And that’s just the starting rotation. The Red Sox lineup contains an equal number of question marks, from the wasted time and money spent on free agent bust JD Drew, to the sagging leadership of broken down catcher Jason Veritek, to the weak start of perennial headcase Manny Ramirez. Boston’s balloon can pop on just about any given day.

Still, there’s an element of truth to what Hinske says. It’s a long season, and the Red Sox will discover what that means soon enough. Take this week, for instance. Boston has lost six of ten in struggling to build on its sizable lead in the AL East and as of this writing, their lead has withered to 9.5 games over the defending division champion Yankees. Interleague play continues tonight as they take on the surging Rockies, and later in the week, the always dangerous Giants.

“I enjoy interleague play,” continues Hinske, “the Rockies and Giants play hard and hopefully we can come away with some wins.” Despite Hinske’s smug bravado, the Red Sox are fortunate to have a player like him on their roster. It’s clear that the Red Sox with Hinske are a better team than the Red Sox without Hinske. If the Blue Jays had held on to him then they might be faced with better bench options than the unproven Howie Clark and his one measly extra base hit this season. But in Boston, unlike in Toronto, there is room for improvement with the talent they already have, and Eric Hinske’s talents bring the Red Sox one step closer to being a complete team. For a team who haven’t won their division since 1990, they’d be best to not rest on their laurels.

Richard Griffin begrudgingly covers the Toronto Blue Jays and all the other baseball news that’s fit to print, each week in the Toronto Star. Each Wednesday, he will even answer any baseball-related questions you might dare to have.