As we know, Chien-Ming Wang, who in better times would be regarded as merely a Dude Trying To Get By, was forced, by the fell and rank schoolmarm forces among us, to apologize for enjoying some harmless, well-intended hubba-hubba with a woman not his wife. As every Premarital Memorandum of Understanding states, sometimes a gentleman must marinade himself in strange ass in order to take his mind off the high-level business transactions that consume him during daylight hours. Thus it was; ergo, thus it should be.
But we’ll leave the decline of Western mores for another day. Instead, I would call the besexed reader’s attention to what follows, which is animated, real-live footage of the dark forces working against Wang and his efforts to share himself with the ladies of America and America-World:
Mike.
(HT: Eye on Baseball, a place you should visit without ceasing)
The FanGraphs crew is in beautiful, sunny, and warm Phoenix, Arizona. They’re watching spring training baseball, drinking brews, and doing what they do best: being unapologetic nerds.
Me, I’m stuck in freezing-ass-cold Toronto, chained to my frigging desk, and bitter about it. But I’ve been following the gang’s exploits on Twitter:
Also remember this: As you open gifts, force chestnuts down the gullet and nod off in the glow of a D-level bowl game, someone somewhere is dying and thus soiling an otherwise fine day.
by The Common Man - November 3, 2011
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If Vin Scully asked you to do something, would you refuse? Of course you wouldn’t. Not unless you were a God-damned Communist. You would do whatever the golden-voiced Vincent asked of you and you would not ask questions. It should be apparent by now that Vin Scully is our nation’s greatest treasure, and that to refuse him is to refuse America. “Why do you hate America?” I would ask if Vin Scully asked you to run out and murder a hobo and you refused. “Vin Scully has done so much for us, and you won’t do this one little thing for him?” Then I’d put your name on my list and I’d drop it off at my nearest police precinct as one of literally dozens of Stalinist-sympathizers who are still, even today, in our midst. I miss Joe McCarthy is what I’m saying. (Note: Joe McCarthy the Senator, not the Manager. Double Note: Of the US Senators, not the Washington Senators. Though the US Senators also play in Washington. You are smart people; you know who I mean.)
Anywho, Vince tests our devotion today in yet another early commercial for Gillette razors, in which you can see his magical powers of teleportation and miraculous ability to avoid commenting on Wally Moon’s eyebrow: Read the rest of this entry »
by Matt Klaassen - September 29, 2011
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Brayan Pena expresses the gratitude of millions.
I don’t know what the coverage of baseball was like last night for those of you in the U.S. of A., but up here in the Great White North sports coverage needs a bit of help with priorities. They were talking about games in Florida, Maryland, and other sordid little burgs, but hardly mentioned the story they should have led with: Bruce Chen‘s eight innings of shutout ball (somehow matched by Carl Pavano‘s nine) in Minnesota on an emotional night that might have been Chen’s last game in a Royals uniform.
We are all reeling from the emotional night at Target Field, but those who may have happened upon one of my FanGraphs chats know that this is particularly difficult for me. While I celebrate the greatness that is Chen, it is time to bid the meme him farewell.
by Matt Klaassen - September 26, 2011
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Believe it.
By now you’ve heard that legendary Marlins’ closer Leo Nunez (28) is actually Juan Carlos Oviedo (29). Eric Augenbraun has nicely filled in the details. It is a sad situation, and one hopes that Oviedo (who probably just didn’t want people back home in the Dominican to know he was playing for the Pirates and Royals) manages to resolve things and gets back to playing in the majors again soon.
However, the truth has to come out, and our crack Investigative Reporting Investigation Team has unearthed many other major leaguers players and even executives are working under assumed names. Read on for The Truth, and don’t say you weren’t warned. Your world may never be the same.
You happen across American Bad Seed Pete Rose in a Cooperstown diner. You follow him to his car and ask him for an autograph. He declines. What you do next will, in some ways, define you and how you handle the daisy chain of adversities found in this, our miserable existence.
Do you merely acknowledge that celebrities have no obligation to indulge our bizarre whims and return to your chili-cheese fries? Or you do heave the unsigned ball across the road — at traffic level — and into the woods where James Fenimore Cooper once played army, heel-turn, stomp off into the distance, and squeeze out a few shitty-baby tears? If you’re the guy captured below on live-action video, then it’s an easy choice …
At this late hour, I thought all of us knew that Mr. Rose would walk through hell in a gasoline suit before he’d sign something for free.
Today I have something in common with the idle rich. I am manifestly not rich, but I am now quite, quite idle. That’s because yesterday, after nine years of service — service that gave off every appearance of being loyal — FOXSports.com let me go. It was a budgetary decision, which allows me to fall on the less displeasing end of the somewhat blurry laid off/fired continuum. So that’s something. Right?
Anyhow, I’m not going to sit here and meow on and on about my grim circumstances. Plenty of people are much worse off, and I have cabinets full of canned goods, SSRIs and mind-altering spirits. I’ll be fine. Rather, I’d like to reflect upon some positives that have arisen from my new, blighted condition. To be sure, I have some regrets right now — no longer working with some terrific editors over at FOX is chief among them — but some things sustain me …
I now have more time to spend here and over at BBTF. I might also look into doing same with wife and spawn.
I have learned that commenters on any mainstream, high-traffic site are, almost without exception, drooling sub-morons. I shall now walk among them far less often.
Since I am no longer part of the FOX hootenanny, I can say without fear of reprisal that I don’t much care for the work of Joe Buck. I care even less for the work of Thom Brennaman.
The name “NewsCorp” has always creeped me out. It sounds like a place at which Winston Smith would work.
My wife has wanted, for some time, a pricey futon for which I do not see the need. Checkmate, wife.
My wife has wanted, for some time, a second child for which I do not see the need. Checkmate, wife. (Kidding, dear! Sort of … )
I look forward to a significantly lower tax burden in 2011.
Since I’ve long been self-employed, I can, despite my unemployment, still hang onto America’s Worst Health-Insurance PolicyTM.
I can watch more baseball, which is sort of the point, right?
Above all, I carry with me no hard feelings, and I still, in my own estimation, number among the lucky bastards of this world. And as with all things in life, an Internet meme provides guiding wisdom …
And now here’s major-league closer turned fearless opinion-shaper, Mitch Williams …
Not many beards these days say, “I was named for an Old Testament character, and I occasionally entertain the darkest of thoughts while churning butter,” but these two beards say exactly that. Can it possibly be a coincidence?
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