One Loss After Another

Twins - 4
White Sox - 1

So the Sox lost again, this time to the Minnesota Twins. No surprise there. Two more games of this pinballesque nonsense and we can all move on with our AL Central lives.

But that's not the big news of the night.

Say it ain't so, Joe. Sox beat reporter Joe Cowley of the Chicago Sun-Times is declaring via his Twitter feed that Jim Thome has waived his no-trade clause and is being shipped out as we speak. To where? I'm not sure. And for what? Who knows.

According to MLB Trade Rumors, the White Sox sent out a list of available veteran players in a league-wide memo. Besides Thome, it reportedly included:

1. Paul Konerko
2. Jermaine Dye
3. Scott Podsednik
4. Octavio Dotel
5. Scott Linebrink
6. Jose Contreras

Good luck getting rid of 3-65. Hopefully there's someone out there who's dumb enough to give up something for them. I've got to assume that this latest front office flare-up is Kenny's way of saying that he's putting the nail in the 2009 coffin; it's a perfectly reasonable reaction to this team's play over the past few weeks but especially this road trip. 1-7 now? No fun there.

Jim Thome was a great Sox player. He really, genuinely seems like a kind, down-to-Earth guy. Hell, he grew up in Peoria... so without baseball in his life he'd probably have ended up a farmer or a truck driver. To the best of my knowledge, he never caused any problems for the White Sox. I've only witnessed him get tossed from one game, and it was because the umpire was definitely full of shit. If Jim Thome's arguing with you, you're wrong. And also full of shit.

I hope he hits 600 home runs. He's got one of the sweetest swings that I've ever seen in my life. Even when he was with Cleveland, and killed the Sox, I actually enjoyed watching him hit. And whenever he comes back to US Cellular, if he gets to, he's going to kill us again. And I'll cheer for him. I don't suspect that his name will ever show up on any PED-positive list. He's always looked like a lumberjack.

Jim Thome is a future member of the Hall of Fame. He's a good guy, a great ballplayer, and (to me, anyway) is one of the best examples in today's world of how a professional athlete should hope to conduct themself on and off of the field of play.


Vaya con dios, Slugger Jim. You were good.

-=-=-

11:28PM - Cowley updates: Thome sent to Dodgers with cash for 2B/SS Justin Fuller, Contreras sent to Colorado for cash and AAA pitching prospect Brandon Hynick.

You Can Put It In The Bag... YES!

Over the weekend, I was (fortunately) too busy to take in the latest installments of the White Sox answer to water torture. Thank God. As was easily predicted for Saturday, Contreras shat the bed for what will apparently be the last time as a starter (heard that before)... but on the less predictable side, the Sox bats were completely shut down by the ironclad combination of... Sergio Mitre... to... Chad Gaudin...

...

Really? Did you ever see Chad Gaudin's facial hair before he was traded to the Yankees? It's actually a stroke of good fortune for everyone who has to watch him pitch that he was traded there- they only allow their players to grow mustaches, if I'm not mistaken. Chad Gaudin's value as a pitcher is at the point where the Cubs couldn't find any use for him... and he shut down the Sox. Fantastic.


"Look away, Jerry! I'm hideous!" - Cosmo Kramer




Then, on Sunday, I was spared the sight of Joba Chamberlain taking the bump against my team, which is fine by me. Joba is one of a few pitchers who I'm quite confused by. He's incredibly, incredibly gifted as an athlete... but his behavior on the mound is just off the chart in terms of how obnoxious it is to watch. I do not, and will never, understand the whole "aggressive pitcher screaming into glove" movement that seems to have taken a hold here sometime in the past few years.

I understand adrenaline. Yankee Stadium is ridiculously huge, you're a major league pitcher, the bright lights are all on you, it's loud, you're getting paid millions of dollars to entertain the masses... excitement is quite understandable. You're facing physical specimens and freaks who are also paid millions to take anything you offer them and send it flying into outer space, so I can fully grasp why you'd be happy and proud that you just struck out a major league hitter, or forced a critical out from them, or whatever. But please, please don't yell into your glove. It just takes away from whatever amazing athletic feat you just wowed us with and makes you look like a complete jackass in the process. Like my Dad used to express in reaction to Deion Sanders' dumb-ass endzone dancing: "Act like you've been there before."

Furthermore, the whole idea of Joba Chamberlain's major league identity is beyond me. What the hell is he? Apparently, he's unable to give a complete start every 5th day, and needs to be handled with kid gloves. But he's not a reliever either. But, when we first came to know him, he was a shutdown reliever. And, assuming that he's not a fucking cyborg like Mariano Rivera apparently is, he sure as Hell isn't the closer of the future for the Yankees. Or is he? Joba is just another fine example of what happens when idiots with business degrees in a front office try to dictate the manner in which a specialized athlete performs, and milk it to the Nth degree. Joba is pitching's answer to Devin Hester... except, I've yet to see Devin Hester scream into his tackified receivers' gloves after a punt return. Douche.

Speaking of tacky, after the next three days, I'm never going to have to watch the White Sox play "baseball" in that piece of shit that Minnesotans call the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome. That's right, Minneapolis: no more "let's turn on the air conditioning when the Twins come up to bat." No more "let's train everyone in our farm system how to hit chop ground balls two feet in front of the plate because of the astroturf awaiting them on the big squad." No more Glad bag in right field. No more having to hear the Sox complain about how much they hate playing in your piece of shit domed multipurpose Hell-hole of a "stadium"! Have fun in early April at your open air ballpark, you lingonberry licking Norse perverts! The playing field shall be leveled!

Valhalla is coming!

CC And Braun: The new Bacardi and Cola

Whilst CC was shutting down the Woe'Sox, I thought fondly of the picture of he and Ryan Braun trolling for Milwaukee trim. Let's hit the Miller Brewery tour, bros!

Twin City Kisses

NEWS FLASH: Rich Harden, flamethrower and explorer of harsh realms of the Winterdemon (he's into metal, man) will NOT be bringing his Sunn 0))) records to the TC. Aaron Heilman will also not be utilizing the weird indoor sidewalk system of theirs. I'm actually jealous of this idea; I'm the dipshit freezing my ass off in Chicago every winter. Give us the indoor heated sidewalk, Daley! Get down or sit down! But yeah, Aaron Heilman sucks, and his name sounds like a condiment. Unless your name is NAMOR, I'm not interested in SubMariners. Pitch like a normal person, you bender. In summation: we get to keep a good pitcher, a bad pitcher, and Craig Finn can go fuck himself.

The Cubs continue to trudge along towards certain doom. By doom, I mean they get to go home and be with their families, go on vacations, spend money like the Democrats, and act like menchildren. This shit is the American Dream

I'm still watching every game, though I must admit that I feel like I've run out of time on the SATs and I'm frantically scribbling in "C" for every answer on the scantron. Tonight we've got the Astros, who I've always loathed, even more so since they added that human error Jose Valverde as closer. I have SHARP, STINGING memories of Valverde doing his weird celebration dance/game face thing on our hallowed ground during the NLDS disaster of '07. If anyone needs to be posited into the pain cave, it's Jose Valverde. I hope his calves explode.

Lastly, this:

Go on, son. Get your Megadeth on. You are really real. You're like our very own version of Lance Henrikson from Alien 3...tape your limbs on, throw in some plugs, and we're go.

No. No Times Ten. CC Said.

Yankees - 5
White Sox - 2

Yankees' ace CC Sabathia, he of the TALL and the FAT (6'7", 290 lbs.), struck out ten of the twenty-nine Sox batters he faced through 7 innings. He gave up his fair share of hits, but only allowed 2 runs. All non-Yankees fans are anxiously awaiting the onset of his diabetes.

Again, the Sox failed to give a starter run support after a quality start. It's getting really, really old. Sorry, Buehrle.

Sox catcher Ramon Castro managed to squeeze his way into Yankees' right fielder Nick Swisher's busy schedule, and was gunned out at home in between Swisher's 6 p.m. tip-frosting appointment and his regularly-scheduled 10 p.m. "watch me act like the biggest douchebag in history" jam session in the Yankees clubhouse. Nice to see you're bouncing back from that career-worst season you had there, Nick... last year. For us. Dick.

The game went to ten, and in came Randy Williams to pitch for the Sox. Naturally, ol' Randy let two on, and then Robinson Cano sent the game-winning dinger way out into the right center bleachers. With every appearance he makes, I'm becoming more and more convinced that our scouts discovered Williams while he was throwing his own shit against a wall backstage at a Rascal Flatts concert, or something.

Amen.

-=-=-

Tomorrow's White Sox starter = TBA? Contreras? Looks like I'll be drinking.

Bow Before Stuart Scott's All-Seeing Eye

A well-written piece that's fairly objective and reasonable... by ESPN? You're shitting me.

With regards to this whole Milton Bradley mess, ESPN writer Nick Friedell paid $20 to sit in the bleachers for yesterday's game and documented what he saw and heard... you can read it here.

On the flip side, you've got Gene Wojciechowski covering the standard "we're telling you how to feel" part of ESPN's daily offering. Apparently Gene seems to think that there are roving packs of literate, hard-line racists who are looking to take moral cues from online columnists. Check please.

The Worldwide Leader in Feelings.

Admit It. You Settled For Me.

White Sox - 9
Red Sox - 5

Rejoice. The White Sox escaped Boston with a solitary victory. Carlos Quentin hit a homer. Thome went 3-for-4. Nix drove in 3. Boston played like shit and we beat them by playing a lot less like shit than we normally do.

Boston brought in their shortstop, Nick Green, to pitch in the 8th. Assholes.

Now on to New York, and that brand new launching pad of a stadium where they sell beers for $9 a pop. What is it with the East Coast?

Milton Bradley is Kind of a Big Deal

Round 2 of "Milton Bradley vs. The World, 2009 Edition" got off to a rousing start Thursday afternoon at Wrigley Field. After going 0-for-5 and finishing the game with a groundout that dribbled to the 2nd baseman like it came out of an old man with a swollen prostate, Milton came back to the media with more, more, more:

"I'm always the story, whether I hit .500 or hit .100," Bradley said. "Somehow, someway, everything revolves back to me. I guess I'm kind of a big deal or something. People like talking about Milton Bradley. Not to my face, always behind my back."

"I'm kind of a big deal"? I'm sorry, but when did Ron Burgundy start playing right field for the Cubs? And why the hell is he so paranoid that the whole world is seemingly out to get him?

But apparently Bradley hadn't quite given the public his full two cents at that point. He continued on. "Stand out in right field one day and maybe you'll see," he said. "Put on my Jordans one day and maybe you'll see. Walk around and see the world from my eyes, but you can't do that."

I would stand in right field... if I enjoyed your shitty team, or knew I wouldn't be immediately arrested and thrown in a little cage with a fraternity house playing "slap 'n tickle." And I can pick up a pair of real-deal Jordan baseball cleats online for $39.99, you cheap fuck. What are you bragging about!?

"I just go out there and try to give an honest answer, and I don't know why people can't respect that or respect how I feel," Bradley said. "You can't say that a person's feelings are wrong. That's one thing you can't do. Unless you get paid $30 million to play right field for the Chicago Cubs, then you can't speak on how I feel, because you don't know."

I'm glad you're honest. And while I agree fully that I'll never know the feeling of getting paid $30 million to play right field for the Cubs, I can most definitely critique your feelings when it comes to lack of wanting to play... especially when you're stupid enough to go around publicly stating that you don't really want to play to anyone with a microphone.

"You just keep fighting," Bradley said. "I don't have a thesaurus to look up the words to write a great story like reporters might be able to do or write an article. I've just got a bat in my hand and a will and determination to win, and I take that out there every day. Hopefully it shows. Hopefully somebody can recognize that."

Fight the good fight, Milton. You're just a dreamer with a bat and a shot at glory. And the world's out to get you.

-=-=-

Thanks to MLB.com for the fodder for this post.

-=-=-

Bad Omens You Should Maybe Look Into Before You Give A Dude $30M:

When Bill James says he's pretty much Carl Everett. (see: "similarity scores")

Milton Bradley Is Onto Us

You got me, Milton. My number is up. I am a white guy who lives in the greater Chicagoland area, and I am heavily filled with prejudice against you; I'll be the first to admit it. So, I suppose I'll just confess my sins and be done with this embarrassing chapter in my personal history.

We'll start with the confession. I don't like your kind. I wasn't brought up that way, and I suppose that's the root of it. You're one of those types. You know what I mean. The ones who are bad at playing baseball amongst professionals. This "issue" has nothing to do with the color of your skin. It does, however, entirely revolve around the fact that you're a complete ass-wipe.

If, tomorrow, you changed your name to Osama Bin Laden, and your hobbies on the Cubs official website were listed as "acts of mass destruction" and "full committal to the death of America," and you belted out 40 dingers in a Cubs uniform in a year, half of Chicago would stand a decent chance of converting to fucking Islam. The point of all of this, of all the boos and jeers that you hear as you run back and forth to the outfield (which you self-admittedly hate running out to- we'll get to that later) for $10mil/yr is that you're a sullen, mopey, whiny guy who gets paid a lot of money to play a high caliber of baseball... and has yet to deliver the goods. Signing you was a huge lapse of judgment on the part of Jim Hendry, and your contract stands high among the notably bad contracts inked by "Cap'n Coronary" which will most likely make him go down as a Top 5 Worst GM in Chicago's history.

You were brought in to provide a middle of the order RBI presence from the left side of the plate, after the Dodgers' pitching staff systematically dismantled the Cubbie lineup in three "playoff" games... at the cost of shipping out "team guys" like Mark DeRosa and Kerry Wood. Your signing was defended beneath the guise that you would "show the team" of "nice guys" "how to win" with your "fire."

[IN CASE OF YOU MAKING RONNIE WOO WOO LOOK NORMAL BREAK GLASS]

That's all fine and good and all, but the fact of the matter is that your career best RBI output stands at 77 in one year, 2008, when you were the designated hitter of a meaningless Texas squad. You've been to the playoffs twice since 2000, and while I will credit you for your outstanding performance in the 2006 ALCS (.500 avg, 1.444 OPS, 2 HR, 5 rbi), the rest of your playoff experience is in no way glowing (.167 avg, .289 OBP). You've been on seven, count them, seven teams in nine years since you came into the league, and from all accounts have never elicited much love from teammates anywhere you've been. So I have no clue what in the hell Jim Hendry was thinking in presuming that you could "show" anyone how to win. Unless, of course, you consider blowing out your ACL while screaming at an umpire to constitute winning... which you are an all-time great at. "When I walk down the street, I want people to say... 'There goes Milton Bradley. The best season-ending argument-collapser I ever saw.'" Aim high, Milt.


The point is, Milton, that you're a team cancer, and Jim Hendry should've been able to come up with roughly 30 million reasons not to ink you to 3yrs./$30million. All it takes is a simple visit to Google, and the search of "Milton Bradley crazy", and one can clearly see (from the 82,500 results) that something might be a tad bit off. The fundamental point of the contract which I cannot, for the life of me, grasp is the part where they signed you to multiple years. It's like attaching a full no-trade clause to Carlos Zambrano's contract. What- did Hendry think that these imbeciles were going to carry themselves as professionals for a single moment after giving them any semblance of contractual security? What reason do you give idiots like this to behave responsibly? And, what in God's name have either of them done to earn the privelege of contractual security? Why am I imagining the last few lines being read out loud by Robert Stack?

I guess I'm beating around the bush, here. I'm angry with Milton, and most offended by his actions of late, because of this quote:

"All I'm saying is that I just pray the game is nine innings, so I can be out of there the least amount of time as possible and go home."

You don't want to be there, standing on a major league outfield, for an occupation? Don't be there. There are about a million people who would give anything to be in your position, with your talent. I certainly include myself in that million. I pay money every year to run around high school fields, one with sewer caps dotting the outfield grass. If the major league experience is so painful to you, so draining and taxing on your soul, then just save everyone's time, save yourself the exhausting process by which you will somehow earn $20+ million over the next two years, and go the fuck home. Baseball doesn't need you.

I've said my peace.

-=-=-

You Hate Playing Where?

Milton Bradley's batting splits, 2009, home vs. away

Away - .208 BA, 3 HR, 10 rbi, .652 OPS
Home - .314 BA, 8 HR, 25 rbi, .957 OPS

Professor Griff Is No Longer a Member of Public Enemy

Cubs - 9
Nats - 4

"If the Cubs come back to earn a playoff berth, they might look back on Wednesday's eighth inning as a jumping-off point. " - Cubs.com

Uh, nope. Thanks, though.

Milton Bradley, one of the Cubs' biggest free-agent busts EVER, has decided to flip over the race card, claiming the Wrigley faithful shower him with racial taunts every home game. Milton, much like LaTroy Hawkins and Jacque Jones before him, fails to understand the real story here: you're getting booed because you are playing like shit, not because you're black. I'm not saying racism doesn't exist in the bleachers, because I've been there, and it does. There are racist idiots in every town. Have you ever been to a game at Fenway? Murph and Sully in the bleachers make these supposed racist Cubs fans look like the NAACP. How about a Rangers game? An Astros game? Racist redneck fans are dug in there like ticks. I'm not excusing actual racist behavior at baseball games, because it's fucking abhorrent. I'm just saying that it's an easy explanation for why one of the game's biggest headcases isn't playing up to even a 1/4th of his potential.

"Bradley reintroduced his so-called "Muppet conversation" after the homer, making hand gestures like a talking hand-sock puppet. Piniella coined the term last week in San Diego when Bradley made the gesture after a home run to a fan who had been heckling him."

Wow.

"That's what I do," he said. "People always have something to say. Keep talking. It ain't stopping nothing. 'What are you trying to prove?' I'm not proving anything but you're an idiot."

I'm going to let that speak for itself. Thanks Milt.

Randy Wells on the mound today, one of the season's bright spots. I wish they'd quit bringing up the possible R.O.Y. thing with him and just let him pitch.

Go team.

(edit: currently 5-0 Nats. *FLUSH*)

Who is Your Papi, and What Does He Do?

Red Sox - 3
White Sox - 2

You know what sucks worse than losing for the third day in a row at Boston? Losing to a team whose only offensive output was supplied by 3 solo homers. The Red Sox haven't even been playing good ball in this series, nay, this year... and it's just incredibly frustrating to watch the White Sox literally giving away games with more zeal than Michael Jackson gave out roofies. Four in a row, now, in the last week of August. Feel free to just take me up in a hot air balloon and violate me in the airspace over the Neverland Ranch... it can't possibly be more embarrassing than the baseball I've had to watch throughout the last week.


To compliment yet another quality start by the White Sox rotation, our offense went all David Copperfield David Blaine Criss Angel MINDFREAK Siegfried & Roy, and just vanished into thin air. For the love of Harold Baines, half of tonight's scoring came via Scott Podsednik's power stroke. You can imagine how happy that little tidbit makes me. Thanks, Pods, you asshole.

David Ortiz put in his 66.6% or so of the run total, jacking up Gavin Floyd early and then wrapping a hanging Tony Pena slider well around Pesky's Pole to cap off the game in the bottom of the 9th. Fun.

I know our "Boston contingent of readership" is strong here at Addison to 35th. And I'm always looking for you "pahty animals" to have yourselves a good time. So here are my steps to start a ripping party in Boston tonight:

1. Gather together with 10+ friends
   
2. Dress up like Indians
   
3. Toss Jermaine Dye and Alexei Ramirez into Boston Harbor

-=-=-

"The End Is Nigh Because _____________."

"The End Is Nigh Because Paul Konerko Hit A Triple Tonight."

Putting Spin on the Black Circle

Eddie: I get it. I do. You're a big, huge, swingin' balls fan of the Cubs. Welcome to the party...have a Bud Light Lime. That said, we don't want you representing us musically anymore. Just because you can write songs doesn't mean you should. Like, if I were an architect who really liked Mexican food, I wouldn't roll up into a Tapatios and present them with new building plans. I say three Hail Mary's every time you enter the broadcast booth, and I'm not even Catholic. You and Corgan, man. You and Corgan. Get bent.



I've never understood the appeal of Pearl Jam. Originally an also-ran grunge band (initially named Mookie Blaylock, which should have tipped us off to Eddie's dubious taste in sports) who filled some weird road-dog void left by crap like the Greatful Dead. It takes chutzpah to release live recordings of EVERY SHOW on your tour, every year. It's that same chutzpah that propels these dudes into the booth to sing these awful Cubs songs.

I work with a guy who said the Vedder song above made him "teary eyed", which is about the most bogus crying story I've heard since GW getting misty eyed when he visited Treblinka.

Celebrated Summer

I feel like I've come off too negative with my previous posts, so allow me to say this: thank you Cubbies, thank you Wrigley, thank you Wrigley dixieland jazz band that plays right up in my ear at every home game, thanks to the pulled-pork vendor, thanks to the 7-11 across the street for selling Tylenol by the two-pack, thanks Kennesaw Mountain Landis, thanks Sheffield redline stop, thanks to the cheap mexican food places, thanks to Sadaharu Oh, and thanks to the Tribune Co. for selling it off. It was another good summer.

Endless Bummer

Nationals -12

Cubs - 5

This dugout needs an exorcism. The power of Christ compels Lou! The power of Christ compels Lou!

I wore a black armband to work like it's Armistice Day, and ate Ben and Jerry's for breakfast like a fat secretary. It's a strange feeling knowing the Cubs won't be playing into the early fall this year, as they have the past two. In fact, this time last year I was mired in a mini-controversy over vacation planning vs Cubs playoff tickets that lasted the better part of a week, and forced me to defend my fandom against every Old Style-chugging Lakeview asshole in the city. Read about it here. Better yet, listen to me talk about it here. All that over a girl I'm no longer with. (Spoiler alert: Cubs got swept in 4, and I was able to go on vacation.)

What am I supposed to do now?

First off, I'm going to read all the great short novels. Maybe attend some poetry slams (or "flowetry" as they say on the streets). Learn to cook fondue. Things normal folk do. Maybe get a driver's license...maybe, not sure if I have the time.

I'm going to throw a post-mortem, well, post, up later today with commentary on individual players. I just can't right now.

Dan: Chicago baseball is in your hands, now. And your links are coming.

Chicago Tribune Reactions 8/26

While perusing the Tribune this morning, I came across an article written by Mark Gonzales titled "Seizing up again in the clutch" on page one. It's the summary of last night's game.

There's some things within the article that I find alarming. First and foremost, the Sox had been hitting .224 with RISP (runners in scoring position) in the 20 games leading up to last night. Gonzales goes on to describe the foiled scoring threat which the Red Sox practically had handed to us in the 8th inning. With men on first and third with no outs, Jermaine Dye (1-for-3) popped out for out number one. A.J. Pierzynski (0-for-3) struck out for #2. And Alex Rios (0-for-4) popped out to end the inning. You've got to figure that one of those three guys could, should come through with a hit.

Now, here's where shit gets real. When asked about the 8th inning clinch up of the proverbial "run scoring sphincter", Ozzie had this to say:

"That killed us. That's been our problem all year long. If you watch this ballclub closely, we're really bad with a runner at third and less than two out- maybe the worst team in baseball right now. If someone is worse than us, that's a record."

Which one is it? Are you "good enough to win the World Series" or are you "maybe the worst team in baseball"?

Out of curiosity, I dug up the stat of which Ozzie speaks. Thank you to the lovely folks over at Baseball Reference, there's a stat being tracked referred to as "PAs w/ less than 2 out, runner on 3rd, runner scored" under the category of advances. You can see what I'm looking at here. Ozzie's analysis of his club's performance is actually pretty spot on. The Sox are 24th in the MLB in advancing a runner home with less than 2 outs.

Here's where it gets fun; the six teams worse than the Sox at getting a guy to successfully trot in the last 90 feet, in order of appearance:

25. Arizona Diamondbacks
26. Detroit Tigers
27. Washington Nationals
28. San Francisco Giants
29. San Diego Padres
30. Chicago Cubs

Can anyone on a Chicago team drive in the man on third?

Go forth, today, and be clutch.

-=-=-

Further evidence revealing that your job sucks:

Dye, Pierzynski, & Rios went 1-for-10 last night.
Estimated gross income for their .100 performance: $145,061.73

Optimism for 2009: Pointless?

After reading this, I'm calling "bullshit" on Ozzie Guillen. Here's the choice quote from it, if you're not interested in fully seeking it out:

"I think right now, this club is good enough to win the World Series."

And I think you'd better be capable of winning a season series against the Orioles if you really want to go on and clinch the biggest series of them all. Just my two cents. And you need your 3-4-5 guys to show up. You need to have a leadoff guy who doesn't get picked off at a steady clip. You need to back solid pitching outings by dubious starters with semi-solid offensive output. What's the baseball equivalent of Viagra? Ship 100 boxes of that to the White Sox, and bill me for it later. Or, maybe make it baseball Cialis, because it seems a bit more pastoral and pleasant from what I get out of those commercials. Bathtubs next to a lake, and such, now that the kids are all gone. Pleasant.

Speaking of the flaccid... after the second deflating loss to Boston in two nights, here is a list of worrisome things that may be keeping me up late into tonight:

1. Scott Linebrink's existence on the roster
   
2. Jermaine Dye's average since All-Star break (.180)
   
3. Matt Thornton seemingly losing ability to locate
   
4. Sneaking Twins, accelerating Tigers
   
5. Jose Contreras' existence on the roster
   
6. Jake Peavy's bruised elbow
   
7. Phil Rogers' exposed penis

No rest for the weary, I suppose. Try to catch some shut-eye, campers.

Hello, Children. The Word of the Day is "Urine"

"I don't like them fellas who drive in two runs and let in three." - Casey Stengel

"Radical honesty," huh? I'm game.

As a fully committed White Sox fan, I'm not gonna be one to claim that my compatriots are above senseless and ridiculously stupid behavior. I will, however, commend and thank the Sox management for their progressive interpretation of "basic bathroom design in the 21st century." I'm quite thankful that I never have to experience the buzz-kill of urinating into a common area with "Frank Slowitzki" and his billowing mustache (not that there's anything wrong with that) when I'm 6+ innings into mediocre ball and 3+ plastic cups into mediocre beer.

Side tangent: Brewers fans get High Life on tap, and I have more chromosomes than all of them combined. Vending masters: let's get things crackin' up in US Cellular, for the love of God. I'm not asking for futuristic beer guys patrolling my section with Mai Tai backpacks or anything stupid- just some High Life is all I'm asking for.

Anyway, one reason- small as it may be- that I'm glad to be a Sox fan is that I get the full benefit of modernized, single-user latrines. I'm grateful that I don't get the full-on "trough experience" that blue-clad perverts like Jarrett so gleefully tapdance to between innings. In all likelihood, I feel this gratitude because I know that at some juncture I might have to deal with some douchebag like this:



I suppose I'm not being quite fair to my fellow South Side fans. We do choose to abstain from abusing some common priveleges which Cubs fans happen to share with us. The vendors give us cups of beer, and we don't lob them onto the heads of opposing centerfielders EDIT: whilst hanging sunglasses from the necks of our white tee shirts EDIT: and looking incredibly, incredibly stoned EDIT: and having last names that sound like something you can order from Starbucks. (see also: venti caramel Macchione for $8.50. Pairs well with a scone.)

Macchione. Italian for "unworthy of the prefix Macchio." If you were a first base coach, and I were white trash, I might grow a mullet and storm the field with my drunken, mulleted father just to smite you with our redneck fists. Fists of rage, and beauty. You stand as further proof to my theory that a hat with anything on the bill is just a bad idea, and what's under that hat is, in all likelihood, an even worse idea than the shitty hat was.

But do you know who does make me want to do a running dive through a urine-filled trough? This guy:














Firstly, I guarantee you that he didn't catch this ball. This is because Scott Podsednik only does three things:

1. chews way too much tobacco
2. wears his pants high
3. sucks at catching baseballs

"He's so... grindy," they say. So was Aaron Rowand. So was Darin "Where's The Fucking Ball, I Lost The Fucking Ball, Fuck Me" Erstad. Grindy does not equal good in my world. I don't care if he's fast enough to get back to the wall in good time, either. You have to be able to catch the damn thing once you're there.

I appreciate your 2005 World Series home run, Scott. My friend Aaron with one nut thinks your wife is hot. In all seriousness, however, it's time for you to go to an AL team who can afford to DH a guy with no power, or to an NL team who will tolerate extremely shitty corner outfielder play (think Cubs!). I just want to know why, every time I watch you play the outfield, it hurts when I pee.

"But the Sox wouldn't even be in the position they are right now if it weren't for Pods!" They retort. What's that- 3 games back at a constant clip, unable to gain any ground on the Tigers? If I recall correctly, on that latest road swing out west, there were about two games whose balance could've been decided differently if a certain grindy left fielder had 1. timed a catch at the wall in Oakland like he wasn't afraid of the wall and 2. not been picked off of third base in Seattle in a tie ball game after he'd already seen the catcher try to throw down to third. What good is a lead off guy who can leg out infield singles, swipe some bags, then get picked off out of scoring position? Why even waste the energy? Why not get called out looking at strike three, like you used to, before we canned your dumb ass the first time around?

In summation, the burden of designated hitting in the lead off slot should never be left to amateurs like Scotty Pods, but should be handled by experts in the field.

See Also: Alfonso Soriano.

-=-=-

Scott Linebrink, you're next.

Radical! Honesty!

In the past week I've twice come across stories about a relatively new phenomenon called "Radical Honesty", which began as a personal philosophy of a cat from Virginia named Brad Blanton who decided that lies, or specifically little white lies, are the real reason Americans walk around unhappy, drugged up, and in therapy and/or are Cubs fans. So Brad doesn't lie. Ever. In interviews he sounds like he should own a World's Biggest Asshole mug, but he's just keeping it extremely REAL. (full disclosure: he ran for office twice, lost, and now sells self-help books)

In the spirit of this asshole, I'm going to apply the concept of radical honesty to the rest of the Cubs season:

IF WE LOSE TWO OUT OF THREE TO THE NATIONALS, I AM GOING ON PAXIL, OK? I'VE WANTED TO FIX MY LIFE FOR A LONG TIME, AND THIS IS THE SHOVEL THAT WILL DIG ME OUT OF SELF-HATE GULCH. THE DRUMMER OF DEF LEPPARD COULD PITCH BETTER THAN THEIR ACE, AND THEY'RE BETTING THE FARM ON SOMEONE NAMED STEPHEN STRAUSBERG, WHO SOUNDS LIKE HE SHOULD BE ACNE RIDDEN, YET THEY GAVE HIM NIGERIA'S GDP FOR 5 YEARS OR WHATEVER. JESUS CHRIST. THERE IS NO WAY IN HELL THE CUBS ARE MAKING THE PLAYOFFS UNLESS SOMEONE CAN CONVINCE CARLOS MARMOL TO CONJURE UP A WINNING POTION VIA BLACK MAGIC OR SANTERIA OR WHATEVER HE IS. LOU HAS ALREADY MADE DINNER RESERVATIONS FOR THE FIRST WEEK OF OCTOBER. IN TAMPA. GOD I'VE GOT NOTHING LEFT.

Phew. That felt good. I'm now officially a Seattle Mariners fan.

Not As Cold As California

(Cubs top of the order)

Late August can only mean one thing for Chicago Cubs fans: the dreaded West Coast swing. Every year the Cubs attack the left-coast with the urgency of a bad touring hardcore band; yeah, maybe you had some massive nights back east, but try selling those D-Beat split 10"s out here and you will get sonned by Hollywood Blvd trash (read: don't bring that weak shit against GAMERS like James Loney. Tried to tell all of you about Juan Pierre back in '05, but you weren't having it.)

When I think of LA baseball, the following comes to mind:

• The L.A. Angels game from The Naked Gun. And thusly, OJ Simpson.
• Adam Carrolla. He seems like the type of douchebag that shows up in the 4th inning
• Alyssa Milano
• The Rally Monkey
• Dan and Missy cheering the Dodgers on during the Sweep of '08

I hate West Coast ball. It's all so tiring. I love the Cubs to death, but who wants to watch Mike Fontenot try to squeak out hits against the Padres at 3AM CST? Mike Fontenot doesn't even want you to watch that.