Tim McCarver, at Least For a Fleeting Moment, is the Opposite of the Opposite of Smart

Yeah, that's right, fuck you Bick.

Last night, McCarver went straight Moneyball logic. No shit. The scene: no outs, Eric Bruntlett on 2nd (running for Pat the Bat), and Shane Victorino at bat. Victorino squares to bunt, and McCarver, dissing conventional wisdom, channels Billy Beane/Bill James and says that Victorino should not bunt, because of who was batting behind him (Feliz and some other shit-ass...Ruiz, maybe). Regardless, McCarver actully took a progressive point of view! Huzzah!

I mean, how awful is it to watch your favorite team bunt a runner to second and then watch the fuckholes behind him whiff and pop out? It's like running a perfect fast break, only you leave the ball for the trailer, who turns out to be Beau Zach Smith. Hey, you did everything you were supposed to do.

I've been all for bunting; sometimes it's effective. However, it's insane to give away outs. Victorino ended up grounding out to the right side, moving the runner and allowing himself the opportunity for a knock. Feliz then singled, which would have score Bruntlett from second anyway.

Tim McCarver Is the Opposite of Smart

Did anyone watch the World Series last night? If you hung around until the top of the sixth, you would have witnessed his prognostications at their finest. BJ Upton gets to first, and Tim goes on and on and on about how muddy it is and Joe Buck jumps on board about how unfair that is for the base-stealing Rays. There's NO WAY Upton can steal in this weather, blah, blah, blah. Cole Hamels throws over about seven times, and the very next pitch, Upton steal second handily.

These commentators just say things to hear themselves sometimes.

Also, have you seen worse umpires?

I Think I May Just Post Videos From Now On

No, I'm kidding. I'll write again.

Why I Blog

As some of you may or may not know, I've been engaged in a research project about blogging. It focuses mainly upon sports writing in general, but a lot of the discourse has veered towards what compels one to write random stupid shit into a box.

Today, I've found that reason, and I will reveal it to you. Thus, here is why I have a blog:

I Stole This From FJM

I may just repost what they post, so you losers will see how awesome it is. Well, here's professional hitter Matt Stairs:



I feel that. See Alfonso, if you'd only hit in the playoffs, you'd have gotten your ass hammered too!

Go Cats, Go Vic

Chip Caray Just Said...

...in reference to the Rays' start against grandpa Wakefield: "and a creative writing major couldn't of penned a better start!"

First of all, how long have you been sitting on that? Secondly, why? Third, if a creative writing major wrote a beginning to the Rays/Sox game, it would look more like this:

Setting: A brisk night in downtwon Boston. Tim, a man not short on years, enters the home players clubhouse 3 hours before the game's start.

Tim (to no one): It's perfect.
Francona: I'm sorry?
Tim: It's all...just so...damn perfect. The leaves, the grass, the passing of one season and the emergence of another.
Francona: Yup. Well, Josh's arm is sore, so you're gonna have to go tonight.
Tim: Symmetry.
Francona: I'm sorry?
Tim: It's just perfect. How can something so large, so vast, be so perfect.
Ortiz: My wang?
Tim: The earth, David. Have you ever wondered how the same season's dawn upon us at the same time each year? How? Why? It's perfect symmetry, and it's wondrous.
Francona: Well...the, um, game starts in a couple hours. Do you need to toss at all?

(Dustin Pedroia enters from the outdoors, baseball in hand.)

Pedroia: Check it out, cockbreaths. I figured out how to throw knuckleballs like douchey-shitshimself here. And mine got some wicked-fuck heat, biz-notches!

(Pedroia uncorks a wild throw, striking Tim in the head. Tim falls in a heap to his death.)

Alanis Morrissette: Ironic.
Francona: I'm sorry?

Scene.

And the Oscar Goes to...

...this commercial.

Two Posts in an Hour? Whatever.

I hate to be a douche. Unfortunately, I'm awesome at it. USA Today column by Gary Thorne:

"There will be a baseball book written about this team in the not to distant future. There has to be. They have made baseball history in a most improbable season."

Really? The not "to" distant future? Look, I know I make errors on pretty much every post I do, but seriously, I don't have editors. It's one of the largest newspapers in the country with a nationwide circulation; proofread the sum'bitch.

Original article.

Look the Fuck Out...

...Brad Lidge is entering the game!!!!11!!1!11!!!!! If you're watching the playoffs right now, you would have seen a perfect case of Fox's over-graphicication (that's a fucking word) of sports, as they unveiled this crazy "Brad Lidge" package as he rolled out of the pen (he has subsequently given up two deep flies to the light hitting Dodgers).

Look, dude's having a good season, but seriously people. It's not like this guy is Mo Rivera. What is he, two years removed from Albert Pujols blasting a ball that has...just....now...........landed?

A One Act Play: Starring Uncle Remus

So, when I arrived in Providence, Rhode Island Thursday night, T Dubs had already dipped HEAVILY into the spirits. In my attempt to play catch-up, I returned to LJ's place (if you don't know LJ, he is righteous) to watch sports with the guys and drink a couple bourbons. The conversation that occurred next is nearly verbatim, leaving Luc and me in near disbelief at the level of insanity that Uncle Remus had reached. This is a biographical work.

Uncle Remus into the Cough Syrup: A One-Act Play

Setting: LJ, T-dubs, and myself watching baseball highlights on ESPN while the bottom line is in full effect

Tommy: Dude, that pitcher for the Dodgers must be pretty good.

Jed: Which one?

Tommy: That guy named Lead.

Jed: You mean Wade. There's a middle reliever they have named Cory Wade.

Tommy: No, "Lead." I just saw him on the bottom line. Apparently, he's 2-0 for the series.

(Awkward pause. Luc and I look at one another, bewildered, once we realize Tommy isn't joking.)

LJ: That means the Dodgers lead the series 2 games to none. Seriously?

Tommy: Oh, OK, I got it now!

(Tommy proceeds to pass out and dump his beer on his lap and the couch and floor.)

Curtain

Steve Rosenbloom: Will You Marry Me?

Please. Please. Please, read this. Please. It's short, and about Soriano being a hack. Last line: "Try getting more hits in the playoffs than Ryan Dempster, fella."

Rosenbloom is an awesome writer, and his blog is a must for all.

Do you think Soriano woke up Sunday morning, and was like, "Aw! Sliders! That's what they were!?"

Fear of Meltdown Leads to Meltdown

For the second straight season, the Cubs got swept in the playoffs by a shitty ol' team out west. Worse, for the second straight season, the Cubs abandoned the approach that made them so successful throughout the season, and did the home run thing. Every fucking batter went up trying to win the World Series with one gargantuan blast, and they all whiffed.

I hate to toy around with the notion of the curse, because curses don't exist. However, just like last year, it looked like the Cubs were a team waiting for the awful thing to happen. They played tight, because they're afraid of the curse rearing its head.

Play loose. They never did, and they got smoked. And Soriano sucks ass.

The Exact Situation I did not Want

This is why Zambrano should start game 3. Now, if he does his patented blow-his-shit-lose-his-fucking-mind thing in the first couple of innings tonight, we go west down 2-0. I know he's our horse; I know he's emotional; but I would feel a lot more comfortable with Harden going tonight. Steady, controlled, and generally unhittable, it's unlikely that Harden would lay an egg.

Obviously, there is a very good chance that Zambrano will dominate tonight's game. The Dodgers scored more runs than they should have this entire series last night, so they're done with that.

See...

MTSU is good at the Hail Mary. We were able to stop a team who is 50% with that play on the season. Why not just run three Hail Mary's every set of downs? They couldn't have done worse than they did last night.

I'm being serious.




Warning: This video will make you feel like you're at a rave.

Tone-Setter

Last night, I had a dream. It wasn't about racial harmony or anything, no. It was much more important. You know when you have awesome dreams and then you wake up, know the dream was awesome, but have absolutely zero recollection of what happened? It happens to me all the time. Anyway, last night I had an awesome dream, and I remember it. Well, most of it.

I was in the bleachers at Wrigley taking in game 1. Weird shit was happening everywhere, because it was a dream. But, I remember the first inning fairly clearly. We got our 3 outs (or whatever), and the Cubs came to bat. Soriano stepped up, the crowd was electric, and he went yard. The ball never landed and I woke up, but the place went nuts and the Dodgers were dejected.

So, why do I tell you this? Because I'm lonely and have no friends; why else would I have a blog? But also because it was a premonition. If Soriano goes yard to lead off the bottom of the first, I will shit my pants and the Cubs will drag the shitty Dodgers. If he doesn't, I'll continue delivering pizzas to fat asses because I'm working tonight. Mother fucker.