Who cares about this stupid election? We all know it doesn’t matter who gets elected president of Carver. Do you really think it’s going to change anything around here; make one single person smarter or happier or nicer? The only person it does matter to is the one who gets elected. The same pathetic charade happens every year, and everyone makes the same pathetic promises just so they can put it on their transcripts to get into college. So vote for me, because I don’t even want to go to college, and I don’t care, and as president I won’t do anything. The only promise I will make is that if elected I will immediately dismantle the student government, so that none of us will ever have to sit through one of these stupid assemblies again! - Tammy Metzler
This country is really going to hell in a handbasket.
Yes, the good ole U.S.A.! doesn’t suffer the hardships commonly experienced by impoverished third world nations. We still have access to a bounty of instantly prepared saturated fats and hyperglycemic fast foods that will kill us either with coronary disease (evidently the cardiovascular emergency care in New Orleans is quite competent, perhaps a little too good) or obesity induced type II diabetes. And don’t forget to supersize that order for an extra buck and a half.
As well, aside from a fateful September day a little over a 7 years ago, we are asleep in our beds at night, safe from the perils of guerrilla sniper fire and the horrendous atrocities of terrorism. We prefer to participate in defense against such terrible events in more remote places of the world.
So despite living in these modern times of a wonky mortgage crisis, a teetering national economy and soulless corporations gleefully firing thousands of Americans in effort to raise the price of a share an extra nickel or two, we probably don’t have much to complain about. At least in the global context.
But bitching is what we may collectively do best. And I in particular, may excel in such an exercise of protest. At least that is what my wife informs me on a rather routine basis whenever a diaper bag is required to be deposited in the garbage can.
In case you have been living in an underground bunker hiding from the next terrorist attack (no doubt which will incorporate those ballyhooed weapons of mass destruction a.k.a. nukes that have eluded our CSI operative wannabees at a cost of $10 billion per month), you are most likely aware of the impending federal election.
Barack Obama versus John McCain.
How epic.
I’ve kept my mouth shut about this damn presidential campaign for the most part around Jay the Joke. Politics is a touchy subject for some folks and after all, the heart of this website is sports. And indeed, that howling from a distance is Jamel championing for boobs, beer and porn.
But enough is enough. I’m officially casting my ballot for NONE OF THE ABOVE. And yes, I shamelessly ripped the slogan off Richard Pryor’s Monty Brewster. Another letter from an attorney threatening to “cease and desist” because of my blatant plagiarism will undoubtedly arrive on Bill’s desk.
I know, I know. I’m setting a horrible example for our village children (pray for me, Hillary). But any morsel of credibility left for either candidate died when they both jumped on the opportunity to appear in an apparent six and a half minute half-time segment for Monday Night Football.
Je-su-s Friggin’ Ch-r-is-t. Is nothing sacred anymore?
I work hard. My routine to put food on the family table normally incorporates a 6 work day per week schedule. I arrive at the shop before 7 AM and am lucky to head home before 8 PM. Without a baseball team to cheer for (I’ve been orphaned by frauds), all I really have to look forward to watching is football. On Sundays, I’m usually committed to watching da Bears. The rest of the day belongs to the kids. But Monday night has always represented something special and exclusive to me. Football. And despite the all too often craptacular match ups and inane metrosexual commentary blathered by soon to be casted The View contributor Tony Kornheiser, I still tune into the broadcast.
Why? Because all I want to do is forget about the work week and household finances and watch a damn football game in peace. Serenity now!
But Monday Night Football is not having any of that tomorrow night. No, the broadcast is going to be ruined (more than usual) by its condescending insistence of “bigger picture” issues such as the presidential election. Americana, mom and apple pie are all at stake if every single citizen doesn’t submit to the system of casting a ballot for either Obama or McCain.
Yeah, I know. It is supposed to be important. And of course, it is. But sheesh, hasn’t everyone already decided who they are going to vote for at this late hour anyways?
I shudder at the mere possibility of either of these candidate’s pledging a presidential oath on the Bible (will that change?) because of a Chris Berman interview during a half-time of a football game. We can only hope that this segment is intentionally blacked out in Florida. A lot of those folks are challenged enough figuring out the intricacy of ballot voting without the meddling of a football game.
Now, I was once a huge fan of ESPN. It originated from a simplistic concept to provide exclusive thought provoking sports related news and commentary. And the idea thrived with fans of a pre-blogger bygone era, desiring to connect with their sports at a higher level. But not unlike its American cousin MTV, ESPN morphed into something hideous and sinister. And it hired buffoons named Skip, Woody, Stephen A. and of course Jay at the expense of credible reporting journalism. Rather than raise the bar of intelligent sports discussion, it has degraded itself into a damning participator for dumbing down its audience.
But tomorrow night, F*SPN demands to be something more than it truly is. And of all people assigned to this political detail, storming Chris Berman is going to anchor this taped segment. Berman explains:
“I don’t think we’ll get into Darfur, although I’d be interested in their responses. I don’t know what I’ll ask. Something might happen over the weekend to change things. But I’m not going to sit and ask McCain about the Arizona Cardinals linebackers, although he might know the answers. And Obama might tell you about Devin Hester”
So in other words, Chris Berman has no clue how any of this will transpire. Why should he? It has probably been nearly 30 years since he has anchored anything legitimately news worthy.
It is telling that these segments involving the presidential candidates will be taped. Berman (or seemingly anyone employed at the television network) is incapable of delivering a live interview. And neither candidate is willing to risk anything in terms of having to respond to hyperbole-laced clown shtick commonly supplied by Berman. No doubt the political advisers will carefully craft these taped segments into the exact message they so desire on the eve of an election.
And this is going to be news? What a joke.
Viewers should be pissed off. If the nature of a football telecast is going to be interrupted by an almighty gosh darn “higher priority” such as Winfrey Obama vs. Bush McCain, then at least present the segment in a legitimate and credible live broadcast. Otherwise, it is more infomerical garbage. And haven’t we had enough of that already last week when Obama pre-empted Budball Game#5 Redux?
As an observer to the ongoing drudgery of shameless negative campaigning and immense fear mongering committed by both political parties, I suggest that these presidential candidates submit themselves to a reality show based contest for all of our enjoyment. After all, if dumbing down an election such as a Berman “led” interview during a MNF telecast is considered important enough to reach out to an audience of 12 million, why not settle the score with a format akin to “The Contender” or “Hole In The Wall”? Not since the days of Bill Clinton demonstrating exceptional tonguing into the reed of a saxophone on late night television has the American public witnessed a presidential candidate capable of doing anything of actual skill!
Obama vs. McCain for all the marbles in a boxing ring under the tutelage of Sylvester Stallone? And just imagine those through the roof television ratings that might involve legally registered voters! Now that might be worth watching.
Berman-free of course.
God Save America.
The town will never be the same. After the Tangiers, the big corporations took it all over. Today it looks like Disneyland. And while the kids play cardboard pirates, Mommy and Daddy drop the house payments and Junior’s college money on the poker slots. In the old days, dealers knew your name, what you drank, what you played. Today, it’s like checkin’ into an airport. And if you order room service, you’re lucky if you get it by Thursday. Today, it’s all gone. You get a whale show up with four million in a suitcase, and some twenty-five-year-old hotel school kid is gonna want his Social Security Number. After the Teamsters got knocked out of the box, the corporations tore down practically every one of the old casinos. And where did the money come from to rebuild the pyramids? Junk bonds. But in the end, I wound up right back where I started. I could still pick winners, and I could still make money for all kinds of people back home. And why mess up a good thing? - Sam Rothstein
The World Series is still considered the “Fall Classic”?
More like the Winter Carnival of Follies. Orchestrated of course, by Bud Selig a.k.a Daddy Budball.
And as fans, we are fools for putting up with this farce of a commissioner, who of course is nothing more than a puppet pulled by the strings of his fellow (you sure he really sold those Brewers?) owners.
But none of this business is really novel. After all, it has been time tested and proven that baseball has the survival tenacity of Freddy Kruger or in the very least, Keith Richards’ liver. If a nearly century old gambling fix in the World Series or a decade’s worth of steroids assailing the sport’s record books have yet to kill the national past time, surely the sport will endure Selig’s quest to squeeze the very last nickel out of the pockets of Joe the Baseball Fan.
But who really cares for Joe the Baseball Fan? Especially when competing for the limelight with his cousin ‘da Plummer?
Lost in the hubbub of professional baseball’s first 10,000 loss team victory over professional baseball’s former joke of an expansion team, is the bubble that is about to burst on Budball Economics.
And perhaps it is about time.
Game Five was truly the result of a longtime work in progress perpetrated by Budball. In fact, it took years for this Picasso of ineptness to transpire into a reality. After all, Budball is built upon the complete submission over to television wonks that require playoff game dates to be set months (years?) in advance. Why bother to even attempt to get a series started even a day or two in advance should a previous round of playoffs be concluded earlier than expected?
Nor does it jive with Budball to have World Series games begin at a sensible hour. Budball needs to capitalize on those insominiac demographics in order to peddle Ambien. Even more so, after a triple LP’s worth rendition of the national anthem performed by the Patty LaBelle trance choir prior to even starting the game.
And so the perfect storm of circumstances could no longer be evaded. The inevitability of the Game 5 fiasco had finally approached. And Budball responded ever so predictibly.
Play Budball.
But it is going to rain. Big time.
Don’t care. Budball on!
No way are we going to finish the game.
Are you deaf? Budball on!
And so it started. Needlessly but in accordance to Budball’s wishes. Of course, it rained. A lot. Infielders were denied snorkels. And Joe the Baseball Fan who paid hundreds or perhaps thousands for those tickets was in no position to complain. After all, it is a priviledge for anyone not clearing a million bucks a year to bare witness to Budball.
Only until the Rays were awarded a game tying run at the bequest of Budball, was the waterworks spectacle officially and unilaterally suspended by Budball. No way would this series end in such a terrible manner! Clutching the baseball rule book (The Holy Bible of Budball), the puppet warbled something about maintaining Budball’s best interests. Which is exactly why of course this game was even attempted to be played on such a terrible night in the first place.
Fast forward approximately 48 hours later on yet another chilly but precipitation free night in boisterous Philadelphia. Joe the Baseball Fan was granted yet another night of Game 5 Budball! And it was exciting! No Patty LaBelle! Kids and non-Ambien users were able to actually watch the conclusion of a World Series game before 3 AM!
Budball was relieved. HE had saved Budball!
And so another season has elapsed. For some of us, it was a grave disappointment. And to those that may have once pelted Santa with snowballs, it was glorious.
The Budball offseason will follow its familiar timeline. The Yankees will look to overspend once again on past their prime primadonna free agents. And there is a big one out there available right now in Los Angeles. He carried an entire team on his shoulders into the playoffs in order to sweep a ragtag ensemble of frauds only to be ousted by the eventual World Series Champions. All this in the aftermath of physically abusing team employees and threatening to give less than his all for his previous team! Surely, that is worth hundreds of millions to wear Yankees pinstripes. And Joe the Baseball Fan would be more than happy to subsidize that contractual raise by paying more at the ticket window in new Yankee Stadium.
The owners of Budball will convene several times over this offseason. Some of these encounters will be dubbed official and serve purpose to discuss matters of how to extract even more money away from Joe the Baseball Fan. Perhaps extending the season another 50 games will be considered. Or Budball might contemplate interleague games with Japanese clubs. After all, Joe the Japanese Baseball Fan’s yen might be plentiful! And when the hell is China gonna be ready for competition? Imagine the pre-game festivities provided by Beijing! It would be like the Olympics!
Manny shoving around a PR team employee in Beijing? It could happen!
Budball insists that it exists for the entertaining pleasure of Joe the Baseball Fan. Budball acknowledges times are tough for the mortgage challenged, fossil fuel overly conscious, job threatened Joe the Baseball Fan soon to be asked for more money from Uncle Sam despite campaign tax break/credit/IOUs promises (we all know better than to be sucked into that bullsh*t around here, right?). Which is why, Budball will graciously not raise ticket prices and concessions THAT MUCH. And naturally, should Joe the Baseball Fan’s local gladiator coliseum baseball stadium crumble, please build a new one. Paid of course, by Joe the Baseball Fan. The Romans (such as Cesar the Gladiator Fan) drowned their sorrows away by flocking to the coliseum while their Emperor took good care of the citizenry. And it all worked out well, right?
However, Joe the Baseball Fan cannot be selfish. How dare he worry about his household responsibilities when Budball employees need their millions?
They deserve their piece of the pie as well. Just ask’em. Baked of course by Joe the Baseball Fan.
Other lesser names out there not named Manny want raises as well. In fact there are the magnificent 7 that will forever be remembered by at least one former diehard fan as being part of the “team"* that submitted itself to the Dodgers more willing than the non-spayed bitch that is on a first butt basis of every other dog in the ‘hood. To a man, they all yapped about their disappointment of failing to win it for their local Joe the Baseball Fan. Which of course, explains why all of them are so eager to abandon the very same Joe the Baseball Fan to ply their mercenary skills elsewhere.
So go ahead and leave.
Before Budball dies just likes newspapers.
There are some things most folks agree on when it comes to baseball. It should not be played in the snow. It should not be played near Thanksgiving and it should not threaten the lives of the players with weather conditions. After that opinions get pretty varied.
Today we are going to take a look at the yin and yang of conventional beliefs. Yin shall be represented by the “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING? ARE YOU COMPLETELY BRAIN DEAD?” school of thought and yang shall be represented by the right answer.
Just so you understand that I am being completely impartial.
Ably championing the yin philosophy is the Chicago Tribune’s very own, RICK MORRISSEY.
A wonderful solution would be for baseball to start the season April 15 rather than April 1 and end the regular season Sept. 15 instead of Sept. 30. That’s correct: a 130-game schedule.
-AND-
Assuming the owners don’t like my idea of a shorter season——assuming, while we’re at it, that they don’t like being flogged with a birch switch——what about playing the World Series at a neutral, warm-weather site? Sacrilege, I know. But if football can do it, why can’t baseball?
Okay, calm down, this will never see the light of day and I will tell you why. First, shortening the season means less revenue for MLB. But, it also means that cities and businesses would lose taxes and income that they count on. While Rick may think there are not enough homeless people wandering our fair metropolises, the fact is that a lot of people count on the money they make during the season to put food on their table and keep their kids in school.
As to the neutral site, this may be the most torpid idea ever uttered. Unlike Rick, most baseball fans do not have the wherewithal to take, at minimum, one week off of work at the last minute, pay top price for hotels and food and cover all the tertiary expenses they would incur. Even assuming that the fans only came down for a game or two, the host city would incur the equivalent of 7 major conventions happening over 7 days. The turnover would be insane, the stress on infrastructure would be monumental and I don’t even want to think about what the local police would have to log in overtime to just keep things mildly safe.
Simply put, there are bad ideas, worse ideas, incredibly stupid ideas and then this one.
On the other hand, yang is capably embodied by PHIL ROGERS, also of the Chicago Tribune.
• Cut spring training by one week.
It is too long for the modern player, as few of them allow themselves to get badly out of shape in the off-season. It has grown to six-plus weeks because better ballparks and larger crowds have enabled teams to use it as a revenue stream, not a training period. Teams don’t need more than 20 to 25 exhibition games, but they averaged almost 29 in 2008, with San Francisco and Cincinnati playing 32.
• Start the regular season 10 days earlier than has been customary.
It could just as easily open with weekend series as with the traditional early-week series.
Yes, the spring weather would be problematic, so do something really smart: Find a way to have warm-weather or dome teams (Atlanta, Arizona, Florida, Houston, Kansas City, Angels, Dodgers, Milwaukee, Oakland, San Diego, San Francisco, Seattle, Tampa Bay, Texas and Toronto) be home for at least three of their first four series, if not all four, on an annual basis.
• Have teams play three scheduled doubleheaders.
Each team would host one or two per season. Individual clubs would choose to make their home doubleheaders day-night affairs, meaning two sets of admissions, or the old-fashioned kind, which could become fun promotions for teams willing to throw their fans a bone.
• Add a 26th player to the roster.
This would help sell the changes to the players union, whose approval would be required. The extra player would help managers cope with doubleheaders and might reduce the amount of roster shuffling, which has increased in recent years.
The double headers (I think there should be 4) and the opening weeks (I think this could be done in 3 weeks instead of four) might need some minor tweaking, but the overall idea is sound, harms no one and gets the season and playoffs over in time for the meat of the football season.
A traditional, Jay the Joke, 
for Phil.
There are fewer things in life that can scare the heck out of you more than finding out someone named an inflatable doll after you. Visions of a media storm filled with righteous indignation and mutant zombie reporters camped outside my home filled my head. Nightmares of my poor wife disavowing my very existence, becoming the Peter of my messianic quest to rid the sports world of bad writing, chilled me to the bone.
Visions of sexual atrocities being committed over my aging visage did little to ameliorate or assuage my concerns. Although, I did smile. Twice.
Nevertheless, out of my comfortable abode I trudged to see firsthand what evil had been wrought in my fair name.
In I walked to the Levee (4035 W. Fullerton, open when they feel like it) and met me. Much to my chagrin, the likeness was startling. As you can see from the attached photo.
Nevertheless, I will pass along my thanks to JTJ fans Warren, Floyd and Scott (who took the pic) for, at least, remembering me. Sadly, that doll is so well built I fear it will outlast me. Then how will they explain the name, Big Bad Bill, to new customers?
Well, I guess that’s not my problem.
On to the important stuff.
The Phillies have become the third team to bust the Ex Cubs’ curse. If history holds true, they will now suck for around half a decade. Sorry Philly.
The Bulls, The Fire, The Hawks and The Bears all play this weekend.
Nope. There is not really more to say there. The Fire are in the playoffs and the rest of the teams hope to be. What else do you really need to know?
That’s what I thought.
I don’t know where to begin today. The International Society of Flip Floppers, which may or may not meet on Tuesdays, has heartily endorsed Bud Selig with a definitive “Maybe”. At least, that is their position as of this writing.
The Vinny Del Negro era got off to a good start with a trouncing of the Milwaukee Bucks. The 108-95 score made it look closer than it was. Drew Gooden continues to celebrate Halloween every day and Derrick Rose is looking like he belongs in the NBA. Which is a nice change of pace considering some previous draft choices in Chicago.
This just in; Bud Selig has announced that the only way to save the World Series is to replace umps with bikini models. Sadly, he has picked the Florida Marlins Manatees’ Crew to inaugurate this change.
Your first place Chicago Bears are in first place this year with a record that would have had them competing for last place in 1985. While it is good that they have found an offense, I am just not quite ready to jump up and down like a giddy cheerleader yet. No, that image will never leave your brain, I’m sorry. And, yes, I noticed the whole parity thing, I just don’t think they are playing to their potential. Maybe the bye week will help and get them rolling.
This just in; Bud Selig has declared weather to not be in the best interests of baseball and has demanded that it all be stopped. God, when questioned about this, mumbled something about “the last trump” and walked away.
The Chicago Fire locked up home field advantage in the playoffs by beating their former coach on his home field. Nice touch. All around class act, Diego Gutierrez, who wasn’t even supposed to play since he was retiring, got his only point of the season on an assist and secured the win. Well, if you’re gonna go out, I could think of a lot worse ways to do it. For you baseball fans, think of it as game seven, bottom of the 9th and the last hit of your career wins it.
This just in; Bud Selig has announced that he is thinking of awarding the World Series trophy to the Angels since they were the best team in baseball this year. After all, it will be in the best interest of baseball not to let unpredictable games and players decide these things.
The Chicago Blackhawks seem to have trouble closing the deal, losing winnable games in shootouts. Yes, they have too many goalies for too few nets, but if they don’t want to waste all the off-season work done by the front office, they might want to try a little a little thing called “defense”, especially near the end of the game, and avoid the shootouts all together.
This just in ..... oh, it is getting too easy. CLICK HERE to see some great sports’ cartoons that SouthSideSlim found.