The former -- and perhaps greatest -- IIH Yankee Employee of the Month has gotten the call.
Friday, July 31, 2009
For those who don't have the time to read the whole article, here's the main part:
"Bronson Arroyo, a 2003 Red Sox [team stats] teammate of David Ortiz [stats] and Manny Ramirez [stats], said yesterday he would not be shocked to discover his name on the list of 104 major league ballplayers who tested positive in the spring of 2003 for using performance-enhancing drugs . . . Back then, Arroyo said via phone from Cincinnati, he was using both androstenedione, which was not banned until the 2004 season, and amphetamines, which were not banned until 2006. The only reason Arroyo stopped using andro was because he heard through the grapevine that, because of lax production standards, some andro was laced with known steroids, such as Winstrol."
It began by losing their grasp of first place to us, then the roid allegations, now Chris Dodd even has cancer. What a shitty week for New England. As of now, they have a little over an hour to make a big impact trade for either Gonzalez or Martinez, and if they don't they could have problems next weekend in the Bronx. The wheels are coming off the Red Sox Nation bandwagon and fast.
I really hope John Henry accepted that tissue on Twitter. He probably needs it.
OK, usually, we hope Deadspin links to us, not the other way around. After all, they've got about 10 million regular readers and we have about 10. But in case you missed it, they've summed up the redsock fan thing pretty well:
"You'd think every baseball fan on Earth right now would be more or less numb to the idea of a player being outed as a roider. Ah, but once again, we find that Red Sox fans believe they and their team poop sunshine and live on some sort of magical, negro-free cloud in the heavens. Oh sure, they expect a team like the FACKIN' YANKEES to have roiders. But not the precious Red Sox! They're different! Special! They'd never violate the bond they have their legendary fans, who have been known to keep entire city grids powered simply with the strength of their hearts!
You listen to me, you fucking retards. You're just another bunch of asshole fans rooting for another asshole team. And the fact that you think you're somehow above all that is what makes you utterly insufferable. I hope it turns out the Jason Varitek took HGH in 2004 and once killed a child in a drunken lawnmowing accident."
Read the whole thing here. Now.
With the MLB deadline for misinformation ending at midnight, general managers are working hard to state their final incredibly absurd, bold-faced, WTF?, Nixonian, outright lies.
The Yankees have had a big week, stressing that they absolutely have no interest whatsoever in Roy Halladay. Zero. Zip. Nada.
Like the Redsocks, who couldn't care less about the Toronto pitcher. Who needs him, anyway?
In fact, the Blue Jays have decided to keep Halladay, according to JP Ricciardi. He has made it clear that Halladay will stay in Toronto. Rest assured that nothing -- NOTHING -- will happen today on the Halladay front.
Because everyone says so!
The Seattle Mariners are quite pleased with their team, currently 7 games behind in that tough AL West. They won't trade anyone. Why should they?
Deadline for lies ends at midnight.
UPDATE: This post is a lie. It actually ends at 4 p.m. (Good thing I got it in under the deadline.)
Boy, it looked like it was painful for those ESPN (Everything Sox Programming Network) announcers to have to actually give the news. But listen to them, and one thing becomes clear -- David Ortiz is the victim.
-- The talking head lady interviewing Gammons pointedly noted that Papi and Ortiz appeared on "the famous list that was supposed to remain anonymous."
-- The first line out of Gammons' mouth? The news was shocking because "(David) and his wife, Tiffany, do so much for the community." (Funny, I don't remember any mention of A-Rod's charity work when he was named on the list).
-- The second sentence from Gammons: "I think this will be devastating to him, because David is very sensitive."
-- After grudgingly admitting that the redsocks' 2004 title might be tainted "to a degree," Gammons then gave a stirring everybody-was-doing-it-especially-the-Yankees defense: "I think that the fact is, from this era, we could probably take 10 world champions in a row, and if we really know the facts ... but that's part of the era." (The "10 world champions in a row" not-so-subtly makes sure to include at least one Yankees world championship team in there, no matter what 10-year-period you take.)
Remember the Mitchell Report?
Remember George Mitchell, the ex-Senator, the life-long Redsock fan listed on the team masthead as a director, who investigated steroid abuse in baseball?
Remember Bud ($18 million-per-year) Selig touting the intense work of the probe?
Remember the news conferences? The Congressional inquiries? The talk shows?
Remember how the findings targeted the Yankees and exonerated the Redsocks?
Remember the fake syringes thrown at Giambi? The doctored photos of Gary Sheffield? The Bibles waved at Andy Pettitte?
Remember the chants... "Cheaters"... "Steroids"... "A-Rhoid?"
Remember Boston's joy over the public hanging of Roger Clemens?
Remember the news leak about Cleveland's Paul Byrd, a day before he faced Boston in the playoffs?
Remember the sanctimonious judgements of Curt Schilling?
Remember the joy in Boston after Manny Ramirez -- of the Dodgers -- was linked to steroids?
Remember how Yankee championships were tainted, but Redsock teams were magical and clean?
Remember all that insufferably self-righteous indignation?
Redsock fans don't.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Of course, he said all those things in spring training, when he thought his 2003 test wasn't going to be released.
Why do I get the feeling that Big Liar probably doesn't feel that way today?
I’ve heard a killer asteroid
Is waiting out in space.
I’ve heard that global warming
Will destroy the human race.
I’ve heard the bird flu virus
Could turn cities into mobs.
But I will not believe it
‘Till I hear it from Lou Dobbs.
I’ve heard the Midwest climate
Soon could be too hot for grain.
I’ve heard use of cell phones
Can cause cancer of the brain.
I’ve heard the next depression
Will cost everyone their jobs,
But I will not believe it
‘Till I hear it from Lou Dobbs.
I’ve heard Lou Dobbs is angry
That illegals get on through,
I’ve heard Lou Dobbs has written up
A plan to stop the flu,
I’ve heard Lou Dobbs is fighting
For us losers and us slobs,
And this I do believe,
Because I heard it from Lou Dobbs.
Papi says he's "blindsided" by the news...
The Mitchell Report says all the players who tested positive in 2003's anonymous testing "were notified in early September 2004."
(Seems like that the job of telling people went to Gene Orza.)
The man who brought peace to Ireland told us that "Orza declined my request for an interview."
If Sen. Mitchell can't get answers, will Papi be able to? Does he really want to?
TheWorld as Experienced Yankees Department:
The father of baseball's only switch pitcher (who threw 2 scoreless innings last night against Single A Schmuktown, BTW) received a strange check in the mail...
This is the same guy who taught his son to throw from both sides. Think he fell for a scam?
Lets se the Ellsbury Schilling Papelbon Network try to spin that...
Dr. James Andrews performed Wang’s surgery in Birmingham, Ala., and Manager Joe Girardi said the Yankees were awaiting word on the results.
Hank is reportedly held up in the hospital Chappell's anxiously waiting for a report.
Can you tell the difference. Iran... or Redsocks?
1. Hardliners furious over recent unrest.
2. Supreme Leader no longer receiving confidence of general population.
3. Fear of violence growing.
4. Universal condemnation of Papelbon.
5. Allies alienated and scorn of global community becoming acute.
6. Questions looming over defense.
7. Vicious verbal attacks on enemies by leadership.
8. Generals increasingly seeking nuclear option with Halladay.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Shake off tonight's shaky performance by seeking solace in food.
That's what I would do.
Rob Roy or Halladay on Ice: Eight Disturbing and Conflicting Facts Yank fans should know about Toronto GM JP Ricciardi
Is he on our side... or theirs? Consider:
1. He grew up in Worcester, Mass — a Redsock hotbed.
2. He was a Mets minor league infielder with a career average under .200.
3. He started his second career as a minor league coach in the Yankees system.
4. He roots avidly for the Boston Bruins and Boston Celtics.
5. He has a son named Mariano.
6. His contract in Toronto ends in 2010.
7. He once said of public statements, "They're not lies if we know the truth."
8. Upon arriving in Toronto, his first big deal was to get Eric Hinske.
A million fans have registered to get email straight from Lonnie Baseball, Lonn Trost.
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IMPROVE YOUR MANHOOD WITH YANKEE BAT
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Damaso Marte pitched 1.2 innings last night for Gitmo-Wilkes Barre. He gave up two home runs.
Xavier Nady spent the day watching Season 4 reruns of "Barney Miller."
We at IT IS HIGH devoted eight hours to mourning the loss of fodder from the trading of Jose Tabata and his 43-year-old alleged kidnapper wife.
Beware all yee who tradeth with the City of Steel!
Yesterday was JP Ricciardi "personal deadline" for the trade Roy Halladay.
As all you lady readers know, nothing -- nothing -- is more irritating than missing a -- well, you know -- a personal deadline.
Today, we can expect JP to be antsy and a bit -- well -- out of spirits. He'll be worried, doubled-over at times, perhaps crazed from Midol, and wondering what dark forces are conspiring, deep within the golden chalice of his otherwise pristine loins.
Yes, he'll be wondering if he should have ever taken that call from Brian Cashman last week, when the seed was planted for -- well -- you know.
Only our Pinstriped moms out there can fully understand the physical, mental and emotional turmoil that JP is experiencing this day -- 24 hours after missing his deadline.
Until a trade is birthed, or the Halladay situation "goes away," he will not be himself.
NOTE TO YANKIVERSE: We must use this knowledge to snatch the infant known as "Roy" from the barren seedpod of his Canadian host! We must merge modern technology with the ancient ways of human congress to bring the Toronto babe into our world... without sacrificing our own precious children!
Today! No more missed personal deadlines!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
I love this woman. Even if she's from Connecticut.
Jaime A. Buccheri, 32, was charged with trespassing when she refused to leave Tropicana Field after an eighth-inning ejection.
Rays ushers received numerous complaints in the fourth inning about Buccheri and a man cursing at and pouring beer on season ticket holders in Section 104, police said.
Ushers spoke with Buccheri, a Connecticut resident who listed her local address as 545 Pinellas Bayway S, No. 206, and companion David Casamona before moving them to their proper seats. Buccheri was ejected when ushers reported that she and Casamona had moved back to Section 104 in the eighth inning.
I dread this.
You can't believe how much I dread this.
Alex & Kate are inspiring a new generation of journalists to discover Roget's Thesaurus.
They're writing the Alex & Kate at the picnic story, but spicing it up; with different folksy phrases.
"... PDA... locking lips... cannoodling..."
How about... tongue-schtupping.... molar-muffing... playing tonsil tag... klemping maws...
Maybe USA Today will come up with a pie chart.
That's what they're saying, if you believe their crap.
They claim Austin Jackson, who's hitting .313 and stealing bases in Scranton, is not a solid option to replace Brett Gardner for four weeks, while he recovers from a broken thumb.
They say Jackson is such a fantastic, unbelievable prospect that he must play every day.
Fine. But the other day, they sat him because... hmmm...?
Why am I cringing over the name Vernon Wells?
Toronto wants to get rid of the guy. Salary dump. I don't think anybody will take him in a package with Halladay. So...
Aww, you can't believe a frickin' word the Yankees say. Nothing. They'll claim 2004 never happened. They'll claim Pluto is still a planet. They're worse than Alphonso.
NEW YORK _ Latest rumors around MLB have Pittsburgh QB Ben Roethlisberger headed to the Yankees, who seek to bolster their bullpen before the July 31 trade deadline.
Yankee GM Brian Cashman refused to confirm or deny talks, discussions or even thoughts, though he acknowledged that Boston and New York have drained everything above Dutch National Team value from the Pirates' roster and thus, must look elsewhere in the Steel City for August fodder.
"They like Roethlisberger in the bullpen and that guy with the hair, Polamalu," a scout said, speaking on the grounds that his words not be correctly quoted. "They figure the guy can play secondbase and put licks runners as they go by. The Redsocks need to hear footsteps."
Boston is said to be in talks with free agent rightfielder Plaxico Burress, a former Steeler.
"We like him in right field," a scout said. "He's got a real gun on him."
Today, Toronto spikes one of the 2009 pennant races by dispatching Roy Halladay for a bunch of young players it will be trading at the 2011 deadline.
Way I see it, for Phil Hughes, Austin Jackson and Jesus Montero, we could get him.
For Clay Buckholtz, Jacoby Ellsbury and Daniel Bard, Boston could get him.
For their entire team and farm system -- plus cash incentives and Wilpon's left nut, the Mets could get him.
For Alphonso, SuperFrankenstein and Whitey Fraud, this blog could get him.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Cute kid. Information. Lines.
It's all about the money.
For this transgression, they must someday know the silent sting of the Emerald City's wrath!
O, yes! they shall hear from us... someday!
Why... it's the most incredible thing ever! He can talk! Who woulda thought that a dumb bag of rocks like Rickey Henderson could craft sentences into paragraphs!
Not Bill Madden.
"[W]as that really the same slap-happy, card-playing, oblivious Rickey we've come to know over the past quarter-century, standing up there at the podium for the Hall of Fame inductions, elegantly garbed in a Good Humor Man white suit and white tie, speaking slowly and concisely, deftly injecting both humor and inspiration into what will go down as one of the most remembered Hall of Fame speeches of all time?"
We know what Madden expected -- the unintelligible, selfish buffoon that sportswriters made Henderson out to be for 30 years. Madden devotes his column to how Henderson needed help from a speechwriter.
Henderson was always a piece of work. But he's not alone, as we've noted in the past. Most of baseball's greatest hittters were nutjobs. (Babe Ruth, glutton. Ty Cobb, evil. Mickey Mantle, drunk. Wade Boggs, sex addiction. Pete Rose, gambler. Ted Williams, womanizer. Barry Bonds... you get the picture.) Some got ripped. Some got winked at. It never changes.
The Boston Herald must have been holding this until we took over first, because Arod homering off Kate Hudson is old news to everybody living outside of Somalia.
Says the Murdoch North:
"The duo put on a very public display of affection for the first time this past weekend, locking lips during the New York Yankees’ annual family picnic."
"Locking lips?" Who writes copy for these guys, Mickey Spillane?
"Locking lips?" WTF? If that's all they did, who cares! Be thankful they didn't spend the afternoon inside a throw-tent with interior strobelight.
Seasoned alchies realize that a 7-day vaca-binge occasionally requires the playing of "Drunk Possum:" You pretend to be out-of-skull, fall-down, speaking-in-tongues drunk... while wide awake and shrewdly probing your enemies for soft underbellies of weakness.
13 CLASSIFIED SECRETS OF REDSOCK FANS.
9. They view Steven Tyler as the ugliest rock star ever... even uglier than Elvis Costello and the guy who fronted for the Cars.
12. They wish Jeter was a Redsock.
13. They are terrified about going 8-0 against us... and still being in second.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
- Stars are great and prospects are garbage. If you're not smart enough to trade your prospects for stars, you are an imbecile and John can't help you.
(Are you listening, Pittsburgh Phillies?)
- The Yankees can't get a hit off this no-name starter for OAK, which only proves one thing (say it with me): you can never predict what's going to happen in the game of baseball.
- You can take what's-his-name Oakland's 2009 numbers and throw them in the garbage because (say it with me) numbers mean nothing.
- JOHN: "You gotta admit: the Yankees always battle back!"
- SUZYN (and I'm paraphrasing, slightly): "You know how they say it's not over til it's over? Well, that's really true! It really isn't over til it's over!!"
Friday, July 24, 2009
- The physical potency of John Sterling, father of triplets.
- The symbiotic relationship between the glitter and glamour of The New York Yankees and Sterling's own as their primary radio voice.
- John Sterling's resilience in the face of relentless attacks from his critics, who are represented here as The Green Goblin.
It was Indira Gandhi who said never shave during a winning streak. That lady knew something. I'm 7-0 since the geezers arrived and the bloodstream turned foamy with Pabst. Seven and oh, baby.
When we started, we were in second, a ragtag assortment of lovable misfits, the Jamaican luge team, the Washington Generals, the Persians, the runners up on American Idol: We had no 8th inning bridge to Mariano, no certainty about Joba, no knowledge of the impending made-for-TV movie that is Sergie Mitre. Something happened. We are the Bad News Bears Touring Japan, we are Madonna cutting her mystical sex path through the Onondaga Community College lacrosse team -- yes, we are pleasuring ourselves, daily, as the great and muscular Madonna would, if she could stroll into the oily but clean weight room at the Downtown Syracuse YMCA and say to the burly towelmen, "I am going to bench press you 40 times." That's us. First place.
I don't know why. But it's working. The metaphysical vibrations from my rapidly corroding brain functions are pushing neurons of nourishment into some electromagnetic wormhole, causing Rizzutonian nodules in the gridstream to reverse polarity. Result: Sergio Mitre!
Yesterday, we went through four growlers from the Middle Ages Brewery like jelly beans on Easter morning. We savaged twelvers of Bud, just to soften the LSD, the mushrooms, the horse Nitol, the Viagra cheetos. Today, we're snorting Pop Rocks and biting electric cords. Whatever it takes. Seven and oh.
We're winning the pennant for this team.
Who do we play? Anybody know? Bring em on.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Sorry to be a tad behind on details. You know, people in old, upstate New York bars at 2:20 p.m. can tell sad, sad, crazy sad tales.
I need a game. I gotta believe we have one. Soon. Today? Haven't lost since I started the binge, and with the help of old stallwarts, plan on a long, pennant-hanging march to October, or whatever they call it, but this ignores the thrust of my original post, which is to inquire, ask, openly wonder who we play tonight?
And whether we play. If we don't, there will be no score.
Am I repeating myself? Shouldn't have smoked the rug. Did I hallucinate that Kei Igawa broke the record at Scranton? It's been tough since we switched from meth to lead-based paint chips -- bumpy ride, there -- but I'm ready for GameDay animation.
Where the hell has Alphonso been?
The Warbletron is out of action until Sunday. I can't process statistical data. Verbal, si; mathematics, no. John has been unleashing some warbling Springsteentonian masterpieces: I estimate 6.00 to 6.80 seconds... I haven't heard a 7.00. He's saving them.
For the Redsocks.
Who BLINKED! That's right, the Redsocks blinked and traded with Pittsburgh. It's bad enough that we blinked and traded with Pittsburgh, which is sort of like eating cold poridge with chopsticks, but then they blinked and traded with Pittsburgh. That's worse than us originally blinking and trading with Pittsburgh. Hah!
Do we play tonight?
Am I dreaming that we're in first?
'Cause if I am... DON'T WAKE ME! mitre!
Summer vacation. College reunion. I got 'til the weekend. No Warbletron measurements 'til then. Requires too much forehead. Also, laptop too loud. Whole body hurts. Feeling chubby. Pulled the belt. Going with the elastic waistline. Ate a brick of cheese last night before crashing. Smoked Swiss on Ritz crackers. Very good. Keeps the tummy coated. Keeps the spirits high. Drink like clockwork, a finely honed machine, putting distance between us and Boston. Yes, we've finally found what works.
Not sure how the chair got broken. More kindle for the burn barrel. Last I remember, was singing along to The Felice Brothers, trying to flush the Bruney outing from collective human memory. Did it work? Did what work? Who's Bruney? I donno. I'm out here, 24-7, for Bruney and his friends, and what happens? He nearly kills me with gopher balls. I hope the boys understand what I'm doing. Every beverage keens relentlessly toward the toilet bowl of my soul. My only friends are Mariano, Jeet and the little smiling pink froggie at the bottom of each bottle, Mr. Dimplewart, who guides my path. Tell the team I won't quit. Tell CC I've got his back, though he might need a towel.
Six and oh, baby. Six wins, no losses. Joe and the boys must be talking about me. They're counting on me. What does gout look like? Does your foot turn green? Might be grass stain. Hell, I'm not afraid of gout; it's like playing with a dirty uniform. You think Paul O'Neill would take himself out of the lineup to have his stomach pumped during a six and oh winning streak? Hell. Nobody's prouder about walking around in puddles of vomit, just knowing we're in first. College reunion my ass. This is sacrifice, baby. This is the pennant race. We're going to Disneyworld, by way of rehab.
How is Jesus doing at Trenton?
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
We had the Cervelli streak in May, the dead celebrities streak in June and now the Pope-broken-wrist streak in July.
Since the Pope broke his wrist -- thus, he cannot pray against us, in case that's what he was doing (say, can we check records against Popes? It just seems as though we did a lot better with the old Pope, the real Pope, as far as I'm concerned. This guy hasn't done a thing for us. The best deal we've gotten from him is the broken wrist streak.)
We have a minor league pitcher named Pope. If this streak ends, maybe we should break his wrist?
Not sure about this. Posted while drinking.
You've all seen it by now. According to Y! Sports by way of the Daily News, Mets VP of player development Tony Bernazard pulled an Alphonso and challenged the members of the Double-A Binghamton Mets to a fight. He even ripped his shirt off for effect.
I'm glad he wasn't my R.A. at good old Oneida Hall...
Dear Madam or Sir,
As you know, Kei Igawa won last night. He's now officially the greatest, all-time winningest starting pitcher ever to don the famed Scranton-Wilkes Barre ballcap and wade the mystical marshes of Moosic into mortal combat for the Yank youth corps of Coal City.
Kei went seven, gave up four hits, no runs. He did this on the same night that Sergio Mitre officially displaced him as the scrapheap 20something hobo/hero who will get the call for the rest of the season, if and when any of our starters go down. (Actually, Mitre might be one of our starters, but don't get in my way, Cash: I'm on a roll here, and this is no time for detail nerds.)
I've told you this before, and apparently, I'll be saying it two more years, but if Kei Igawa were a pet dog, we'd put him to sleep. It's time to trade him -- somehow. We can't blame the guy for being overpaid. (Hell, wanna know somebody's who's overpaid? Alphonso... for completely being wrong about Hinskey!) Somebody's gotta be willing to take a flier on Igawa. How about the Minnesota Twins! The Brewers? The Royals? The midwest is pretty much Triple A anyway.
It's now clear that the Redsocks squandered more money on Dice-K than we did on Price-Kei. Don't matter. It's time to move Igawa somewhere, anywhere -- it'll take creative financing, because nobody wants to eat the contract -- but MLB needs to know if he can really pitch.
And really... the guy has proven to be a trooper at Scranton.
By the way, MLB also needs to know if Shelley Duncan can hit 30.
We'll never give either a chance.
Cash, we're in first. I can't complain about much. But the trade deadline is coming fast. During breaks in the Halladay marathon, do the right thing... free these guys. Save them from the coal mine.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
To the Universe:
It is time for the Most Pessimistic Fan in the Yankiverse to be held accountable for his troubled words and implicated actions.
Aphonso -- who, it is true, as he has never stopped reminding us, that he predicted that Phil Hughes and Ian Kennedy would not win a game last year, as he has never stopped reminding us -- has called the Hinske trade the worst thing that ever happened.
For the record, Hinskey-Pinksey has already hit 35 home runs, most in key situations, in amazing moments where the guy who just made the great defensive play comes to bat, and been instrumental in big Yankee wins. (Remember: Every Yankee win is a big Yankee win.)
But Alphonso -- whom I must say is dear to me, considering the 20 years of Yankee rants that we both endured -- has claimed The Incredible Hink's home runs have not mattered.
Is he wrong.
NOTE: This is posted while drunk and on vacation.
Again, pathetically, ludicrously, we claim no pursuit of Roy Halladay. "Zero" chance, we say.
Again -- pathetically, ludicrously -- a sportswriter trowels it.
This is pathetic. (Ludicrous, too.) It's like quoting a heroin addict between fixes, vowing never again.
Instead of claiming we're done chasing big salaries, Hal Steinbrenner should say:
"My name is Yankee and I am an addict. I pray that God grants me the serenity to ignore those I can't sign, the strength to respect the team I have, and the wisdom to know the difference. I will take each day as it comes. I will seek strength from within. My name is Yankee, and I am an addict."
It's scary when the Yanks -- through hip pocket enablers -- tell us how strong they are about resisting temptation. Nobody believes them. The sportswriters don't. The team doesn't. Certainly, the Toronto Blue Jays don't. It's just a superficial way for Hal Steinbrenner to tell his players to keep battling while the dickering goes on behind closed doors... "Don't worry about the man behind the flashing lights..." -- before our steely resolve collapses, before we tumble into the gutter, covered with our own vomit, where we find the half-empty bottle that is Roy Halladay, hoist it to our open maw and swallow each gulp as if it's piss directly from God.
Should we get Halladay? Depends on the deal. If the Redsocks get him for, say, Jacoby Ellsbury, Hal's tough vows won't look so strong.
They'll just look pathetic. And, of course, ludicrous.