Monday, October 31, 2011
(Or in October, it's the Miracle Whiff.)
CC Sabathia, footloose
John Sterling, real steel
Hank Steinbrenner, the rum diaries
Alex Rodriguez, paranormal activity 3
Nick Swisher, puss in boots
Mark Teixiera, anonymous
Brett Gardner, the help
Brian Cashman, johnny english reborn
Robbie Cano, drive
Randy Levine, the thing
Sunday, October 30, 2011
CJ (Choke Job) Wilson.
Frankly, the Yankees were lucky to die early, rather than be brought to the point of orgasm, only to have a 120-volt cattle prod jabbed into our groin. (Oh yes, I remember 2004.) Can you imagine how we'd be snarling today if Phil Hughes or AJ Burnett had puked away game six? Or if Swish had left yet another set of bases loaded?
Truth in advertising: If we're not going to win the whole caboose, I'd rather come in last, so we draft first.
If the Yankees don't win it all, there is no such thing as a "successful" season. We wasted 95 victories. But... ha ha!.. at least we're not the Texas Wangers.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Break one off: To successfully divorce a spouse who has been diagnosed with cancer.
Expand the strike zone: To devour one final delicious breast or drumstick, even after a player feels he has eaten enough.
Go for the cycle: For a player to successfully consume a breast, a wing, a drumstick and a 12 ounce beer during one single inning.
Triple Crown winner: The Red Sox player who during a game eats the most chicken, drinks the most beer and defeats all challengers in Angry Birds.
Waste one: To accidentally spill a beer in the clubhouse.
Drop off the table: To descend via gravity to the clubhouse floor, generally after consuming too much beer during a game. (See also “Go quietly.”)
Fan interference: The act of an individual who delivers child support papers to a player on the day of a game.
Moon shot: The unforgettable image of a portly player or coach bending to retrieve a beer from a low-positioned cooler.
"Touch 'em all:" A derisive comment aimed at a player who picks through an entire chicken bucket, searching for the most succulent piece. Usage: “Goddammot it, Lackey, why don’t you just touch em’ all?” (See also, “Dig it out.”)
1. We gave up Mark Melancon and Jimmy Paredes. It hurts to write those names. Melancon saved 20 games last year for the Astros. (I think they won 20 all season.) His ERA was 2.78. He's phukking 26. He pitched in 71 games. Dammit, he could have been our second David Robertson. Meanwhile, Paredes batted .286. He's a utility infielder. Imagine us having two Eduardo Nunezes. Gone. Oh, and did I tell you Paredes' age? HE'S GODDAMM ONLY 22.
2. Berkman stank out the joint for us. Remember how he couldn't bend over to play first base? Then he pulled a McRib? I don't even want to review the bloody details. It hurts too much. We got him during his Britney-shaving-her-head phase.
3. He goes to St. Louis, and he's not only an all-star, but he's on the short list for World Series MVP. You know what he's doing, every time he comes to the plate? He's shoving it down our throats. He's showing us up. He's saying to New York, Youu had me in your harem, Mr. Yankee, but you said I was fat and ugly, well, now I've lost weight, and look at me; look at these big round beauties, old man; they could have been yours.
I. HATE. THESE. DEALS.
But... listen... for the first time in my and your adult live... the Yankees went through an entire season and didn't make one of these wretched transactions. None. Nada. Zip.
Could it be... that the trifecta of the Berkman debacle has a fourth component? As with Einstein's fourth dimension - time - could it be... that the lasting legacy of this horrible event is that we ban them forever from Yankeekind?
Oh, if only it were true...
Thursday, October 27, 2011
a) Billy didn't like Jews.
b) Billy didn't like blacks.
c) Billy was drunk during the fight.
d) Billy almost sucker punched him.
e) Reggie got the better of him, verbally.
f) Reggie will always treasure his time as a Yankee.
9:35: Pres R Levine opening remarks, titled “Rethinking Evil,” vow to build “best team ever.” VP Hank corrected that “best team ever” was in Boston, followed by laughter, ballon drop.
10: Brunch; champagne toast; swag baskets distributed.
10:45: VP Hank moved for 15-minute smoke adjournment. Seconded by Commissioner Strawberry.
11:15: Discussion of GM contract. Pres Levine made smartmouth remark about Cashman hair loss. VP Hank noted Pres Levine’s hair still thick and luxurious. Pres Levine said secret is in pH content of shampoo — and not shagging floozies in hotel rooms. GM Cashman responded that shitty remarks would cost franchise extra million dollars per year.
11:30: Commissioner R Jackson noted lack of continuity in judge’s ruling on previous night’s Dancing With the Stars, which eliminated Chas Bono. Discussion. Commissioner B. Williams moved to pass advisory resolution opposing DWTS decision. Resolution defeated 13-12 with one abstaining (Commissioner Berra.)
Noon: VP Hank requested lunch break. Seconded by Stockowner Boras.
1:45 p.m.: Discussion of bid on Japanese pitcher Yu Darvish. Pres Levine said “Yu aint no good.” VP Hank responded that, “No, YU aint no good.” Pres Levin said, “No, YU aint no good.” Merriment ensued for several minutes, until Pres Levine said, “Is there an echo in here?” VP Hank said, “Is there an echo in here?” Much laughter.
2: VP Hank asked Pres Levine how he stays in “tip top shape.” Pres Levine stressed need to limit pH of diet — and not shagging skanks in cheap hotels. GM Cashman left meeting, after breaking coffee mug.
2:05 Commissioner Jackson revealed YouTube video, showing Chas Bono performance on DWTS. Re-discussion of judge’s ruling. Commissioner B Williams moved to pass advisory resolution, based on new evidence, condemming judge’s decision. Resolution defeated 13-12 with one abstaining (Commissioner Berra).
2:35: Discussion of Jesus Montero. VP Hank moved to allow closed-circuit tele-presentation from Cher, regarding Chas Bono on DTWS. Break for costume changes. Re-discussion of judge’s ruling. Following presentation, Com R. Jackson moved to pass advisory resolution, based on new evidence and vow by Cher to perform in Commissioner Berra’s back yard, condemming DWTS judge’s decision. Resolution passed 14-11.
4 p.m.: Pres Levine noted phone call from security saying GM Cashman has been spotted spraying AK-47 bullets onto concourse. Meeting adjourned.
OK, mental workshop, everybody: You’re Chubby Cherrington, the new Boston GM. You’ve worked in the place for years, but nobody knows you. They think you were Theo’s lackey. (Great pun, eh?) Or worse...
The franchise is adrift. The Redsock Nation wants blood. Stephen King still can’t write a complete sentence. John Henry watches soccer. His wife's face has added 30 years, making her half his age. Ben Affleck vows to never seed another baby; he cannot bring a child into such a hellworld.
So, Cherry darlin', ponder this...
Into your office marches 2011 Redsock icon and free agent Marco Scutero, seeking a three-year deal at $9 million per.
What do you do?
a)Put the bullet in his heart.
b)Put the bullet in his brain.
c)Both of the above.
The answer, of course, is c.
Scutaro goes into Boston Harbor.
What’s the one move that could re-ignite New England like a misplaced wrench in the Vermont Yankee? Yep, you double-down. You carve your name into the Green Monster as the krazee muffacca GM who don't run chickenshitty: You sign Jose Reyes, NL bat champ, former Met, your new leadoff hitter, in front of Hellsbury and — gulp — Carl Crawfish to form MLB’s fastest front three. You dare Beckett, Lester, Dice and Buckholtz to come back, and you go South with the scariest batting order in the game, and the Fenway frat boys will be drunk on certainty, and Ben Affleck will be pushing semen into Jennifer Garner like a hydrofrack drill nozzle busting gas into the Marsellus Shale.
What can the Yankees do? Nothing. Sign Pujols? Won't happen. Fielder? Hell no. Even if they get Yu Darvish — no guarantee, because Texas will shoot the moon — nobody knows what he is. You get the batting order. We get the question marks.
Be afraid, everybody. Be very afraid.
Cherry is plotting our downfall, as we speak.
And, dammit, we didn’t even win anything. Aint fair.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
They wanted to rebuild Lackey's elbow with tendons from Curt Schilling's ankle, but there are still vestiges of lead-based red paint on the foot, so the procedure was abandoned. They now intend to use the strongest tendons in Schilling's body: the ones that hold his fat gut in place.
Don’t get me wrong: I never root for Texas. Never. The bastards killed Kennedy. They birthed Bush. They unleashed the devil vixen Tanya Tucker, who nearly ruined Glenn Campbell. (Read his autobiograpy! I'm not kiddng!) Texas thinks its shit don’t stink. It’s the Saudia Arabia of America.
But if Texas wins it, we might as well think positive. Always look on the bright side of life: That’s my motto. The positives.
1. No place to go but down. It's hard to repeat. Ha ha, did we ever learn it! Everybody hates you. It's ace starters, booing crowds, tougher media, meddling egos. They'll tank. Good riddance.
2. Loss of hunger. They have the ring. They have nothing to prove. Get cozy. Bigger, fatter targets.
3. Can't cut the icons. They’ll have resign Michael Young for three years at some ridiculous price. When he sucks, they have to keep playing him.
4. They pay more. A ring means at least $1 million per player. Napoli will demand the moon. They have to anty up.
5. Less free agent spending. This is tricky, but after we win, I think Bud Selig secretly tells us not to buy any more free agents. (This once was called collusion.) Texas has a shitload of money because they've signed a TV deal with Rupert Murdoch. If they lose, they’ll spend lavishly, maybe go hard after CC. Win, and they’ll hold back. Because collusion is fun.
6. Crappy attendance. They can win 50 championships, but when it’s 120 degrees and the sky is raining lice, attendance is in the dozens. Once they see that doesn't change, it's gotta be demoralizing.
7. Insufferability. The country’s getting sick of Josh Hamilton's heroism and Ron Washington's homespun incoherence. Another tsunami of media crapola will create a backlash.
8. Expectations. Whatever they do, it won’t be enough.
9. It’s still a football state. They can hold the parade, but unless Tanya Tucker is on a float undressing for everybody - she's the devil incarnate; read Glenn's memoir -- the state will still stay home to watch the Cowboys.
10. We can laugh when some Cat 6 hurricane wipes that fukkin smile off their faces. Ha ha. I’m smiling, just thinking about it, because the day before it happens, Rick Perry will try to pray it out to sea. You go, girl. Meet global warming!
Oh, and maybe George W. Bush will appear at the victory parade and say, "Mission Accomplished." That'll be funny, too. Especially for all the veterans' families.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
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So ends the 'I BREAK FOR YOUKILIS BEANINGS" T-shirt.
Killed by MLB.
Message from the 1 Percent... to fans everywhere:
PAY YOUR MONEY, SHUT UP, AND DON'T HAVE FUN.
The poor man was drinking with tears in his eyes. But they're not happy unless they see blood in the socks.
Blood... in the socks.
It's the way he scrunches up his face when something happens. You never see Mark Teixiera scrunch up his face. You never see Curtis Granderson or Joe Girardi do it. Two or three times a game, Swisher scrunches up his face. Full tongue extension. Eyeballs popping. It's amazing. Maybe he over-scrunches. But to me, he brings a special face thing to the game. Call me a Yanktard, but I like the guy.
It's not that I'm worried about Swish. He'll do fine in life. The talent to scrunches up his face will land him a job in Hollywood. Few people can do it like him. Jenny McCarthy comes to mind. Maybe that insufferably sweet Zooey lady, the one who sang the anthem the other night. She can probably scrunch her face. But if I have to see any more of her, I might want to scrunch it myself. We are seeing the second coming of Ali McBeal.
But I can't see hurting Swish's feelings. I wouldn't feel good about it. Would anybody?
It's time to take a cue from the bearded neohippies gathering on Wall Street, and to bring the Yankees into the now millenium.
OCCUPY JETER'S CHIN
YANKEE FACIAL FREEDOM NOW
Two nights ago, the Dallas Maverick center from Germany -- not gonna bother looking up his name; it's the off-season -- made a reference to "Sprockets," the old Saturday Night Live skit with Michael Meyers and the monkey. OK, it's not Moby Dick. But McCarver was clueless to the reference. As McCarver listened to Joe Buck's explanation, it was like an Emperor penguin hearing for the first time there is another world beyond Antarctica. Joe mentioned Saturday Night Live, and it's a wonder Tim didn't say, "What's that?"
Right now, John Sterling is probably re-reading the autobiography of Joan Collins, and comparing his liner notes to Suzyn's. But McCarver probably doesn't even know who Joan Collins is. Unless she dated Elvis. If she dated Elvis, he knows. If she had a bastard child with Elvis, it could have been Michael Young.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Are the Yankees, with ban on facial hair, no better than the bizarre cult of the Amish beard-cutters?
Sad to say, but a toothless band of machine-baiting ragamuffins is terrorizing the hearty Amish males of Bumphuk, Ohio, by holding them down, administering savage pinkbellies, and then taking the clipper of God to their ZZ Topped chins. Yes, Clantons, justice is coming to Tombstone.
Which begs the Thinking Fan's question: Is it right in the new millenium for the New York Yankees, beacons of individual freedom, to force their players to shave their beards, cut their hair and subject themselves to soap and shampoo products, some of which might be distributed by Satan's own (Scott) Proctor and (Oscar) Gamble?
As the Jop once said, freedom's just another word for nothing left to shave.
Comrades, the revolution is coming, and it will not be led by prissy, lemon-scented Yankee short-hairs. Nobody's telling that Gaddafi-killing fan in Libya to part his hair down the middle. It's time to tell The Man, we are 99 percent hairy.
OCCUPY JETER'S CHIN
YANKEE FACIAL FREEDOM NOW
In an interview with the Associated Press, Ian sez:
I am a huge Yankee fan, and I'm officially on strike until Alex Rodriguez is off the team. I have said it from the beginning, when they first got him, I was against it. I feel like he's not a winner, he doesn't belong on the team, he's one of the most selfish players. ... The money this guy is getting paid, he should be hitting 80 home runs and driving in 300 runs a year. The guy didn't even bat .300. ... I don't know how you justify this. ... I can't invest my time anymore in a team that is going to make those kind of decisions. ... There's this whole Occupy Wall Street going on; I just wish all professional sports fans would just boycott going to the games.
The revolution has begun.
CC Sabathia is part owner in a beer and boob joint called the Canz-a-Citi Roadhouse - (Are boobs now called "Canz?" Because that memo never reached my desk.) - which will compete directly against Hooters for market share of the oxycontin-popping, small town trucker mantard, who should be fulfilling his needs on the Internet.
Is this where a 7-year, $150 million Yankee contract should go? To subsidize a nippled staff of t-shirted mammary mamas, who serve chewing gum burgers and chicken delicacies that belong in a Fenway clubhouse bucket? Whatever happened to building schools in Panama, or romancing Cameron Diaz?
Canz-a-Citi. Chew on that for a winter.
Yu Darvish, I hope we only say we don't care about you, because we're secretly in love.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
October 17, 2011 Monday
October 17, 2011 Monday
October 21, 2011 Friday
DEAR DAVID Ortiz,
(No lie: "Next to el Duque's Shoe Repair...")
(You gotta sit through the 30-second ad for the creepy vase-thing that farts when you pass it.)
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Spooky World was supposed to open at Fenway on October 28. But after the Sox’ spectacular September spiral, there was no need to delay the haunted attraction because of playoff games. So, it opened early.
After being terrified by the Buckner Horror Exhibit, kids can see the giant Man-Eating Chicken.
Analysis: Yankees not interested in Japanese sensation Yu Darvish, unless they are lying, hoping to keep the price down on Yu, so they can get him cheaply, which means speculation on their strategy is pointless, so why are we speculating on it? Oh, I forgot: We were eliminated in the first round because nobody could drive a run in from third base. So, do you think the Yankees will sign Yu? I dunno. What do you think?
Maybe we will. Maybe we won't.
Maybe we want him. Maybe we don't.
Hard to say.
Friday, October 21, 2011
2. Wait, you're a Yankee fan, too? Thank God! Tell me: What was Girardi thinking, pitching Benny Ayala in the ninth inning of game two? And wouldn't we have been better served with Greg Golson, rather than Chris Dickerson, on the 25-man? We needed his defense!
3. Look! Behind you! Jennifer Aniston!
4. Kill me, Mister Jones, and the secret to the Arc of the Covenant dies, too.
5. Damn, I was really hoping to out-live Zsa Zsa.
6. Hey, come on, guys. Can't you take a joke?
7. Dammit. This is what happens when your security team is sitting in the clubhouse, drinking beer and eating fried chicken.
8. Say, would you happen to be interested in a lock of hair from Condoleeza Rice?
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Digesting news from yesterday
Gaddafi’s death won’t faze me, BUT—
I hope that monkey got away.
Let loose into suburban lands,
Ohio, red alert... all day.
That hairy face, those trembling hands...
I hope that monkey got away.
He never really had a chance,
Devoured by a bear, they say.
I hope he donned a pair of pants,
Jumped in a car, and drove away.
Perhaps wear glasses, looking weird,
And part his hair the other way,
Or maybe even shave his beard,
And wear a braided blonde toupee.
He wouldn't try to start a rumpus,
No matter what those troopers say.
I hope he made it to Columbus,
To Cleveland maybe, all the way.
I hope he tweaks the hand of fate,
And finds a home in which to stay,
A hope he finds his monkey mate.
I really hope he got away.
Can you hear the Sterling Silver Star... "on the Texas Ranger Radio Network, driven by Fox."
"You know, I've been to the Hebrew Lockup Home at Guantanamo Bay, and it's just like a college campus!"
"That was the 15th out of the ballgame, and fifteen bullets can save you up to fifteen illegal immigrants..."
"Ballgame over. Obama Administration soon to be over. Rangers win, thuuuuuuh Rangers win."
"A Cruz missile – Oh, Nellie! He’s the Nobel Prizewinner — my Nelson Manfella!"
"I don't care what anybody says, you can't predict global warming, you just can't..."
Meanwhile, in Boston, it's The Walking Dead. They’re devouring entrails like zombies in a fat farm. Check this baby out.
Music to my lobes. I gotta believe John "Lager" Lackey is Redsock history – (WE SHOULD GET HIM!) – and for the rest of his career, he’ll pitch his worthless, PBR-hardened ass off against Boston. Sweet.
Let's not forget that the worst moments of the 2000s came at the expense of ex-Yankees with severe grudges. Remember Kenny Rogers? Kenny Lofton? (What is it with ex-Yankees named Kenny?) Even bums with no right to hate us — Effing "Kenny" Pavano, for example — went out of their way to piss down our throats.
Well, write this down: Big Papi will be gone from Fenway. Let's see what he does against them. Also, I gotta think Carl Crawford is one hamstring away from a meltdown into eternal Redsock hate mail oblivion. One DL listing, and they'll get out the tacks: Ed Whitson time, Boston style.
Right now, watching Boston eat itself beats watching the World Series. Rally beer, anyone?
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Cardinals: Look for Beanie Wells and Larry Fitzgerald to have field days against the slowfooted Rangers defensemen, who aren't used to an air game. Overall, I see the teams playing even, but Arizona's scoring capabilities give it the edge.