Tony La Russa: Making Alexander Graham Bell proud since 1944

I have been waiting around for the past week and a half for something to happen that I could just tear into, and boy did I get it.  Cardinals skipper, Tony La Russa, came through with a gem in Game 5 of the World Series pulling a full-on phone fiasco.  That's right, just like he was back in kindergarten, the skip decided to play a game where he says words and it comes out as something entirely different on the other end.  This was not any ordinary game, but somehow he managed to set man-kind back 125 years by finding a way to mess up a fool-proof phone system, or so he says.

By now, most of you probably feel like I'm just some biased douche bag who hates the Cardinals and Cubs (which isn't entirely untrue), but to be fair, they make it so damn easy for me.  La Russa has done an outstanding job of spewing excuses for the whole season, but I have to give it to him for getting the job done.  However, I do want to do him the service of giving him some supplemental jive for his latest oddball outburst because I feel like I owe it to him.  I apologize for all of the alcohol related ones, but when you are dealing with a guy that has at least one DUI, it's probably safe to say that it's warranted.  So Tony-boy, when you lose the World Series, this is what you can tell the media what went wrong.

10)  "Wait.  You're telling me zepczynski starts with an R?"

9)  "I love Beavis and Butthead.  Haven't you seen the one where they prank call their neighbor just to flush the toilet and hang up.  I guess that's pretty much what I just did to our World Series chances."

8)  "When my bullpen coach asked me if I really want to bring in Lynn, I just hung up and assumed he'd figure it out."

7)   "I was so flustered by the bullpen phone, I handed my managerial reign over to Albert.  If he wants $300 million he's going to have to earn it somehow.  I guess he probably shouldn't quit his day-job."

6)  "What?  It's not standard protocol to blame the stadium when you lose a game?"

Image Courtesy The Smoking Gun

5)  "To be fair, I spent about 5 hours on my favorite 1-900 HOTTline with a lady named Lynn last night.  She's been on my mind all day and it's all I can think about when I pick up a phone."

4)  "I figured it was probably better for me to take a nap during the 9th inning so I didn't fall asleep at a red light again."

3)  "I usually don't call a taxi.  I'm pretty confident in getting home on my own."

2)  "Have you heard me try to say ABC's when I'm wasted?  I said the letter 'M' four times.  F**k, I could have told the bullpen pretty much anything."

1)   In my martini-laden stupor,  I accidentally called home and asked my wife to warm up the Mott's (applesauce).  Honest mistake."

Hopefully these will be useful for you in the future Mr. La Russa.  I don't think anyone would blame you if you said any of these things in a press conference and you apparently don't care or think about what you typically say.  If not, I'm pretty sure I can find you a toy phone at a rummage sale so you can practice at home over the winter.  I know it's tough using technology that's evolved so much since 1876, but it's probably a useful skill to have.  Pick up the phone, say a name, job done.

That's a baseball, not a cupcake!

Hey everyone, it's been awhile.  So I apologize to the 98 of you that read my first blog and have been feverishly awaiting the next one.  I promise they will become more frequent from now on.  I know this is called the irrationality blog, but I'm going to take a break from that and talk about one of the meatiest phenomena in baseball--Husky men having an impact.

Some of today's best players have been following in the colossal footprints of Babe Ruth, baseball's original front-end loader, and packing on the pounds to play their best.  So what is it that makes these players so good? Steroids, training, practice, talent?  No apparently the answer is as simple as the drive-thru window at KFC and a few bottles of Sam Adams. 

We all know the key to winning in the MLB playoffs is impact players (although Buster Olney may contend that it's simply pitching).  Well, the funny thing about the 2011 edition of October's impact players is that every team in the playoffs has one with a body mirroring Jackie Gleason.  That's right, I just went there.  Why are a majority of the impact players we hear about on a daily basis total loads? 

Texas Rangers--Nelson Cruz, Adrian Beltre, Matt Harrison all rocking cheese tits.

Detroit Tigers--Miguel Cabrera, arguably the best right-handed hitter in baseball and DUI veteran; All-star closer Jose Valverde both seem to channel power from their guts.

Milwaukee Brewers--Prince Fielder, a vegetarian who got fatter, enough said.

Courtesy Andy Behrens, Yahoo Sports

St. Louis Cardinals--Just look at Lance Berkman (you'll probably break down in laughter); Albert Pujols who, without a fat body, has somehow managed to appear as the fattest player in baseball.  The fact that his tongue has been hanging out of his mouth, likely since birth, has not helped his cause--not to mention beating it down the line like Steven Hawking (post-accident) on every ground ball.  

Other familiar fatties have become some of the most heralded names in baseball--Insert CC Sabathia, Carlos Lee, David Ortiz and Eric Gagne.

But it's not only the best players in the league that are following on the path to major league girth.  Many of the league's journeymen keep resurfacing on 2, sometimes 3 teams per year, and show up fatter every time.     Matt Stairs, Ray King, Octavio Dotel and Arthur Rhodes somehow keep finding a home in the major leagues, and are the trendsetters for prime time players letting their bodies go.  

One doesn't have to look much further than the Red Sox clubhouse for inspiration either.  During any game at Fenway park, it has become a known fact that the clubhouse resembles a college dorm room.  Some of the most familiar, highly paid faces in Boston spend all of their time in there slamming brews, owning hot wings, and building their cred in Madden Nation.  Beckett and Lackey wonder why they have turkey-necks all of a sudden.  No one has ever gotten healthier on that diet.  

I don't know what it is about packing on the pounds, but it's definitely something to explore if you want to play in the Bigs.  So kids, keep pounding down the frosties and fries and condition that body for a power hitting experience and millions of dollars. 

Die-hard fans--and I don't mean the movie

Fall is unquestionably the best season for sports fans all the world.  Soccer just started up in Europe, the MLB pennant chases finally reached a heated climax, the NFL season is just getting underway, and numerous Division I NCAA football teams are working rapidly to fudge grades for their high-profile players.

Since this is my first post, I want to give a little introduction to what my contributors and I will be talking about on a fairly regular basis.  I have a list of irrational people, groups, ideas, etc. (basically just a bunch of bull s*** that bothers me).  But in light of all of the enthralling sports action, I want to dedicate my first blog to some of the most irrational fans in America.  So this one's for you Chicago and Boston.

I don't think that anyone outside of these two mega-markets would consider it an overly bold statement to say that fans from Chicago and Boston are anything less than lunatics.  I'm not saying this as a personal opinion.  99% of people outside of your towns hate you--and with good reason.  The recent collapse of MLB teams (Cubs and Red Sox, that is) has spurred the resurfacing of two of the friendliest faces known to man, Bill Buckner and Steve Bartman.  These two media-darlings (if you consider people who are too scared to leave their homes media-darlings) have been talked about incessantly over the past few weeks, as if they have something to do with the 9 players on the field not being able to do their jobs.

I know Boston was able to get over Buckner and the Curse of the Bambino with recent championships, but it's fairly safe to say that choking on a 9 game lead like its a bony piece of scrod may curtail into another curse (and I know how you Bostonians love your scrod and chips).  

But let us focus on Chicago for the time being because the Bartman story is one of the most disturbing stories of human irrationality in US history.  ESPN recently ran a fantastic docu-film on Bartman, which should serve as a reminder to the lunatics around Wrigley field that threatened a man's life over a baseball game.  Every fan in that situation is going to reach at that ball, I don't care how good your hindsight is.  He wasn't even the only one to go for it.   But anyhow, I guess it was reasonable to throw beer in his face, chant asshole at him, threaten to kill him, and mount enough fear in the man to basically place in him solitary confinement for the rest of his life.

It's about time to realize it wasn't his fault at all.  I have to credit ESPN on refreshing my memory on some of these points, but as I can recall, good ole' Dusty and his conterminous tooth pick didn't have the huevos to pull a dying pitcher.  Not to mention, the Cubbies had about 13 other chances to get out of that inning and end the game.  Good teams finish games and beat adversity...NOT FANS! 

Did I say beat fans? Yep...These are the same fans that travel from ballpark to ballpark searching for brawls with random fans.  Sounds like a gang, doesn't it?  

And whoever coined the phrase "The Friendly Confines of Wrigley Field" obviously hasn't been there.  The place, as historic as it may be, is almost as unwelcoming as the dump it resembles.  But I guess fans who threaten to kill one of their own (because their team couldn't manage to hold a lead) don't deserve any better.  

PS:  Lose the whole goat thing.  You could just call your team the Chicago Goats and start blaming your losses on a baby bear and everyone else would care equally as much--not at all.