Much to the shock of stlsports, the Riverfront Times has named this blog the "Local Blog O' the Week", and let me tell you, it has been a long time coming. After a few weeks of grueling local investigative fake sports reporting, the staff has been rewarded with an amazing honor from a highly reputable and respected publication such as the RFT.
Stlsports is not really all that familiar with the Riverfront Times, which is sort of the "independent report on whatever the hell they feel like newspaper magazine" for St. Louis. Several years ago, while waiting at a MetroLink stop, I read an edition of the RFT for the first time, and while browsing came across a column called 'Savage Love', which I should have known better than to read from the title. A few sentences into it and I felt like I was reading a Playboy in a public place. That particular column included the story of someone's grandmother masturbating her pet parrot and how it disturbed the guy who wrote in to the columnist, Dan Savage. Really? That was disturbing? Well, nothing like turing the page to move on ... to twenty pages of 'adult' themed advertisements. However, the judging eyes of the old lady sitting next to me could not keep me away from the full page 'Spankys' ad, which cartooned out the many euphamisms for flogging the old dolphin, in case you can't read but are looking for a place like Spanky's. Perhaps going forward in the magazine was more appropriate, and I turned to hard hitting news about the hottest local restaurants and bars. What a publication.
Yessir, the RFT has a special place in the hearts of stlsports, and we here are thrilled to have its endorsement. Hopefully, we can next be recognized by Hustler magazine or the New York Times, two other well-regarded publications.
In an unrelated matter, the Riverfront Times has been named by stlsports the "Local Non-Post-Dispatch Printed News Publication O' the Week", just narrowly beating out For Rent Magazine.
[Check it out here.]
Friday, September 8, 2006
Thursday, September 7, 2006
Tim McCarver literally moments from explosion
Tim McCarver, a baseball analyst for the FOX network, is best known around the country as the member of the sports media with his head the furthest up the Yankees' ass, right above Buster Olney's. To a few learned people in St. Louis, he is also known for being the catcher on the many excellent Cardinals teams in the 1960's and for his relationship with Hall of Fame pitcher Bob Gibson. Despite being a famous former Cardinal, McCarver hates the team and goes out of his way to rip on the Redbirds constantly, earning him a special place in the hearts of the city of St. Louis. In fact, Tim McCarver actually once said something nice about the Cardinals during a playoff broadcast in 2000 and a small vein on the front of his brow started to pulsate at dangerous levels. After being medically cleared to return to the booth, he proceeded to knock on the home team again as usual.
To show their appreciation for McCarver's antagonistic disposition towards the club and the city, a group of local sports fans got together to honor McCarver. According to Rocky Mozell, who somehow got the rights to sell the names of the stars via the International Star Registry, anyone can name a star after someone else for a few bucks. [Stlsports plans to wait until Mozell decides to sell real estate on Jupiter. How about the acre at the exact center of the red dot?] The 'Tim McCarver Go To Hell Association' purchased from the star registry the right to name the most unstable and soonest-to-explode star so that they could have a kind of cool, kind of nerdy party where they could witness the spectacular death of Tim McCarver.
Said local scientist Roscoe Johnson, "Well actually, this star blew up millions of years ago. See, light travels at a fixed speed, and the light from the explosion took millions of years to get here. So, actually it blew up a while ago. But, you know, since we only see it here now, it looks like it is blowing up now. See, that relativity stuff is kind of cool." Regardless of the 'scientific' explanation of the workings of the blowing up of stuff far away, the TMGTHA is undaunted by their zeal to witness the nuclear death of Tim McCarver. The group plans to project images of the explosion, which is said to be just days away, onto a giant screen to be seen by the group and its guests while a great deal of beer is consumed.
Reached for comment, McCarver's partner in the broadcast booth, Joe Buck, said on the record that "Tim McCarver is the biggest windbag in the world" and that "working with McCarver is like having nails driven into my temple." Buck then curbed those remarks with, "Yeah, but FOX pays so darn much, I would do the game with anybody. Anybody except Harold 'Octopus' Reynolds." When asked why Harold Reynolds is known as the 'Octopus', Buck replied that "he is all hands, if you know what I mean." We sure do, Joe. The TMGTHA has lobbied Buck to call the explosion, but talks stalled when the group offered some beer and a t-shirt and Buck demanded ten million dollars.
For their next event, the anti-McCarver group now plans to adopt a sick and elderly dog, rename it Tim McCarver, and then have it put down.
[This story is a satire of public figures. Man, I hate Tim McCarver. Sorry, PETA.]
[BTW, if you have money to throw away, visit http://www.starregistry.com/.]
To show their appreciation for McCarver's antagonistic disposition towards the club and the city, a group of local sports fans got together to honor McCarver. According to Rocky Mozell, who somehow got the rights to sell the names of the stars via the International Star Registry, anyone can name a star after someone else for a few bucks. [Stlsports plans to wait until Mozell decides to sell real estate on Jupiter. How about the acre at the exact center of the red dot?] The 'Tim McCarver Go To Hell Association' purchased from the star registry the right to name the most unstable and soonest-to-explode star so that they could have a kind of cool, kind of nerdy party where they could witness the spectacular death of Tim McCarver.
Said local scientist Roscoe Johnson, "Well actually, this star blew up millions of years ago. See, light travels at a fixed speed, and the light from the explosion took millions of years to get here. So, actually it blew up a while ago. But, you know, since we only see it here now, it looks like it is blowing up now. See, that relativity stuff is kind of cool." Regardless of the 'scientific' explanation of the workings of the blowing up of stuff far away, the TMGTHA is undaunted by their zeal to witness the nuclear death of Tim McCarver. The group plans to project images of the explosion, which is said to be just days away, onto a giant screen to be seen by the group and its guests while a great deal of beer is consumed.
Reached for comment, McCarver's partner in the broadcast booth, Joe Buck, said on the record that "Tim McCarver is the biggest windbag in the world" and that "working with McCarver is like having nails driven into my temple." Buck then curbed those remarks with, "Yeah, but FOX pays so darn much, I would do the game with anybody. Anybody except Harold 'Octopus' Reynolds." When asked why Harold Reynolds is known as the 'Octopus', Buck replied that "he is all hands, if you know what I mean." We sure do, Joe. The TMGTHA has lobbied Buck to call the explosion, but talks stalled when the group offered some beer and a t-shirt and Buck demanded ten million dollars.
For their next event, the anti-McCarver group now plans to adopt a sick and elderly dog, rename it Tim McCarver, and then have it put down.
[This story is a satire of public figures. Man, I hate Tim McCarver. Sorry, PETA.]
[BTW, if you have money to throw away, visit http://www.starregistry.com/.]
Wednesday, September 6, 2006
St. Louis sports-themed poetry contest results
Stlsports is pleased to announce the long-awaited results of the poetry contest. Below is a publication of the winning entries. Enjoy the best of the sports musings of St. Louis' finset poetic minds.
A haiku on the Blues' latest retread goalie situation:
Manny Legace?
What? Was Vincent Reindeau
Unavailable?
A limerick about a trip to Busch stadium from the view in the center field bleachers:
A baseball is hit down the line
In the air, oh my, it looks fine
I look up for the ball
As it approaches the wall
I'm blind from the neon Hardee's sign
A second limerick from a devoted Rams fan with some fantasy sports thoughts:
I wish I was a believer!
Even if you're an overacheiver.
On fantasy draft day,
Kevin Curtis slips away,
I just can't draft a white wide receiver.
Another great haiku, this one about a local big league player for the Phillies who is having an amazing season:
Hey, Ryan Howard,
Thanks for reminding the Cards
How badly they draft
This one is a free verse rhyme about an after-game party with a women's rugby team:
I was acting smoothe as could be,
But these chicks had no interest in me.
I talked to one particular hottie,
Who had a total knockout body.
"You're not my type," she said with a frown,
And I turned away, having been shot down.
As I walked off, she shouted, 'Hey, mister"
And asked me if I had a sister.
[These poems are reprinted with the authors' permission and are satires of public figures. Feel free to add your own to the comments.]
A haiku on the Blues' latest retread goalie situation:
Manny Legace?
What? Was Vincent Reindeau
Unavailable?
A limerick about a trip to Busch stadium from the view in the center field bleachers:
A baseball is hit down the line
In the air, oh my, it looks fine
I look up for the ball
As it approaches the wall
I'm blind from the neon Hardee's sign
A second limerick from a devoted Rams fan with some fantasy sports thoughts:
I wish I was a believer!
Even if you're an overacheiver.
On fantasy draft day,
Kevin Curtis slips away,
I just can't draft a white wide receiver.
Another great haiku, this one about a local big league player for the Phillies who is having an amazing season:
Hey, Ryan Howard,
Thanks for reminding the Cards
How badly they draft
This one is a free verse rhyme about an after-game party with a women's rugby team:
I was acting smoothe as could be,
But these chicks had no interest in me.
I talked to one particular hottie,
Who had a total knockout body.
"You're not my type," she said with a frown,
And I turned away, having been shot down.
As I walked off, she shouted, 'Hey, mister"
And asked me if I had a sister.
[These poems are reprinted with the authors' permission and are satires of public figures. Feel free to add your own to the comments.]
Survey: 90% of people who quote stats making them up
During a recent poll of Cardinals baseball fans, who claim to be the most intelligent spectators in the game, it appears that many people have been throwing around statistics without having any idea what they mean. In fact, many people just make up statistics to prove their point in arguments with other fans. This might come as a shock to some, but not to stlsports, for whom witnessing this type of nonsense has been going on for many years.
For example, a recent discussion overheard by stlsports at Weber's Front Row during a Cardinals game between two morons is transcribed below:
Moron 1: Pujols is a much better clutch player than Big Papi.
Moron 2: How can you make such a statement? They are in different leagues and play different positions on totally different teams.
Moron 1: Well Pujols' OPS is .860 for the year.
Moron 2: Wow, that is pretty high, I guess.
Moron 1: And since Papi only has an OPS of .790, he sucks.
Moron 2: Do you even know what OPS means?
Moron 1: Uh, sure. Overall Player Swing?
Moron 2: So, did those stats come from the newspaper or out of your ass?
This is just one all-too-common example that most people who claim to know about sports actually know nothing about sports. The OPS statistic is a detailed calculation, recently added to the baseball vernacular, obtained by taking the player's jersey number, dividing that by his walk-to-strikeout ratio, and adding that number to his road batting average. Duh, everyone knows that.
But the foolishness is still quite prominent. Many 'die-hard' Redbird fans were quizzed on their knowledge of the game, including everything from manual scoring to historical statistics. To say that the city performed poorly would be a dramatic understatement.
By example, when polled via Jumbotron by a showing of hands about the attendance at the Cardinals game last week, many people thought that Option #2, represented by a hot dog, was correct, when in fact it was Option #4, the ballcap. The craziness continued. The guy sitting next to stlsports marked down 4-3 on his scorecard for a ball hit to the second baseman and thrown to first base for an out. Since the ball was thrown from second to first, the scoring should have been 2-1, but in lieu of crashing down his little baseball world, stlsports resisted the urge to correct him.
Reached for comment, manager Tony LaRussa noted, "I am sick of this town. Why do you think I live in California? I can't get a cup of frickin' coffee without someone talking to me about stats. What's that, Mr. Idiot Baseball Fan? I should start Taguchi tonight in center based on your personal statistical analysis? Wow, thanks. Would you like my job, you fat ass? How about another donut? ... I'm sorry, I'm rambling. It's my problem, I'll deal with it. Anyway, I cannot stand hearing stats from fans. I would say that 99% of the time, they are completely wrong. The next guy who talks to me about OPS is getting punched in the face. And I am not talking a little 'Michael Barret cheap-o' punch in the face. I am talking about a 'Nolan Flippin Ryan tenderizing Robin Ventura's schnoz' punch in the face. Just you watch."
Study up, Cardinals fans. This was a disappointing showing.
[This story is only 67% satire of public figures, including the LaRussa stuff, but with an overall +/- 4% margin of error, but that's only 70% of the time, 10% of the time, and there is only a 45% chance of that.]
For example, a recent discussion overheard by stlsports at Weber's Front Row during a Cardinals game between two morons is transcribed below:
Moron 1: Pujols is a much better clutch player than Big Papi.
Moron 2: How can you make such a statement? They are in different leagues and play different positions on totally different teams.
Moron 1: Well Pujols' OPS is .860 for the year.
Moron 2: Wow, that is pretty high, I guess.
Moron 1: And since Papi only has an OPS of .790, he sucks.
Moron 2: Do you even know what OPS means?
Moron 1: Uh, sure. Overall Player Swing?
Moron 2: So, did those stats come from the newspaper or out of your ass?
This is just one all-too-common example that most people who claim to know about sports actually know nothing about sports. The OPS statistic is a detailed calculation, recently added to the baseball vernacular, obtained by taking the player's jersey number, dividing that by his walk-to-strikeout ratio, and adding that number to his road batting average. Duh, everyone knows that.
But the foolishness is still quite prominent. Many 'die-hard' Redbird fans were quizzed on their knowledge of the game, including everything from manual scoring to historical statistics. To say that the city performed poorly would be a dramatic understatement.
By example, when polled via Jumbotron by a showing of hands about the attendance at the Cardinals game last week, many people thought that Option #2, represented by a hot dog, was correct, when in fact it was Option #4, the ballcap. The craziness continued. The guy sitting next to stlsports marked down 4-3 on his scorecard for a ball hit to the second baseman and thrown to first base for an out. Since the ball was thrown from second to first, the scoring should have been 2-1, but in lieu of crashing down his little baseball world, stlsports resisted the urge to correct him.
Reached for comment, manager Tony LaRussa noted, "I am sick of this town. Why do you think I live in California? I can't get a cup of frickin' coffee without someone talking to me about stats. What's that, Mr. Idiot Baseball Fan? I should start Taguchi tonight in center based on your personal statistical analysis? Wow, thanks. Would you like my job, you fat ass? How about another donut? ... I'm sorry, I'm rambling. It's my problem, I'll deal with it. Anyway, I cannot stand hearing stats from fans. I would say that 99% of the time, they are completely wrong. The next guy who talks to me about OPS is getting punched in the face. And I am not talking a little 'Michael Barret cheap-o' punch in the face. I am talking about a 'Nolan Flippin Ryan tenderizing Robin Ventura's schnoz' punch in the face. Just you watch."
Study up, Cardinals fans. This was a disappointing showing.
[This story is only 67% satire of public figures, including the LaRussa stuff, but with an overall +/- 4% margin of error, but that's only 70% of the time, 10% of the time, and there is only a 45% chance of that.]
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
Commentary: Indoor Football much more confusing that Australian Rules Football
[This story is a commentary, which slightly deviates from the traditional format for this news service. Enjoy the experiment.]
In an effort to try and expand the sports horizions of its readers, stlsports recently attended an indoor football game at the Savvis Center. Apparently St. Louis has an indoor football team, called the River City Rage. The Rage are a part of the National Indoor Football League, which is just another in a long line of indoor bastardizations of the NFL. Stlsports had an alterior motive for attending this game: so I could figure out what the hell is going on in the EA Sports Arena Football game that I won on eBay for twenty five cents.
See, there are several schools of thought on the football played indoors rules. For one thing, you can play regular old football indoors, like we can see in person at the Edward Jones Dome downtown. The roof doesn't retract and the building doesn't have any character inside, but at least it was damned expensive and it certainly revitalized the six city blocks that it was built upon. Then there are the other kinds of indoor football, the kind played in hockey or basketball arenas by people who couldn't make it in the Canadian Football League, NFL Europe, the Women's Pro Football League or the American Geriatric Flag Football League. For your money, you get 50 yards field and crazy rules that vary from one league to another, so that no one has any freaking idea what they are watching from one league to another. For example, when stlsports went to the NIFL league game to figure out indoor football, those rules did not translate to the AFL video game, much to the vexation of stlsports.
In light of the indoor football rules discrepancy fiasco, the Arena Football League game disc is now a coaster, and actually far better serves its new purpose of keeping moisture off of furniture than it did in its original purpose of entertaining the game player. The bottom line is that unless it is football played NFL style, then it is not really football. However, since the team here at stlsports is wildly unathletic, as is the case for most sports commentators, a search was on for a more amenable form of competitive gaming that combined a love of beer with a dislike for confusing rules. That's when we were introduced to Australian Rules Football, a type of sport sweeping the ... well, nowhere. It is the ugly step child of rugby, and it absolutely kicks ass.
When asked to explain the rules of Australian Rules Football, local Aussie import Roscoe Johnson, who is a 'gutter' by trade when not playing ARF, noted, "OY! First you swazzle up a few yobbles of beer-ee-oo, then you and you mates git on the pitch and at the snag of the bell, it's a right fine noggin for hog raggin the buzzard wit the ball. Then you make sure that the bob who has the billy gets a ramble on his backside, all in the hopes of draggin the billy into the graggler. Then its time for some beeries. Fosters is for nancys. I like mine the Braggles. Thats the stovetopper." So it sounds like ARF is basically binge drinking combined with 'kill the man with the ball', which is just fine with stlsports. Isn't that what real men should be doing with their free time anyway? Is anyone surprised that something like this would come out of Australia?
Play on, brave ARFers, play on. Stlsports will be cheering, beer in hand.
Since the last stlsports post, the death of Steve Irwin, a/k/a The Crocodile Hunter, became public news. When reached for comment, ARF player Johnson noted, "I didn'a cry when me own father was hung for stealing a pig, but I'll cry now."
[This story is a satire of public figures and rediculous sports.]
[We will miss you Steve. God must have one hell of a crocodile running loose in heaven to need you up there so soon.]
In an effort to try and expand the sports horizions of its readers, stlsports recently attended an indoor football game at the Savvis Center. Apparently St. Louis has an indoor football team, called the River City Rage. The Rage are a part of the National Indoor Football League, which is just another in a long line of indoor bastardizations of the NFL. Stlsports had an alterior motive for attending this game: so I could figure out what the hell is going on in the EA Sports Arena Football game that I won on eBay for twenty five cents.
See, there are several schools of thought on the football played indoors rules. For one thing, you can play regular old football indoors, like we can see in person at the Edward Jones Dome downtown. The roof doesn't retract and the building doesn't have any character inside, but at least it was damned expensive and it certainly revitalized the six city blocks that it was built upon. Then there are the other kinds of indoor football, the kind played in hockey or basketball arenas by people who couldn't make it in the Canadian Football League, NFL Europe, the Women's Pro Football League or the American Geriatric Flag Football League. For your money, you get 50 yards field and crazy rules that vary from one league to another, so that no one has any freaking idea what they are watching from one league to another. For example, when stlsports went to the NIFL league game to figure out indoor football, those rules did not translate to the AFL video game, much to the vexation of stlsports.
In light of the indoor football rules discrepancy fiasco, the Arena Football League game disc is now a coaster, and actually far better serves its new purpose of keeping moisture off of furniture than it did in its original purpose of entertaining the game player. The bottom line is that unless it is football played NFL style, then it is not really football. However, since the team here at stlsports is wildly unathletic, as is the case for most sports commentators, a search was on for a more amenable form of competitive gaming that combined a love of beer with a dislike for confusing rules. That's when we were introduced to Australian Rules Football, a type of sport sweeping the ... well, nowhere. It is the ugly step child of rugby, and it absolutely kicks ass.
When asked to explain the rules of Australian Rules Football, local Aussie import Roscoe Johnson, who is a 'gutter' by trade when not playing ARF, noted, "OY! First you swazzle up a few yobbles of beer-ee-oo, then you and you mates git on the pitch and at the snag of the bell, it's a right fine noggin for hog raggin the buzzard wit the ball. Then you make sure that the bob who has the billy gets a ramble on his backside, all in the hopes of draggin the billy into the graggler. Then its time for some beeries. Fosters is for nancys. I like mine the Braggles. Thats the stovetopper." So it sounds like ARF is basically binge drinking combined with 'kill the man with the ball', which is just fine with stlsports. Isn't that what real men should be doing with their free time anyway? Is anyone surprised that something like this would come out of Australia?
Play on, brave ARFers, play on. Stlsports will be cheering, beer in hand.
Since the last stlsports post, the death of Steve Irwin, a/k/a The Crocodile Hunter, became public news. When reached for comment, ARF player Johnson noted, "I didn'a cry when me own father was hung for stealing a pig, but I'll cry now."
[This story is a satire of public figures and rediculous sports.]
[We will miss you Steve. God must have one hell of a crocodile running loose in heaven to need you up there so soon.]
Special Edition: Rejected Sports Headlines [Part 2]
Of course there are more rejected headlines! So many stupid ideas that never got off of the ground. When the headline itself is far, far funnier than the story to follow, it gets rejected. Hence, most of the following terrible headlines. Enjoy the second installation of this series. Feel free to opine which ones should be saved, if any.
So Taguchi not a very good driver [No need to endorse a stereotype, even if there are some elements of truth ... ]
Cubs fan has memorial brick edited to remove phrase 'Cards Suck' [You know, this probably really happened, but when I tried to write it, it was just too dumb.]
Time traveller from future: You must kill [sports player] [I could not figure out who it should be, but I still have a dumb reason to kill him in my head. Despite that, I am letting this one go.]
Cancer-stricken children to Blues: We aren't interested in free tickets [Since when are cancer-stricken children in a humor-related story? This would have landed me in hell.]
Local liquor stores lobby Walt Jocketty to trade for David Wells [Another spin on the Sidney Ponson / Ray King joke - already done it.]
Glue factory near Fairmount Park sees increase in production [Wow, that's dumb.]
Sequel to Three Nights in August: 'I hate you, Jason Marquis' [Wrote it a while back and it sucked. Plus, Bernie has been doing this gag for weeks on 1380am, and I wouldn't want our comments to overlap.]
Rectal Fungobatectomy required for reporter who brought up Mark McGuire in LaRussa interview [Believe it or not, there is no such procedure as a fungobatectomy.]
Hardees sign at Busch Stadium leads to increase in price of Neon gas [I just hate how commercial that stadium has become. And that damn sign is HUGE!]
Pornographic websites feeling the pinch from the fantasy football boom [Well what else is there to do on a computer?]
[Player] named ugliest man in St. Louis sports [I have a name, and you probably do too, but this one should never be written.]
[These rejected stories would have been and these headlines are satires of public figures.]
So Taguchi not a very good driver [No need to endorse a stereotype, even if there are some elements of truth ... ]
Cubs fan has memorial brick edited to remove phrase 'Cards Suck' [You know, this probably really happened, but when I tried to write it, it was just too dumb.]
Time traveller from future: You must kill [sports player] [I could not figure out who it should be, but I still have a dumb reason to kill him in my head. Despite that, I am letting this one go.]
Cancer-stricken children to Blues: We aren't interested in free tickets [Since when are cancer-stricken children in a humor-related story? This would have landed me in hell.]
Local liquor stores lobby Walt Jocketty to trade for David Wells [Another spin on the Sidney Ponson / Ray King joke - already done it.]
Glue factory near Fairmount Park sees increase in production [Wow, that's dumb.]
Sequel to Three Nights in August: 'I hate you, Jason Marquis' [Wrote it a while back and it sucked. Plus, Bernie has been doing this gag for weeks on 1380am, and I wouldn't want our comments to overlap.]
Rectal Fungobatectomy required for reporter who brought up Mark McGuire in LaRussa interview [Believe it or not, there is no such procedure as a fungobatectomy.]
Hardees sign at Busch Stadium leads to increase in price of Neon gas [I just hate how commercial that stadium has become. And that damn sign is HUGE!]
Pornographic websites feeling the pinch from the fantasy football boom [Well what else is there to do on a computer?]
[Player] named ugliest man in St. Louis sports [I have a name, and you probably do too, but this one should never be written.]
[These rejected stories would have been and these headlines are satires of public figures.]
Monday, September 4, 2006
Bo Hart desperate to get noticed
Just last week the expansion of the rosters for the Cardinals' major league baseball team took place, and several prospects and part-time players have made the jump up to the major leagues for the remainded of the regular season. However, despite the teams' issues at the center of the diamond defensively, former fan-favorite Bo Hart did not get the call. Since returning to the Cardinals organization in the AAA Memphis Redbird affiliate, Hart had been trying to get noticed by the St. Louis management and make the team again. Sadly, people aren't talking about Bo anymore and he is getting desperate to get noticed.
In a recent Redbirds broadcast in Memphis, the television announcer had this call of the game: "There's strike three, and with that Schumaker goes down swinging. Well, we can take a break here for station identification and be back with the top of the sixth, right here on ... oh, my goodness. [To producer] Get camera three on the dugout. [To broadcast] It appears that in the corner of the dugout, Bo Hart is, well it appears that he is cutting himself on the arm. Can that be right? Yes, it looks like he is using a pocket knife to cut himself in his non-throwing forearm in several places. The trainer is on his way over, and ... lookout, I think we are seeing some kind of tantrum. Hart is throwing things around and shouting out to the trainer and manager that he is not loved and that nobody cares about him. Well, folks, this is about the weirdest thing I have ever seen in my life as a broadcaster. This, ... this is a black day for baseball."
Said youth therapist Roscoe Johnson about such erratic behavior, "This is typical for children who are trying to get noticed. If someone's parents, for example, have been spending too much time talking about or paying attention to the oldest child, sometimes the younger child might do dangerous things to themselves as a cry for attention. Sometimes they will do drugs or alcholol, or perhaps misbehave in school, but these rarer instances of self-harm need special attention. Ultimately, the child does get the attention that they are seeking, so it is important not to feed into their desires and create a dangerous looping effect for repetitive behavior." Upon being informed that this was not an early teen situation, but instead was that of a professional baseball player in his mid to late twenties, Johnson replied, "Well that changes things. That guy is out of his damned mind. I had no idea. He needs some real help."
Said manager Tony LaRussa about the Bo Hart situation, "I have had it up to my butt with short, white, 'scrappy', one-position infielders. How many of these clowns are in our organization? And by the way, I hate the word 'scrappy'. That is the stupidest crap I have ever heard. Stop using that word!" General manager Walt Jocketty, opined, "Oh, yeah, we noticed him alright. In fact, I noticed his ass right over to Round Rock in a trade. We only have room on our roster for a few psychos and Hart isn't one of them."
[This story is a satire of public figures.]
[Thanks KES and MWS.]
In a recent Redbirds broadcast in Memphis, the television announcer had this call of the game: "There's strike three, and with that Schumaker goes down swinging. Well, we can take a break here for station identification and be back with the top of the sixth, right here on ... oh, my goodness. [To producer] Get camera three on the dugout. [To broadcast] It appears that in the corner of the dugout, Bo Hart is, well it appears that he is cutting himself on the arm. Can that be right? Yes, it looks like he is using a pocket knife to cut himself in his non-throwing forearm in several places. The trainer is on his way over, and ... lookout, I think we are seeing some kind of tantrum. Hart is throwing things around and shouting out to the trainer and manager that he is not loved and that nobody cares about him. Well, folks, this is about the weirdest thing I have ever seen in my life as a broadcaster. This, ... this is a black day for baseball."
Said youth therapist Roscoe Johnson about such erratic behavior, "This is typical for children who are trying to get noticed. If someone's parents, for example, have been spending too much time talking about or paying attention to the oldest child, sometimes the younger child might do dangerous things to themselves as a cry for attention. Sometimes they will do drugs or alcholol, or perhaps misbehave in school, but these rarer instances of self-harm need special attention. Ultimately, the child does get the attention that they are seeking, so it is important not to feed into their desires and create a dangerous looping effect for repetitive behavior." Upon being informed that this was not an early teen situation, but instead was that of a professional baseball player in his mid to late twenties, Johnson replied, "Well that changes things. That guy is out of his damned mind. I had no idea. He needs some real help."
Said manager Tony LaRussa about the Bo Hart situation, "I have had it up to my butt with short, white, 'scrappy', one-position infielders. How many of these clowns are in our organization? And by the way, I hate the word 'scrappy'. That is the stupidest crap I have ever heard. Stop using that word!" General manager Walt Jocketty, opined, "Oh, yeah, we noticed him alright. In fact, I noticed his ass right over to Round Rock in a trade. We only have room on our roster for a few psychos and Hart isn't one of them."
[This story is a satire of public figures.]
[Thanks KES and MWS.]
Shaun McDonald named NFL preseason MVP, wants new contract
Shaun McDonald, the Rams' abhorrent punt returner, has been named the National Football League's Most Valuable Player of the 2006 preseason. This is quite an honor for an up and coming receiver, and the first time that someone who was actually drafted in the regular NFL draft won this honor. This adds to McDonald's already impressive resume that includes three touchdowns in four seasons and a practice squad player of the year award from the Rams. But now he has chosen to hold out for a new contract in light of his recent accolades.
To earn this accolade, the scrappy player managed to record 156 punt return yards, 175 kickoff return yards, and two receiving touchdowns to accompany his 13 catches for 117 yards in just three preseason games. He is pleased with now being called scrappy rather than just crappy. "That little 's' is a big deal to me," he opined. "Too bad preseason football stats don't count towards the rest of the year. If they did, I would be a perennial pro bowler."
McDonald has been getting counsel from another member of the league, one who has also been named the preseason NFL MVP, as well as the MVP of the now defunct XFL, Rod Smart, f/k/a He Hate Me. Smart also held out, noting that, "After my first preseason game, where I had six rushes for seventy yards, with a couple touchdowns agains the Houston third string defense, I was on pace to set league records in several offensive caterogies. It was payday time. But as usual, The Man was hating on me." Accordingly, the Panthers begged to differ, who in a counteroffer to Smart's demands, told him that under a tucked-away contract clause, he could be made to work the hot dog concession stands if he tried to hold out for more money. Smart relented and went on that season to play as a back-up special teams player, where he sucked.
When asked about the holdout, John Shaw of the the Rams' front office, asked, "Who the hell is that? Wait, didn't we cut that guy like three years ago? Hmm." After a brief investigation, it was determined that he had been cut in the 2004 preseason, but that no one told him, and through some glitch in accounting, he kept getting paid. "Well I just fixed the glitch, and it should work itself out," concluded Shaw.
McDonald noted, "I haven't heard back from the Rams yet, but I expect that they will be caving into my demands soon. I mean, what can they do without the McD Man?" McDonald's preseason replacement, a WR/RB 'tweener' Roscoe Johnson, returned a punt and a kickoff for touchdowns in the subsequent game against the Bears' first team special teams. Said Johnson, "I really don't like being called a 'tweener', since I think, according to schoolyard lingo, that means that I have both sets of genitalia. I don't. I mean, I am all man. Now, I am pretty sure that there is a true 'tweener' on the team, based on what I've seen in the showers, but I should not really get into that." When asked about his preseason accomplishments, Johnson opined, "Yeah, that was pretty awesome, a real testament to my value. I am thinking of holding out for more money."
[This story is a satire of public figures. BTW, I really dislike preseason football.]
To earn this accolade, the scrappy player managed to record 156 punt return yards, 175 kickoff return yards, and two receiving touchdowns to accompany his 13 catches for 117 yards in just three preseason games. He is pleased with now being called scrappy rather than just crappy. "That little 's' is a big deal to me," he opined. "Too bad preseason football stats don't count towards the rest of the year. If they did, I would be a perennial pro bowler."
McDonald has been getting counsel from another member of the league, one who has also been named the preseason NFL MVP, as well as the MVP of the now defunct XFL, Rod Smart, f/k/a He Hate Me. Smart also held out, noting that, "After my first preseason game, where I had six rushes for seventy yards, with a couple touchdowns agains the Houston third string defense, I was on pace to set league records in several offensive caterogies. It was payday time. But as usual, The Man was hating on me." Accordingly, the Panthers begged to differ, who in a counteroffer to Smart's demands, told him that under a tucked-away contract clause, he could be made to work the hot dog concession stands if he tried to hold out for more money. Smart relented and went on that season to play as a back-up special teams player, where he sucked.
When asked about the holdout, John Shaw of the the Rams' front office, asked, "Who the hell is that? Wait, didn't we cut that guy like three years ago? Hmm." After a brief investigation, it was determined that he had been cut in the 2004 preseason, but that no one told him, and through some glitch in accounting, he kept getting paid. "Well I just fixed the glitch, and it should work itself out," concluded Shaw.
McDonald noted, "I haven't heard back from the Rams yet, but I expect that they will be caving into my demands soon. I mean, what can they do without the McD Man?" McDonald's preseason replacement, a WR/RB 'tweener' Roscoe Johnson, returned a punt and a kickoff for touchdowns in the subsequent game against the Bears' first team special teams. Said Johnson, "I really don't like being called a 'tweener', since I think, according to schoolyard lingo, that means that I have both sets of genitalia. I don't. I mean, I am all man. Now, I am pretty sure that there is a true 'tweener' on the team, based on what I've seen in the showers, but I should not really get into that." When asked about his preseason accomplishments, Johnson opined, "Yeah, that was pretty awesome, a real testament to my value. I am thinking of holding out for more money."
[This story is a satire of public figures. BTW, I really dislike preseason football.]
Friday, September 1, 2006
Klopfenstein Uber Allen! to replace Let's Go Rams!
The Rams drafted tight end Joe Klopfenstein out of the University of Colorado in the second round as a replacement for the departing Brandon Manuma, uh, Manomau, ah, let's see, Maenumomomo, ... uh, Brandon Smith. Joe, who is commonly mistaken for a native German becuase of his last name, was actually born here in America, right up the highway in Denver, Colorado. Nonetheless, several German-born St. Louisans have taken notice and are beginning to root for Joe, thinking that he is their native son.
Rams team president John Shaw is not going to disagree with those new fans. "You might not believe it, but very few native-Germans living here in America follow our football," remarked Shaw. "Of course they follow football, but they call it soccer. It is a little confusing, I know, but stick with me here. Anything we can do to tap into a new fan base, we are certainly going to attempt."
Shaw plans to reach out to these fans through a series of public service announcements. In a recent commercial, Klopfenstein, who is clearly reading from a teleprompter in a slow and confused manner, while wearing a shirt that looks like the German national flag, reached out to those fans. "Ich möchte Ventilatoren anregen, für mich während des Spiels." Joe continued, to a producer off camera, "What the hell does this shit mean?" Back facing the camera, the tight end noted, "Ich verspreche ein leistungsfähiges und moralisch emporhebendes Gleiches des amerikanischen Fußballs. What? Is this BS in my contract? I need to fire dat, I mean that, agent." The PSA ended with Klopfenstein asking the fans, "Bitte Nehmenanmerkung meiner Geschwindigkeit und Fähigkeiten, wie ich die Kugel mich verfange und hinunter auffangene laufe."
At the latest preseason football game, a pack of rowdy face paint-wearing hooligans showed up to cheer on Klopfenstein. Although the security at the Edward Jones Dome is adept at confiscating outside alcohol in the form of open beer cans and looking for weapons such as guns, they miss other hooligan-type contraband. Accordingly, several goons were seen drinking absynthe out of a hollowed out prosthetic limb and producing lead pipes and road flares from places unknown on their bodies.
Needless to say, those non-hooligan St. Louisans sitting in Section 120 that night were treated to a European flavor for sporting events not seen in America since the World Cup of Soccer was hosted here some years ago. At latest count, thirteen people have been wounded, and two cheerleaders are missing. The Dome has suffered one hundred thousand dollars in damage and extra security has been hired for future home games.
Thank you, John Shaw, for your commitment to and success at bringing in new fans!
[Diese Geschichte ist eine Satire der berühmten Leute. Wait, I mean this story is a satire of public figures.]
[Check out this page to make sense of this crap.]
[Thanks MWS.]
Rams team president John Shaw is not going to disagree with those new fans. "You might not believe it, but very few native-Germans living here in America follow our football," remarked Shaw. "Of course they follow football, but they call it soccer. It is a little confusing, I know, but stick with me here. Anything we can do to tap into a new fan base, we are certainly going to attempt."
Shaw plans to reach out to these fans through a series of public service announcements. In a recent commercial, Klopfenstein, who is clearly reading from a teleprompter in a slow and confused manner, while wearing a shirt that looks like the German national flag, reached out to those fans. "Ich möchte Ventilatoren anregen, für mich während des Spiels." Joe continued, to a producer off camera, "What the hell does this shit mean?" Back facing the camera, the tight end noted, "Ich verspreche ein leistungsfähiges und moralisch emporhebendes Gleiches des amerikanischen Fußballs. What? Is this BS in my contract? I need to fire dat, I mean that, agent." The PSA ended with Klopfenstein asking the fans, "Bitte Nehmenanmerkung meiner Geschwindigkeit und Fähigkeiten, wie ich die Kugel mich verfange und hinunter auffangene laufe."
At the latest preseason football game, a pack of rowdy face paint-wearing hooligans showed up to cheer on Klopfenstein. Although the security at the Edward Jones Dome is adept at confiscating outside alcohol in the form of open beer cans and looking for weapons such as guns, they miss other hooligan-type contraband. Accordingly, several goons were seen drinking absynthe out of a hollowed out prosthetic limb and producing lead pipes and road flares from places unknown on their bodies.
Needless to say, those non-hooligan St. Louisans sitting in Section 120 that night were treated to a European flavor for sporting events not seen in America since the World Cup of Soccer was hosted here some years ago. At latest count, thirteen people have been wounded, and two cheerleaders are missing. The Dome has suffered one hundred thousand dollars in damage and extra security has been hired for future home games.
Thank you, John Shaw, for your commitment to and success at bringing in new fans!
[Diese Geschichte ist eine Satire der berühmten Leute. Wait, I mean this story is a satire of public figures.]
[Check out this page to make sense of this crap.]
[Thanks MWS.]
Two "3000th strikeout" balls go up for auction
Earlier this week Red Sox pitcher Curt Shilling recorded his three thousandth strikeout, with Nick Swisher being his victim. Not since Roger Clemens struck out Edgar Renteria a few seasons ago has a major league pitcher attained this landmark achievement. As only the 14th player to reach this milestone as a pitcher, Shilling chose to sign this ball and auction it off for charity.
Another player also reached the three thousand strikeout milestone, that being Jim Edmonds, who managed to attain this level of futility as a batter, rather than as a pitcher. Slightly less awesome of an accomplishment, it is garnering him some attention nonetheless. Edmonds has decided to sign this ball as well and put it up for auction alongside the Shilling ball. As of press time, the Shilling ball had a high bid of eight thousand dollars by a loyal Red Sox fan and the Edmonds ball had only one bid of one million dollars by Todd McFarlane.
Commentators have noted that this has been quite a tumble for Edmonds, who was considered an MVP candidate only a few seasons ago. On the subject of Edmonds' inglorious mark, his current manager Tony LaRussa, remarked, "I don't know how that dude stayed in the league with three thousand damned strikeouts. Only a special type of player can reach a milestone like that, as a batter, that is. I mean, yeah, I play him hurt all the time, be it sprains, strains, blurred vision or hemorrhoids, so he gets more strikeouts because of injury, but three thousand? Wow. Now, if I myself had played for twenty years, I would have had five thousand strikeouts, easy. I was that bad. But Jim, like I said, is a special kind of player in my mind."
[This story is a satire of public figures.]
Another player also reached the three thousand strikeout milestone, that being Jim Edmonds, who managed to attain this level of futility as a batter, rather than as a pitcher. Slightly less awesome of an accomplishment, it is garnering him some attention nonetheless. Edmonds has decided to sign this ball as well and put it up for auction alongside the Shilling ball. As of press time, the Shilling ball had a high bid of eight thousand dollars by a loyal Red Sox fan and the Edmonds ball had only one bid of one million dollars by Todd McFarlane.
Commentators have noted that this has been quite a tumble for Edmonds, who was considered an MVP candidate only a few seasons ago. On the subject of Edmonds' inglorious mark, his current manager Tony LaRussa, remarked, "I don't know how that dude stayed in the league with three thousand damned strikeouts. Only a special type of player can reach a milestone like that, as a batter, that is. I mean, yeah, I play him hurt all the time, be it sprains, strains, blurred vision or hemorrhoids, so he gets more strikeouts because of injury, but three thousand? Wow. Now, if I myself had played for twenty years, I would have had five thousand strikeouts, easy. I was that bad. But Jim, like I said, is a special kind of player in my mind."
[This story is a satire of public figures.]
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