Tony LaRussa’s butchering of the recent 20 inning game against the Mets led me to dust off a classic in homage to a textbook case of over managing. Of course, this version pales in comparison to another the version Dennis Miller did, before he went crazy of course, on Darryl Strawberry.
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the St Louis nine that day*:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Lopez died at first, and Scrappy McShumaker did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the reddened necks at the game.
* Is there ever a day in which the outlook is brilliant in St. Louis? St. Louis is like Baltimore with mosquitoes, humidity and Yosemite Sam mud flaps.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
started up the stairs but stopped when their high cholesterol caused that shooting pain which springs eternal in the typical overweight St. Louis breast;
They thought, if only Albert could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Albert at the bat.
But thanks to 6 double switches by LaRussa*, Ryan preceded Casey, as did also Freese,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was busy getting drunk in the afternoon breeze;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Albert’s getting to the bat.
* I’m beginning to think Dave Duncan has gone from underrated to overrated and now back to underrated. St. Louis’ recent success can be attributed to two things; Pujols and washed up pitchers revitalizing their careers. Carpenter, Suppan, Weaver, Wellemeyer, Pinero, Loshe were all castaways that because solid or spectacular under Duncan. LaRussa’s main accomplishment with St. Louis appears to have been handed the greatest hitter since Ted Williams, turning the other way when finding syringes in the trash, extending the length of each game by about 20 minutes and successfully converting Rick Ainkel from a #1 starter into a 4th outfielder . Well played Tony.
But Ryan let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Freese, the much despised drunk driver, let one loose a shot similar to the one Holliday misplayed off his balls;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Freese was safe at second and Ryan a-hugging third.
Then from 25,000 Budweiser lubricated throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the Missouri valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the arch and echoed off their fat,
For Albert, mighty Albert, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Albert's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Albert's bearing and a smile on LaRussa's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Albert at the bat.
Fifty thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
The same tongues that applauded when McGwire mysteriously added 50 pounds of muscular girth.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Albert's eye, a sneer curled Albert's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Albert stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
Because first base was open and LaRussa had used his entire bench, the fans failed to see the pitcher spot due up next. “Ball one," the umpire said.
From the stands, the self appointed greatest fans in the world let loose a muffled roar,
Because while they like to claim to appreciate good baseball, they really just want to Big Mac or Albert swat balls onto the Mississippi shore.
"Pitch to him you puss!" shouted one of the good ole’ boys in the stands;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Albert raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Albert's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tension; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But it was a foot outside, and the umpire said, "Ball two."
"You Suck!" cried the 12 year old and his mulleted father wearing a shirt that said Zambrano Mows my lawn;
But one scornful look from Albert and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that next week LaRussa would probably make this mistake again.
The sneer is gone from Albert's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
Because he just took ball four and now walks away from the plate.
And now the pitcher still holds the ball, and a reliever must come to bat,
And soon the air will be deflated, with the sound of the Cardinals falling flat.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in St Louis – because the reliever has struck out.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
40 (+7) Days of Night
Lent. A time for Catholics to hurriedly find something to deprive themselves of as soon as they see a stranger on the bus with ashes on their forehead on what they thought was a random Wednesday. Most Catholics gave up this tradition in 1972. Most non-practicing Catholics started ignoring this tradition as soon as they left their parent’s house. And the rest of the Catholic religion is waiting for the Church to apologize for any two* of the multiple transgressions the Church has committed in the past 500 years to resume the tradition.
* Technically the church did issue a lukewarm apology for its treatment of Galileo 300 years after subjecting him to the inquisition. So if you’re scoring at home, that’s 300 years to acknowledge the error of imprisoning a man who said the earth revolved around the sun. Anyone want to put money on when the next apology comes in?
So that makes me one of the only people to continue this tradition despite the fact I haven’t set foot in a church in about 3 years. And this year I decided to step it up a notch. In Lent ’10 I decided to give up beer. This is the story of one man’s journey.
Day 0
This will be easy, I’m coming off the bar Olympics (which involves the consumption of about a case of cheap beer before noon… unless you’re my friend Steve, then it involves the dumping of a case of cheap beer down the sink while no one is looking before noon) and a nasty cold. The last thing I need right now is a beer. Sure St. Paddy’s Day and the tourney will be tough but I’m a refined man that can adapt by sipping scotch and trying this wine thing.
Day 1
I grow discouraged about this project. Are there really still 39 days left?
Day 14 – Blackhawks v. Oilers
The first real challenge presents itself, making it through an entire hockey game without a beer. Hey, at least it’s not baseball season. To make things worse we’re pre-gaming at a bar called the Beer Bistro, a bar that not only has one of the best beer selections in the city and tonight happens to be $2 Schlitz night.
Another problem, I’m pretty sure the rest of the season ticket holders in my section doubted my hockey cred already. Everything I learned about hockey came from the Sega Genesis and I’ve never been on skates in my life. The fact that I’m drinking vodka tonics is not helping my case.
The good news is that it’s Jonathan Toews bobble head night so to night vodka tonic guy isn’t the lowest person on the social totem pole at the stadium… it’s the 45 year old men that are guarding the bobble head like it’s their first born. Leave it to the citizens of Schaumburg to treat a $5 piece of plastic like the Hope Diamond.
Day 18
I’ve actually started to think about the first beer I’m going to have. Is making a beer pro/con list the sign of a problem or just the sign of a great thinker? Also, I notice that every bar has a beer special but no one seems to cut you a deal on booze. The world is aligning against me.
Day 24 – St Paddy’s Day
A true test of one’s endurance, a full day of drinking that begins and ends with Jameson.
9am – All is well
11am – All is well. And to boot I was able to witness an event known as the “milk toss” in which a guy dressed up in a spectacular Boston Celtic track suit throws a gallon of milk out into the middle of Wells St. for no apparent reason.
2pm – All is well, and now I’m all in. A trip to the far northwest side means that I’m about a half hour away from home. The problem now is that I’ll have to be careful not to hit the wall and end up waking up in the back of a cab with the meter reading $80 or on the red line about 10 stops further south than I need to be.
5pm – I knew I forgot something, I should probably eat something today.
11pm – Still going strong, but drew the short straw and need to get the person in our group home who just passed out at the bar. Probably for the best. Like I said, if this goes on for too long this could end poorly. Not "I think it's a good idea to move to the suburbs" badly, but definitely "I can run a 5.0 40 yard dash down Ashland" badly.
Day 25 – Day after St Paddys
Remarkably the hangover isn’t as bad as years past, I’m guessing that has to do with the lack of green Miller Lite and corned beef cabbage sandwiches that have been sitting on a table for 14 hours. If you’re scoring at home the record is 15 sandwiches set in 2004, a record I’m pretty sure my wife will not allow me to approach again.
Days 29-32 – NCAA Tourney Round 1
Last time I tried to tackle the first round of the tournament on hard liquor I ended up getting drank under the table by a 45 year-old single newspaper reporter at a piano bar. The lesson to all you kids out there, never go shot for shot with someone who was beaten down by life while you were still watching the Bozo Show. The good news about that night is that I stayed upright long enough to watch Iowa State make history as being one of the only #2 seeds to lose in the first round.
Day 36-39 – NCAA Tournament Round 2
A friend just dropped two bombs on me. One, Ginger Ale is considered a soft drink. IMO it seems a little too old timey to be considered a soda by my definition. The big one is the fact that Lent is 47 days long this year. What’s this shit? In 12 years of Catholic school I retained a few key pieces of information:
1. Somewhere between the Old and New Testament, God mellowed out
2. Jesus was a carpenter
3. Lent is 40 days
This is horrible. Right now I feel like a Cleveland sports fan. I’m not really sure who’s to blame for this mess, but I’m pretty sure it’s time to cancel my season tickets (especially when Lebron signs with the Nets).
Day 46
The last week has been a bit hard to describe. So as we approach midnight of Easter I’ll just let this clip do the explaining. It’s safe to say that I will not be giving up beer next year… and that I will be checking the calendar in advance.
And it case you’re wondering, I went with Peroni.
* Technically the church did issue a lukewarm apology for its treatment of Galileo 300 years after subjecting him to the inquisition. So if you’re scoring at home, that’s 300 years to acknowledge the error of imprisoning a man who said the earth revolved around the sun. Anyone want to put money on when the next apology comes in?
So that makes me one of the only people to continue this tradition despite the fact I haven’t set foot in a church in about 3 years. And this year I decided to step it up a notch. In Lent ’10 I decided to give up beer. This is the story of one man’s journey.
Day 0
This will be easy, I’m coming off the bar Olympics (which involves the consumption of about a case of cheap beer before noon… unless you’re my friend Steve, then it involves the dumping of a case of cheap beer down the sink while no one is looking before noon) and a nasty cold. The last thing I need right now is a beer. Sure St. Paddy’s Day and the tourney will be tough but I’m a refined man that can adapt by sipping scotch and trying this wine thing.
Day 1
I grow discouraged about this project. Are there really still 39 days left?
Day 14 – Blackhawks v. Oilers
The first real challenge presents itself, making it through an entire hockey game without a beer. Hey, at least it’s not baseball season. To make things worse we’re pre-gaming at a bar called the Beer Bistro, a bar that not only has one of the best beer selections in the city and tonight happens to be $2 Schlitz night.
Another problem, I’m pretty sure the rest of the season ticket holders in my section doubted my hockey cred already. Everything I learned about hockey came from the Sega Genesis and I’ve never been on skates in my life. The fact that I’m drinking vodka tonics is not helping my case.
The good news is that it’s Jonathan Toews bobble head night so to night vodka tonic guy isn’t the lowest person on the social totem pole at the stadium… it’s the 45 year old men that are guarding the bobble head like it’s their first born. Leave it to the citizens of Schaumburg to treat a $5 piece of plastic like the Hope Diamond.
Day 18
I’ve actually started to think about the first beer I’m going to have. Is making a beer pro/con list the sign of a problem or just the sign of a great thinker? Also, I notice that every bar has a beer special but no one seems to cut you a deal on booze. The world is aligning against me.
Day 24 – St Paddy’s Day
A true test of one’s endurance, a full day of drinking that begins and ends with Jameson.
9am – All is well
11am – All is well. And to boot I was able to witness an event known as the “milk toss” in which a guy dressed up in a spectacular Boston Celtic track suit throws a gallon of milk out into the middle of Wells St. for no apparent reason.
2pm – All is well, and now I’m all in. A trip to the far northwest side means that I’m about a half hour away from home. The problem now is that I’ll have to be careful not to hit the wall and end up waking up in the back of a cab with the meter reading $80 or on the red line about 10 stops further south than I need to be.
5pm – I knew I forgot something, I should probably eat something today.
11pm – Still going strong, but drew the short straw and need to get the person in our group home who just passed out at the bar. Probably for the best. Like I said, if this goes on for too long this could end poorly. Not "I think it's a good idea to move to the suburbs" badly, but definitely "I can run a 5.0 40 yard dash down Ashland" badly.
Day 25 – Day after St Paddys
Remarkably the hangover isn’t as bad as years past, I’m guessing that has to do with the lack of green Miller Lite and corned beef cabbage sandwiches that have been sitting on a table for 14 hours. If you’re scoring at home the record is 15 sandwiches set in 2004, a record I’m pretty sure my wife will not allow me to approach again.
Days 29-32 – NCAA Tourney Round 1
Last time I tried to tackle the first round of the tournament on hard liquor I ended up getting drank under the table by a 45 year-old single newspaper reporter at a piano bar. The lesson to all you kids out there, never go shot for shot with someone who was beaten down by life while you were still watching the Bozo Show. The good news about that night is that I stayed upright long enough to watch Iowa State make history as being one of the only #2 seeds to lose in the first round.
Day 36-39 – NCAA Tournament Round 2
A friend just dropped two bombs on me. One, Ginger Ale is considered a soft drink. IMO it seems a little too old timey to be considered a soda by my definition. The big one is the fact that Lent is 47 days long this year. What’s this shit? In 12 years of Catholic school I retained a few key pieces of information:
1. Somewhere between the Old and New Testament, God mellowed out
2. Jesus was a carpenter
3. Lent is 40 days
This is horrible. Right now I feel like a Cleveland sports fan. I’m not really sure who’s to blame for this mess, but I’m pretty sure it’s time to cancel my season tickets (especially when Lebron signs with the Nets).
Day 46
The last week has been a bit hard to describe. So as we approach midnight of Easter I’ll just let this clip do the explaining. It’s safe to say that I will not be giving up beer next year… and that I will be checking the calendar in advance.
And it case you’re wondering, I went with Peroni.
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