Mike Celizic brings me back

As you may have heard, a no-name pitcher from Detroit nearly threw a perfect game yesterday against the Cleveland Indians. Armando Galarraga retired the first 26 batters, bringing up number 27 with the chance to make (recently watered down, but still) history...induced a ground ball that first baseman Miguel Cabrera fielded....threw to Galarraga at first...and the umpire, Tim Joyce, called the runner safe.

Video showed otherwise.

So, after Galarraga retired the next batter, there is a bit of an outcry for Bud Selig to change the call.

Now, whether you think he should or not, if you can't see both sides of this issue, then you're crazy. If you think Bud Selig is an idiot for not changing it, you are insane. If you think changing this call means that Selig now has to change every borderline call in every single game from this point forward, then you are also insane.

No matter which decision Selig decided to make, people would be all over him for it. Because he's Bud Selig. Selig decided that the call would stand. Mike Celizic decided that this displayed a lack of leadership. Celizic, however, is clearly insane.



You should have reversed the call, Bud. For the first time in your irresolute reign as commissioner of Major League Baseball, you could have been a leader.

I don't get it. Sure, Selig may not be the best commissioner in baseball history. But people pile on him like no other sporting executive. Roger Goodell doesn't get this much criticism. So Selig called an All-Star game a tie. Who the fuck cares? It's an exhibition game. Is that not leadership? What should he have done? Do you think whoever was managing the Cubs at that time would have liked seeing Sammy Sosa pitch in an All-Star game? You blew it, Bud. Could have been a leader! Honestly, someone please explain how Selig deciding this case either way shows leadership or a lack thereof. I'll be here all week.




When you have the ability to correct an injustice, you also have an obligation to do just that. Bud Selig had the ability and the authority to reverse umpire Jim Joyce’s blown call and declare Armando Galarraga the newest owner of a perfect game.

Bud Selig also had the ability to call whoever hit the flyball that Jeffrey Maier caught for a homerun out. He could have corrected that injustice. Replay was pretty clear that it wouldn't have been a homerun. I guess Selig could have called it a double and resumed the game from there. And that would have been INSANE.

Bud Selig may not want to open the door to commissioner-revised calls. And whether you agree with him or not, you should be able to see where he's coming from. Unless you are Mike Celizic and you like to argue just for the sake of arguing.




What’s great about this is that the situation is unique. It’s never happened that a pitcher lost a perfect game on the last out because of a clear mistake by an umpire that’s right there on a DVD for all to see. So there is no precedent to break, just one to set.

There is the precedent that commissioners don't change calls retroactively. Who cares how unique it is? A commissioner has never throw the first pitch on opening day with his dick out. Doesn't automatically make it a good idea.





Correcting Joyce’s call from safe to out would have taken a hit away from Jason Donald and an at bat away from Tim Crowe, who got to make the final out after Donald was declared safe. Crowe certainly wouldn't have objected to losing an at-bat that resulted in an out, and Donald shouldn't complain about losing a hit he neither earned nor deserved.

Probably true.





This was a no-brainer decision, which means Selig was singularly qualified to make it. There were no ramifications other than to correct an egregious injustice and relieve Joyce of the crushing guilt he feels at having blown the biggest call of his life. The game result would remain the same. The score would remain the same.

This is not a no-brainer decision. This is the commissioner stepping in and changing a call. That NEVER fucking happens. Does it? If it does, show me where. Selig absolutely could not win here, no matter which way he decided to act.

Like it or not, this would set a precedent that is...that is unprecedented. Or something.





The argument against changing the call is that it lets the night crawlers out of the can. If you correct this call, then you have to correct others, starting with Don Denkinger’s blown call in Game 6 of the 1985 World Series between the Royals and the Cardinals.

Those damn night crawlers. Some people think this may open Pandora's rectangular storage contraption. I disagree. Anyway, if a Douglas Fir falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, can you really detect any decibels? As a wise man once said, give a man a rainbow trout, you'll feed him for...I have no idea where I'm going with this. Who the fuck says night crawlers instead of worms?





It’s a convenient argument raised by people who can’t bring themselves to do the right thing. After all, baseball has been doing the wrong thing and defending it as tradition for more than a century. Acting against reason is a hallmark of the game.

Yes. You had better hope that you don't suffer a heart attack around people who raise this argument. BECAUSE THEY WILL STAND THERE AND WATCH YOU DIE.





Football fans have to be laughing themselves silly over this. Their sport has a mechanism to correct bad calls, so this doesn’t happen in football games. It wouldn’t happen in a basketball game, either, where officials can check the replay to determine if a last-second shot is a two-pointer or a three-pointer and whether the player got it off before or after the buzzer.

Yeah, watching an umpire blow a perfect game for a guy who will almost certainly never have this chance again has me LOL-ing.




But not baseball. Baseball is a game that insists on doing things the old-fashioned way for no good reason other than that’s the way it’s always been done. That’s how the game managed to get to 1947 before it allowed a black to play. It’s why the game tolerated and even encouraged cheating by pitchers for generations. It’s why the game continues its inexplicable and indefensible opposition to replay for anything other than home run calls.

Baseball, football, hell....fucking AMERICA didn't let black people play during this time period, either. Do you think baseball was staging race riots or something? Was it baseball that had whites-only drinking fountains? Was baseball barring black players from attending the same high schools as white players? Black Americans were only allowed to do two things in 1942...shine shoes and play jazz. That's it. So don't blame this blown call on Satchel Paige.



But the ban on blacks was broken and cheating by pitchers has been eliminated. So saying that this call cannot be changed because baseball has never done such a thing before is not a valid argument. In the old days, the technology didn’t exist. Now it does.

You have to be fucking joking. Now that black players are allowed to play in the major leagues, you can't say that this is a bad idea because it's never been done before? Holy fucking mother of God Shammgod. He's right...change everything you feel like changing. Black people are now part of the fabric of our great national pastime.

Also, Celizic railing about baseball being stuck in the past and not catching up with time is absolutely hilarious. Just read the first entry here.




Besides, baseball does have a mechanism for changing results. It’s called the protest, and, while it doesn’t apply to blown calls, the intention of the protest rule — to correct a violation of the rules of the game — is the same. And a protest can change a result. This would not.

Then why don't they protest?




The good thing about this controversy is that it turns up the pressure on Selig to allow replay on such calls, and the sooner the better. Others have weighed in on that issue, so all I’ll say is that at the same time Selig announces that Donald was out, he should also announce a replay system. I’d give each manager one challenge a game, with a league official in a booth to demand replays of questionable last-inning calls. Do it right and it won’t add appreciably to the length of the games.

I would absolutely love to see what Celizic's thoughts on instant replay were...oh, last week. As I saw written elsewhere...if you weren't for instant replay before but are not strongly behind it...fuck you.





In any event, umpires aren’t wrong that often. In most games, the replay would never come up.  

I bet it would come up almost every single game.




But that’s for the future. Selig had to break another stupid tradition and reversed this call. It wasn't a matter of exercising his discretion, but of doing his duty to the game.

It’s not about games that happened last year or last century or in 1985 in Kansas City. It’s about a unique situation that happened yesterday. 

You could have started a new tradition, Bud. Call it “doing the right thing” or “simple justice.” You could even go back to the commissioner’s catch-all explanation for everything: the integrity of the game. 

If this didn't qualify as a matter of integrity, nothing does. 

Oh, fuck you, Mike Celizic. Integrity? You have to be joking. Not changing this call shows a lack of integrity? That is absolute balderdash! It's rubbish! Honestly, just like leadership...does integrity even come into play either way here?

What a bad day to be Budmund F. Selig.

Miami Pro Bowl better attended than Hawaii Pro Bowl!

 

Yeah, I hotlinked that image. Suck it.

Think it had anything to do with the fact that Florida Turnpike Stadium has 26,000 more seats? Yeah, so much more interest in the Pro Bowl this year. I turned $25 tickets down. $25!!! That's like nothing, I make that in three months for having an ad in the upper right hand corner of this blog. People still couldn't get anyone to take Pro Bowl tickets off of their hands this year. Why have the game? Just name the teams, have them come down and jack off all over themselves for the media and then send them home. Hell, send them to Hawaii and let them do skill competitions and play chess and stuff. I might pay to watch Bryant McKinnie horsefork Alan Faneca's queen. That's what Desert Camelfucking does, they just name the all-star teams and fly them to the championship site to be recognized. They don't make them risk unnecessary injury by actually fucking camels.

And I don't care if other leagues do it.  It's easier. Those sports that play 82 or 162 games a year are much better suited to play an extra one. There isn't the same injury risk, players can half-ass it without repercussion, and really, it's just not nearly as taxing. The MLB has a 162 game season. What's an extra game? Contrast that to the NFL, where one game is a big deal in a sport that has players struggling to get through 16. Hell, some players have never made it through all 16 games. So you can't just plunk it down in the middle of the season or anything. 

So, my solution (and a lot of other people's, from what I've read) is to save the Pro Bowl by fucking it. Just fuck the damn Pro Bowl. Save those Korean children the hassle of sewing up all those ugly jerseys.

Apples v. orange mocha frappuchinos

Roger Maris! One big season. NOT IN THE HALL! So why does McGwire deserve it? This is just the question that a knowledgeable yet retarded baseball fan may be asking him- or herself at this point. For example, one such human is Peter Pascarelli (scroll down a bit). Says Pete:

I've not voted for McGwire and this latest chapter is unlikely to change my mind. It's not as if McGwire's admission, while admirable in its candor, comes as a surprise to anyone. My reluctance to vote for him exists on several levels. For one, the automatic admission of 500 home run hitters has been tainted by the whole PED culture. For another, even with his giant home run numbers, McGwire was an exceedingly one-dimensional player. Home runs were all he brought to the table -- he did not hit for average, he was not a great RBI producer, he had relatively few other extra-base hits besides the home run, he was average defensively, a poor runner, etc. He also had a string of very poor seasons that coincidentally ended with what have been known as his steroids seasons. Roger Maris is not in the Hall of Fame because his great seasons were too few in number. McGwire should not be in the Hall of Fame for largely the same, albeit bloated, reason.

Ok. Let me preface this all by saying that I'm a huge McGwire fan. Favorite player of all-time. Probably not even close. Among major sports, it's probably McGwire-Barry Sanders-Jaromir Jagr-Fuck Basketball. Maybe Shawn Kemp. Ha. For rilly. Regardless, McGwire is the man in the MLB for me, at least aside from Pittsburgh players (ANDY VAN SLYKE!). So take this with a 535-foot bomb of salt. Anyways, if you don't want to vote for Mac because he used steroids...that's perfectly acceptable. Hell, I myself am not quite sure how I'd go about it if I had a vote. But I'm not going to get into that, because that's all over the internet and is so largely a matter of personal beliefs and morals and all of that gay stuff that it doesn't justify mention on a blog like this, which is generally dedicated to talking about dicks rubbing together and pandas fucking fat chicks. Because I have no morals. Fuck you and the pedestal you stand upon. Which is probably made out of dicks.

But this belief that, ohhhhh, McGwire was so one-dimensional, oh my Godddd, he only hit home runs! That's all he did. All he brought to the table. He didn't hit for average! His base-running sucked! Well fuck, that's because he was usually jogging around the damn bases. Homeruns are probably the most important non-pitching positive stat for a team, and McGwire is arguably the best all-time at them. He his a homerun every 10.7 at-bats, NUMBER ONE ALL-FUCKING-TIME. That's insane. He hit more than 60 TWICE. His teams got a home-run from him every 2.5 games. That's insane! That creates an environment very conducive to winning. And his career OBP was .394. That means that he got on-base two out of every five at-bats. Who cares how he got on? Does a single count for more bases than a walk? In an average game, McGwire got on-base almost twice. That's good. Very good. Ozzie Smith was only good at defense. Nolan Ryan only struck people out. Why do they get in and McGwire doesn't? Would it have helped if he did backflips on his way to first base?

And CERTAINLY don't ever compare him to Maris while I'm around. Unless you just finished comparing apples to third-world economies and want to see if you can make an even more tortured comparison. That comparison is so tortured that I'm surprised it doesn't give up any actual info. John Yoo probably came up with it. Roger Maris had one HUGE year and then two other years above 30 homeruns. See for yo'self. 39 the year before the big record year, 33 after. That's it. Under 30 every other year. One homerun every 18.5 at-bats, or almost half the rate of McGwire. Two seasons of OPS+ over 150 (OPS+ takes the sum of a player's on-base percentage and slugging and adjusts them relative to the rest of the league in a given year...100 is considered average). And if you want to talk batting average...Maris had two years with a batting average above that of McGwire's CAREER average of .263. He never OBP-ed above McGwire's career average in any single season. That's it. One great record-setting year and two more great ones. Kind of great, at least. Maybe offense wasn't what it was now way back then, but the OPS+ tells a bit of a story.

Now, looking at McGwire. Mac led the league in homeruns four times to Maris' one. He hit over 50 homeruns four times. He had a career OPS+ of 162 and a high of 216. He may have been just a homerun hitter, but he was a fucking insanely awesome homerun hitter. Comparing his homerun-hitting career to that of Maris and saying that they are even somewhat analogous in pure lunacy. You have to be a lunatic to do so. Something has to be fucked up in your head to make that comparison. Maris did it for one year. McGwire did it for the better part of an entire career. Even when he was hurt and only getting 200 at-bats in a season, he was mashing. Mashing epically. Hitting balls harder than that chick got hit in Jersey Shore. He was a beast.

So say that McGwire shouldn't be in due to PEDs. But don't say that his numbers weren't good enough because he didn't steal enough bases or something gay like that. If it weren't for PEDs, he'd be in. Unquestionably. And don't ever ever ever ever ever say that voting McGwire into the Hall would be like voting for Roger fucking Maris, or I will find your address, befriend your family, and give you a cute little rabbit for Christmas. And then, after a few months that you've had that rabbit and love it and your kids love it and you've called it something cute like "Buttondrops", I will come to your house unannounced one afternoon around dinner time and I will invite myself in and I will choke Buttondrops to death right in front of your entire family. I will brutally end that rabbit's life while your kids cry and you look on in horror. And I was scream at you, "DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE? DO YOU STILL WANT TO COMPARE ROGER MARIS' CAREER NUMBERS TO MCGWIRE'S, IGNORING THE HUGE SHORT- AND LONG-TERM DISCREPANCIES IN FAVOR OF MCGWIRE? HUH? HUH? DON'T YOU EVER FUCK WITH RATIONAL THOUGHT AGAIN!".

Fuck Peter Pascarelli's rabbit.

Jesus hates Curt Schilling

Just came across a link to one of the largest, most voluminous bags of douche of all-time, Curt Schilling, reliving his "bloody sock" game on his website.  Big deal. Babe Didrikson Zaharias once completed an entire triathlon with a bloody tampon and completed the final running portion DESPITE SUFFERING FROM TSS. That takes balls. Or labe. Whatever. Fact is, if Curt Schilling somehow managed to pull out a decent pitching game with a tampon stuck in his ass, not only would we have to deal with iconic images of the string hanging out while he threw a splitter, but that tampon would also be residing in the fucking hall of fame right now and legions of Boston sports fans would jack themselves off while staring at their TAMP-ON A PRAYER posters and frothing at the mouth.

Anyway, I don't have a problem with Curt doing this or invoking how Jesus carried him towards this miraculous feat. I mean, his fucking sock was bleeding! But that doesn't mean I can't make fun of him on my website, as Curt Schilling certainly lays on the mound like a God-damn broad.

I knew I was going to start, but had no idea how I was going to pitch. The ankle, after having been sutured the night before, was holding up a lot better than we’d thought. I was surprised at the amount of bleeding that occurred overnight, and I am sure the maids were a bit worried when they changed my sheets that morning.

And the stage is set. Curt Schilling knew...he'd have to pitch while bleeding. Reminds me of the time Walt Disney bravely led a 1953 construction meeting while suffering from profuse ball-sweating.

I didn’t do anything really abnormal in the day leading up to the start. I did a few more windups in my hotel room than normal, to try and push it a bit to make sure it wasn’t going to pop.

 As opposed to, what, amputating the foot? Way to keep a level head, Curt.

The thing I most vividly remember from the hours leading up to the start was hitting the top step in Yankee Stadium. When I went out to pitch Game 1, when I hit the top step to walk to the bullpen, my ankle buckled and the tendon popped out of place. That was the first time I knew I might have a problem.

I call no fucking way, Dr. Schilling. Can anyone with a medical degree from some Caribbean island set the record straight here? This is almost as crazy as the time I was folding laundry during an episode of Home Improvement and my dick fell off.

It was about the 50th time I had faced the Yankees that year, and I knew it would be the last, so I came out of my bullpen having done some things different. Whereas I usually made sure I had fastball command and my split, I worked my ass off in that pen to get a feel for my curveball and slider right off the bat since I wanted to use them for all nine innings, instead of here and there.

Good for you. Just putting this in to keep the story flowing. 

In Game 6, there was no specific moment when I knew that I would make it through the game. After pitch one, I never really thought much on it. It held up I think because I never favored it, or at least never felt like I did. In watching some highlights I do notice I limped, but I never thought I was limping.

I didn't feel like I was limping, because I was always told that heroes don't limp. If I was limping, you can call that swagger. And as you'll see later, it can all be attributed to Christ, whom I believe actually gives a fuck about a baseball game while children in Guatemala are being raped by everything other than food and water. I'll call that "limp" my JESUS SWAGGER.




I only realized the ankle was bleeding for one reason. I received multiple Marcaine injections from April on, each start, and as the season wore on I started needing to get in-game injections as well. This game I needed to have it done again, and the Marcaine made the outer half of my foot numb (which was a whole other problem).

That's funny. We all realized that the ankle was bleeding BECAUSE IT WAS FUCKING COVERED IN BLOOD. And who cares? Honestly, is bleeding such a difficult affliction to overcome? Does anybody ever call off of work because they are bleeding? Did Betsy Ross give up on sewing the flag because her old-timey wench girdle was covered in blood and she was out of Marcaine? I don't think so.





In doing so it made me feel as though my shoe wasn’t on right, so I kept pressing down on the bottom of my shoe to move my foot side to side to try and “feel” as if my foot was firmly in my shoe. That’s how I noticed, in about the fifth or sixth inning, that the sole of my shoe and my sock were soaked with blood. You ever walk in the rain in your socks? That’s how it felt. Problem was that it was cold out, too, so that made the blood cold and I could feel it on half my foot.

So you are comparing this heroic, iconic task to pitching with rain in your socks? "Honestly, have any of you laypeople, or should I say gaypeople, even completed the simplest task with RAIN WATER in your SOCKS?!?!? And if so, was it cold?" This is captivating. My attention has just been captured.




In looking back on it, the main thing I take away from that game was my mental ability to overcome anything. I got past the ankle pain and into a state of mind that had me completely focused on the game.

Oh, shut the fuck up. You're so damn special, Curt. You can pitch with rainwatery blood in your socks. Wow, what's next? What else can you overcome? Running out of gas 200 feet from a gas station? Blowing some dude in an alley in spite of a bad hair-day? I'm sure Jackie Robinson and Pete Gray would be amazed at your mental toughness. Curt Schilling can mentally overcome ANYTHING.




I probably did more damage to the ankle than I would have liked. When they opened my ankle up after the season they told me that my peroneal tendon, in addition to being dislocated, was split, lengthwise, for about five inches and wedged over the ankle bone. In a way that was a good thing because it sort of locked itself down.

Dr. Curt Schilling, M. fucking D.




I made it through seven innings, and when I was done, I sat on the bench. I’ve often talked about the spiritual experience that entire two-week period was, and after I came out of this game it really hit me hard.

Here's where we start getting entirely too gay for the average human being. The spirituality of the experienced? You pitched with a bloody ankle. Give me a fucking break. There was nothing spiritual about you overcoming your ankle injury and pitching in a playoff baseball game.




I had prayed hard, never once to “win” but just to be able to compete. I couldn’t do that in Game 1 because in a spiritual and physical sense I had tried to “go it alone.” Before Game 2 I had prayed with Mike Timlin and Tim Wakefield, and I prayed ONLY for the ability to compete. I prayed for that with the belief that with the eight guys playing behind me, and my ability to pitch, I could beat them on one foot if I could just compete.

"And, luckily for me, the Yankees apparently did not pray. In fact, they actually cursed the Lord and suggested that He go and fuck Himself, as they did not need Him to beat me in a game of baseball, as I just had a tendon sutured. Then they pulled their dicks out and pissed all over the rosary while reciting a satanic chant over a Three Six Mafia beat. 'Sippin' On Some Syrup', I believe. This whole time, I was praying with Mike Timlin that I could overcome my bleeding and just throw the ball. And for this I must thank Jesus Christ. Amen".




Looking back on it five years later, it was a much more meaningful event from a faith and spiritual standpoint than from a performance standpoint. I am proud of what we did that night, but I am far more excited about what I was able to experience in my relationship with Christ that night. I knew, postgame, when I started the press conference off by thanking the Lord and the entire media contingent rolled its eyes, how they were going to report it. Whatever they did, I knew they couldn’t come close to conveying what I had experienced.

That's because they think you are a douchebag who actually believes that pitching through an injury forged a stronger relationship with Christ.  There are worse things going on in the world, Curt. You pitched through this injury because it was not like career threatening and you could handle the pain. Not because Christ came down and touched your ankle in-between sending devastating tidal waves to Indonesia and Bangladesh. I'm actually more impressed that you were able to pitch with all of the thorns on your hat.





My lasting memory of that game — more than anything that happened while I was on the mound — is of Keith Foulke. Every memory I have of that postseason has Keith in it. He pitched every stinking game and dominated, on fumes.

Even though he wasn't praying with you?

Christ works in mysterious ways.

Rick Reilly is not helping our economy

From Awful Announcing comes the above picture of Rick Reilly parading about with some young children in Detroit. Or Africa. Damn it, Blogger, can't you get strikethrough type? Also coming from that link is his new contract with the Worldwide Leader....5 years, $10 million.

$2 MILLION A YEAR FOR RICK F-ING REILLY?

Rick Reilly used to be decent. USED to be decent. Back in like, the 1990's, where he wrote a decent weekly single page bloggy type article at the back of each Sports Illustrated issue. I guess he'd write an article on something every now and then as well. However, in the past couple years before he took this massive contract from ESPN, Reilly had clearly been descending into suckdom. He was driving his own personal suck-colored Ferrari on the Suck Highway right into Suckcouver at over 150 sucks per hour. He's not good at writing anymore. Because he sucks.

And then he came out and made his disdain for bloggers known, with some fresh criticism to boot:

“I don’t really go on the blogs, because they don’t really like anybody,” he said. “Jesus could do a column and they’d be like, ‘What the hell is with the hair?’ It’ll always be something. Charles Barkley told me a long time ago always half the people are going to hate you and half the people are going to love you. If you suddenly change who you are, the other half will hate you. I don’t really care what people holding down couch springs do or say.”

OH SNAP! I'm not going to get into breaking that down too deeply, as the link has already taken care of it. But that's fresh. If criticism of blogs were urinals, Reilly would be the biggest Evergreen-scented urinal freshener that you could possibly piss on. He would smell like the fucking mountains. Funny that most bloggers actually, like, work in the day (because even people who can register a Blogger account have to eat) while Reilly sits on the couch springs to write inane articles for $2 mil a year. Actually, Reilly's couch is probably made of rare clouds.

Regardless, it is what it is. No one cares about bloggers and no one cares about Rick Reilly. There are more important things in the world, such as anything else. But, this opens Reilly up for criticism when he writes an article such as this one here that I wouldn't even write on the internet's worst blog. Seriously, if Reilly had a blog called "Baseball with Rick" or something and wrote this column as a blog post, it would get no comments. It's a joke. Normally I wouldn't care, but this motherfucker prides himself on being some kind of specially trained journalist, like he went through the fucking Navy Seals of writing about soccer.

It's been tougher than a $4.99 steak. Got chased by Dobermans eight times. Had to hire five different sticky-fingered third-graders. Broke into the wrong house twice.

But it's finally done. I've been able to retrieve every single MVP award that was wrongfully won by every single suspected 'roid ranger over the past 20 years. You can see them all shining on the table next to me. Got the stains off them and everything. Now I'm ready to give them to their rightful owners.

Ha! You broke into a bunch of houses to steal back MVP awards! And hired sticky-fingered third graders to do it! Tougher than a $5 steak. Others that didn't make the cut include hotter than a $5 pistol and gayer than a long, sexually confusing night at the center of a Shreveport bukkake circle. The premise of this article is about as promising as Dany Heatley's NASCAR career.

And why not? If Bud Selig can talk about giving Barry Bonds' phony-as-tofurkey home run record back to Hank Aaron, why can't we right all the wrongs of the Syringe Binge?

This just pisses me off. Phony-as-tofurkey is a $2 million analogy. I guess fake as a stripper's tits and synthetic as Castrol Syntec premium engine oil were taken? Fine, Rick. You win. Let's get into the random guessing.

Step up here, Mike Piazza. The late Ken Caminiti of the San Diego Padres stole your 1996 NL MVP, then admitted he was into more juice than Jack LaLanne. Yes, it's 13 years late, but the nameplate is new! And here's yours from 2001, Luis Gonzalez, after you finished behind The Barry Bonds Pharmacy. We won't even mention the home run title you would've won that year.

Sure, we'll just assume Piazza's clean.

But Gonzalez? Are you kidding me? We are assuming Luis Gonzalez's ridiculous 56 home run season in the midst of the steroid era was natural? Here's his player page. Hit over 30 HRs in only one other season, when he hit 31 the season before in 2000. But we're assuming he's good to go. That's a hell of a precedent to set for this article, Reilly.

Now, for the man of the night. I have a U-Haul of hardware here for Jose Alberto Pujols Alcántara of the St. Louis Cardinals. You already have two MVPs, Albert, and you're about to get three more, since Barry Bonds ripped you off worse than Bernie Madoff to win the award from 2002 to 2004.

$2 million analogy. Also, this subject matter has never been touched upon. Tainted MLB MVPs? Are you kidding me? This guy is just a visionary! No one can replicate Reilly. He's like the MF Doom of sportswriting.

You hit .335 and averaged 41 bombs those years and yet you finished second behind the clearly creaming Bonds in '02 and '03, and third behind Bonds and Adrian Beltre in '04.

Then why not give it to Beltre?

We're throwing out Beltre since, while he denies ever using PEDs, he fell off the face of the planet once baseball put in stricter steroid suspensions in 2005. If he wasn't cheating, I'm the Queen Mother.

Oh, really? Did you forget the Luis Gonzalez passage from above? Better get fitted for your dress.

If Luis Gonzalez wasn't cheating in 2001, I'm Eiffel Tower-ing some chick with Jim Abbott.

Speaking of letting people down, Alex Rodriguez admitted last week he cheated like a Three-Card Monte dealer from 2001 to 2003 as a Texas Ranger.

After this, he broke down like Otis Redding's plane.

He was the AL MVP in '03, stealing it from then-Toronto Blue Jay Carlos Delgado, who finished second.

Again, we'll assume Delgado was clean, just like we would have for A-Rod had his name not been released in a pretty shady manner. Let me guess what's coming next...we're going to take an MVP award from a guy we guess was cheating and give to a guy we guess was not?

Just to recap: He cheated. He admitted it. He won the MVP. And yet the people who gave Rodriguez the award— the Baseball Writers' Association of America—decided last week that he could keep it. "It's [A-Rod's] award to do what he wants with," BBWAA secretary-treasurer Jack O'Connell told a reporter. "Listen, the wool was pulled over all our eyes. We had an election and those were the guys that won. The awards are theirs."

Thank God O'Connell isn't a judge. Yes, you admit you robbed the bank, but what the hell, why don't you go ahead and keep the cash? Buy yourself something nice.

No, fuckscraper. Thank God you are not a judge. "Yeah, we now know you robbed that bank, and we are going to retroactively imprison you for it using evidence that was not allowed at the time of your original trial even though this is illegal as hell and also nowhere near relevant to a baseball MVP discussion. NOW I'M GOING TO BANG MY GAVEL". Also, Reilly...the why don't you just go ahead and keep the cash, Mr. Bankrobber line? Gold. Pure gold. You are the Spandau Ballet of sportswriting, Rick.

"The awards are theirs"? What is the BBWAA motto: Tread on Us? Shame on O'Connell and every writer who agrees with him. These people let this whole Rage Age go down right in front of their notepads—left it up to Canseco to break the story—and now they're rewarding them? Coddlers.

Yes, douche. You have information on A-Rod that you should have on 103 different players, but their names haven't been released. So now you want to go back and retroactively strip people of awards and just give them to others who you assume are clean? Unless their name is Adrian Beltre, because you are the Queen Mother? You should be in charge of something important.

So step right up, Moises Alou, here's your MVP for 1998, when you finished behind Sammy Sosa and the Dubious Dinger, Mark McGwire. Here's yours for 2000, Frank Thomas. You were fleeced out of it by admitted 'roider Jason Giambi.

Prove to me that Sosa and McGwire used 'roids. Or that Moises Alou didn't. Or that Frank Thomas didn't. Or that Debbie Gibson isn't the most rockin' '80s singer around. I'm waiting.

There you go, gentlemen. Please accept our belated congratulations. And don't make us regret this later on.

Remember, we know sticky-fingered third-graders.

And that's it. Comedic brilliance. Revisiting one of your earlier lines. Sticky-fingered third-graders. That's absolutely hilarious. That's the million-dollar man, Rick DiBiase, with an article I wouldn't put on this blog if he paid me to do so. What a joke. Just like everything else Reilly has written in the past ten years.

NO!

I wouldn't want to see one of the players in the above photo on the Pirates.

And it's not Bonds.

However, the Pirates have been talking to David "Fucking" Eckstein, according to his agent, the illustrious PT Barnum. The Eck scrapped his way to a .265 average along with 2 home runs and 27 RBIs last year, which is pretty impressive considering he uses a magical plastic bat and just wants to get back to the dugout to get more orange wedges. This is not what the Buccos need to be adding to a team that already employs Jack Wilson, who would be Eckstein if they somehow managed to win a world series and he had a timely RBI at some point in it while everyone else sucked. They he, not Eckstein, would have won a sweet new Corvette that he couldn't even drive because he can't drive a manual transmission.

Just look at this douchebag:


I don't even choke up that hard on my bitches.

Please, Neal Huntingdon and the Pirates, don't ruin my faith in you by going after David Eckstein. It doesn't matter how scrappy he is. You don't get extra runs for scrappiness. You don't break ties by seeing who knows the most lyrics to Lil' Scrappy songs. There is no point to pay this guy to put on a Pirates uniform.

Don't do it, Pirates. Don't do it.

Opening Day with Joe Morgan!

Very few people actually know this, but my grandmother Delores actually went to high school with Joe Morgan back in Bonham, TX. Now, Delores is certainly no stranger to the Texas Blacksnake, and she has actually remained good friends with Morgan since their high school days. Joe actually bailed me out of prison a few years ago after I got locked up on a public decency charge for whipping my cock out at an anti-abortion rally. Regardless, Joe was excited to see that I learned how to type, and offered to give his insight on daily happenings in the baseball world in my little corner of the internet. So, take it away, Joe.


Thanks, Vern! As you all undoubtedly know, yesterday was the greatest day of the year, and a national holiday in the Morgan household! Opening day! Bats on balls, cracks of the bat, pops of the glove, pokes of the syringe through your first baseman's forearm. Baseball's back! A sign throughout most of the country that spring is here, summer is close, and baseball is now. A time where I would love to have stock in Tide, what with all the dirty uniforms out there, as opening day is known as one of the grittiest times of the year, with everybody so fresh. It's not quite as strong as playoff grit, which actually takes a concentration higher than household bleach to cut through, but it's close. The grit level wasn't quite as high as last year's, since Juan Pierre was mysteriously demoted in favor of a man who is actually able to hold the bat above his shoulders for more than 3 seconds at a time, but it was still a great day for casual fans and purists alike. Let's recap!

In Cuba, the highly anticipated debut of Johan Santana was all that was expected, as the Mets easily held off the Marlins. Santana, proof of the time-tested theory that pitching wins games, allowed only three hits through 7 as the Mets, who proved that offense wins games, were able to put up a 7-spot and outscore the Marlins, who scored 2 runs, which is less than 7 runs. I expect big things out of the Mets this year, just like I did last year before they collapsed due to a lack of heart. I don't know about you, but it looked yesterday like these Mets may have received a heart transplant. Was Dr. Robert Jarvik hanging around the clubhouse yesterday lol?

In New York, the final home opener was postponed, but I still like the Yankees chances if the rain holds off, as they have to be considered the favorites right now.

Other games I liked included the D-Backs at Cincinnati, where Dusty Baker's debut got off to a rocky start, running into the buzzsaw that is Brandon Webb's, uh...whatever arm he throws baseballs with. I still think things are looking good for Dusty's squad, as they play the game the right way, and they still have to be considered the favorites right now.

Milwaukee went into Chicago and spoiled the Cub's opener, as it looks like the Cubs (on pace to finish 0-162) will be saying "wait until next year" again. Although, to be fair, there still is some time left in the season to turn it around. They will have to work very hard, though, and possibly dive for a few more bloopers and ground balls. Get those uniforms dirty, guys!

Kansas City went into Detroit and beat the high priced Tigers, causing GABRmetricians everywhere to reanalyze their gaybermetrics, as that fat fuck Cabrera is not going to win them games by sitting around taking walks, eating pie, and clogging up the bases like a terminal full of fat southerners at Hartsfield-Jackson. Kansas City proved that playing baseball the way Ty Cobb played it, the way it was meant to be played, is still the way to win games. If the Tigers have to spike a few second basemen, then hey, they better do it. Detroit cannot be considered one of the favorites right now.

Tampa Bay surprised Baltimore in a game that nobody cared about, but, according to my records here, was indeed actually played.

A big second inning lead Cleveland over the White Sox at Jacobs Field, as the Indians bats have shown no dormancy from the bear-like slumber that they have been taking over the past couple months during which there weren't any games being played of baseball on the diamonds. Chicago did not look bad, though, and Ozzie Guillen's guys have to be considered to be the favorites right now. I've learned to never count out a crazy manager who swears and calls reporters fags.

In LA, the Giants tried to play the right way, but could not small-ball any runs off of Brad Penny. You have to like the way that Joe Torre is willing his guys to play through unknown telekinetic forces that only Joe Torre is capable of emitting.

Seattle, behind Beltre's bat and a strong showing from the 'pen, was able to hold off Texas up at Safeco. Since this was in the Pacific Northwest, no one realizes yet that it even happened, and they probably don't care, either.

Minnesota surprised the LA Angels that play in California north of San Diego and south of Sacramento of Anaheim, winning 3-2 behind the strong ball throwing of Livan Hernandez, who is indeed still alive. Once again, pitching wins championships. However, offense and stolen bases win regular season games, so we'll see what actually happens to the Twins as the season progresses. I wouldn't rule out a few tie ballgames. Place your bets now, folks. Torii Hunter left the game in the 2nd inning after having a seizure.

The Rockies played the Cardinals, but then it rained.

The Pirates went into Atlanta looking for a soul to steal, and indeed did, as they raced out to a big lead in a game in which runs were easy to come by and, as they are inversely proportional, pitching was not easy to uh, come by. Lol at my grammar. This game featured 29 total hits over 12 innings, complete with two HRs by Xavier Nady, including the game winning in the 12th. The Braves, not giving up, rallied behind Bobby Cox's telekinesis, but could not duplicate their crazy 5-run 9th, and fell one run short in the bottom of the 12th. This game made my dick hard.

Finally, in San Diego, Jake Peavy knocked in two runs and held the Astro's scoreless on 4-hits to seal the deal for the Fathers. At this point, I have ejaculated into my pants and must change them.

So there you go! Opening day is now a memory, but we have 161 more games coming up to help us forget it. I don't know about you guys, but I'll be sitting here intently watching a couple games here and there so that I can give some expert insight on this here blog. Until then, I'm Joe Morgan, reminding you to avoid the tag!