As the many-worlds theory tells us, the Michael Pineda Pine Tar Incident has already happened in alternate universes, but with slight variation. Presented below — in GIF form — is one such variation.
You nasty, Alternate Michael Pineda.
I believe it was Winston Churchill — or Oprah — that said “Some dreams live on in time forever. Those dreams, you want with all your heart.”
It is true — a tale as old as the game itself, really — that young boys and girls have shared dreams of growing big and tomahawking pitchouts four feet outside the zone in order to distract the catcher into horking the throw to second base. Texas Rangers shortstop Elvis Andrus had such dreams as a child. And for this dream, Andrus will reach. Some days are meant to be remembered, indeed.
Watch:
Listen:
(h/t to Grant Brisbee)
The dialectic of fandom is something the spans a great deal of subjects. It envelops parts of psychology, sociology, philosophy, and even geography. The mixture of these can and will vary from person to person. Why are you a fan of the team that you root for? Do you even root for a team? If that team were to go the way of the dodo/Expo, would you pick another? Everyone has a different answer, a different thought process that would go into it.
The theme of the 2013 Astros — at least the theme that would surface if, say, an undergraduate were to study them like a text for an English class — would be that of renewal, of starting over. The Astros got as clean of a slate as a baseball team can get. They were not given this. They had to do the wiping themselves. That sounded grosser than I wanted it to. New ownership, new management, new uniforms — hell, even a new league — were all painted onto this team. Cream on this inside, clean on the outside. Was this part of the appeal? Certainly.
When this topic would come up in conversation — conversation I never initiated, yet always found me (I blame my hat)– the most common trope revolved around this general phrase:
“Oh, man. That must be depressing.” Read the rest of this entry »
Hello and welcome to another episode of Barreling It with Giancarlo Stanton. Alright Giancarlo, ready to play?
Here’s the question. It’s the top of the 1st inning. It’s a tie game. There’s two men on and you’re in a 2-1 count. Stephen Strasburg throws you an 88 MPH pitch in your wheelhouse. What do you do?
GS: “I think the answer is Barrel It.”
That is correct. Join us next time for another episode of Barreling It with Giancarlo Stanton.
Hello, and welcome to another episode of What is Bo Porter Miming. Here’s your host, Flip Dingleberry!
Hi everyone, and welcome to another episode of What is Bo Porter Miming? Now, contestants, you know the rules. I’m going to show you an Internet GIF of Astros Manager Bo Porter, and you have to tell me what he’s trying to say. Ready? Excellent! Here we go. Contestants: What is Bo Porter Miming?
Beep Beep
Yes. Bonnie.
Is he saying “Hey look, everyone, there’s a duck”?
Buzzer
No, I’m sorry. That is incorrect. Anyone else?
Beep Beep
Donald?
Is he saying “I want you to do the chicken dance over there?”
Buzzer
Incorrect, Donald. Sorry. Stacy, a chance to steal. What is Bo Porter Miming?
Um….
Five seconds, Stacy.
Is he saying …
Need an answer, Stacy.
“… go put your finger in that dog’s butt?”
Judges?……
Ding Ding Ding
Correct! Stacy is the big winner! You win an all expenses paid trip to Tallahassee! Wait, really? That seems … oh well. Join us next time on What is Bo Porter Miming?!
The life of a knuckleballer is different than most lives, but it is still a life in the end. It starts, it stops, and the middle is spent exclusively thinking about how it will stop. Some other stuff also happens.
R.A. Dickey has had some stuff happen. Some heavy, some uplifting. Some may say he is in a good place, now. He plays a game for a living. Sure, but only once every five days. The rest are spent sitting, watching, thinking about how it will all stop. He does make a good deal of money, yes, but soul currency is what he’s most interested in — trading goods or services for enlightenment. He wrote an acclaimed book, but writing books comes with sad little details like dealing with publishers and literary agents. His book may have been optioned into a movie, but he has little say in that. He just gets to deal with movie agents, which are just literary agents with better haircuts.
And so here he stands, getting paid in foreign money to play a game in an enormous room on fake grass in Toronto — Toronto being an old Huron word for “shitty New York.” All this and how this all will stop is on R.A. Dickey’s mind. He is not real. He is a phantasm tasked with haunting his own consciousness. He is not human. He is not dancer.
He needs to feel alive again. This will happen at the expense of Dexter Fowler’s bat.
There is a common saying bandied about when a particular thing is easy to make fun of ; “The Joke Writes Itself.”
As a writer of comedy jokes, these moments are always welcome. This is one such moment.
Listen:
“Hey, baby. What’s going on?”
“Yordano Ventura appears to be getting strikeouts via a good changeup and a very fast fastball. That’s what’s going on.”
“Is that a baseball thing?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, OK.”
“What’s going on with you?”
“Well, we don’t have practice space tonight, so I’m putting on outdoor wheels so we can skate on the paths.”
“Is that a roller derby thing?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, OK.”
You have some nerve, Dan Marino. Some nerve, I say. This place is not for you. Do you see any goalposts here? Do you see any cheerleaders or hash marks or Dons Shula? That’s right, you don’t. Do you know why? Because they’re not there! Nothing is wrong with your vision!
But something must be wrong with your balls. Maybe they’re suffering from gigantism, because you need some pretty big huevos to show your face here. Your days are done, old man. Nobody gives a crap about you anymore. Especially not here. What, you think you’re the king of Miami or something, and you can just stroll in wherever you want and people will bow and kiss your ring? Your ring. Your Super Bowl ring. OH THAT’S RIGHT!
This is a baseball place, Dan Marino. For years, this team has had to share a venue with a dumb football team — YOUR DUMB FOOTBALL TEAM — and play second fiddle to bunch of meathead benchpressers. That is too a word. No, you shut up. The owner of this team worked long and hard to swindle taxpayers into paying for this stadium so that we could get away from the likes of you.
And take off that jersey, you Fakey McFakerson. Are you trying to be ironic, or just trying to piss us off?
The Gods will not stand for this, Dan Marino. Hear my words, you lughead. You are not welcome here, and if you stay a moment longer, well, I cannot guarantee your safety. You do not mess with the ghosts that haunt this one-year-old building. You should not anger them. Remove yourself, Dan Marino, if you know what is good for you.
Come on, Temple, think. There’s a dirty joke in here somewhere. Come on! It’s posting time, gotta put something out there. This is an easy one. Think!
What, are you guys filming a porn in … no. That sucks. You can do better.
I bet your mom would like a hot blast of … BULLSHIT! This isn’t a rap battle between eighth graders! People will read this! OK, OK. Take a step back, let’s try to be a little more subtle.
Perhaps the gentlemen is merely practicing for when he comes in contact with a comely lady whilst on shore leave … OK, now you sound like Dayn Perry but with an even bigger learning disability.
You’ve written 259 posts for this site, not to mention the two that had to be taken down. You need to focus. Cistulli won’t put up with this when the season starts. BE. CREATIVE. YOU. PRICK.
Let’s deconstruct this. A guy is blasting something. There’s white stuff. The liquid is hot.
Hey, this team stinks enough as it is. Now I have to get a bukake … is that right? How do I not know what bukake means? Better Google it to make … JESUS CHRIST!
Screw it. Not posting today. I’ll come back tomorrow with fresh eyes. This is going to bug me, though. There’s a dirty joke in here somewhere.