Scientists today were excited to report that, after two years of carefully examining images of the cosmos, they have finally determined what was written in the stars two years ago during the 2011 postseason.

“This is tremendously fortuitous timing, to be able to announce this on the day of Game One of the 2013 World Series” said NASA astronomer Hortimer Dazzlekamp,  “The images are stunningly beautiful and incredibly clear in their predictions.”

The messages were provided by the Hubble Space Telescope, which has been in near-continuous operation since 1990 and has provided some of the most stunning images of outer space that humanity has ever seen. “You know, we were so focused on how pretty everything was, it didn’t even occur to us to look for messages in the heavens until we heard Tinie Tempah’s 2011 hit featuring Eric Turner. And it turns out, if you know where to look, the universe is always talking back to us.

Dazzlekamp then unveiled the images, which have been reprinted below:

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I know, I know. We skipped the review on Friday, but when undead Satchel Paige has something important to say, you let him say it. That’s just one of life’s great aphorisms, one of the few not actually coined by Ol’ Satch himself.

But today? Today I’m sorry to say I’m back in the game of reviewing and recapping Back in the Game. And last week’s episode might be a game changer, people.

Danny’s still trying to get Vanessa to notice him, and following The Cannon’s advice, decides to become a bad boy. This involves him putting on a Metallica t-shirt, a knit cap, and a wallet chain, and saying things like, “Where’s your little boyfriend? Don’t care,” and “Want me to talk to [your parents]? Straighten them out?” Naturally, because negging is hilarious and awesome coming from 10 year olds, it works. But Danny’s bitten off more than he can chew, when he sneaks out of the house and gets slapped down in front of his lady love by a badder boy than he is.

Meanwhile, with her job as a waitress at the pizza parlor turning out to be somehow even worse than being a car dealer, and a sink full of dirty dishes no one else will do, Terry is just plain stressed out. What would cure that, you ask? Girls’ night out! At the club, Terry and Lulu (wait, IMDB tells me her character’s name is Gigi. I could have sworn she was called Lulu in the episode, so that’s what I’m going with), apparently the only women in the establishment, have a bevy of attractive gentlemen suitors to dance with. Terry, though, has too much to drink and spends the latter part of the episode hurling in the ladies’ room. Perhaps trying to reclaim her lost 20s in one night was a poor idea for this single mom/pizza waitress. Read the rest of this entry »

“This isn’t just about flying another pennant in their stadium – their fourth in 10 years – or having the opportunity to win their 12^th World Series championship.

It’s about the responsibility of upholding tradition.

It’s for old-time baseball.

They want to show this generation, that yes, it’s still hip to be square.

‘This is St. Louis, we have values here,’ said Brian Schwarze, 32. ‘My grandfather used to always tell me, ‘This is a gentleman’s game. You play the game right.”

‘If he were alive watching what LA did, he’d be shaking his head.’

Schwarze just so happens to be the grandson of Stan Musial.”

-Bob Nightengale, earlier today, USA Today

Hi, I’m Satchel Paige (Ed. note: No, you aren’t. Shut up, Bates.). You might remember me from such “Mickey Mouse” antics as trash talking opposing batters, and walking the bases loaded, then telling all my fielders to sit down while I struck out the side. (Also, I don’t care who you are, Mickey Mouse is still funny.) (Ed. note: True.)

I was born 14ish years before Stan Musial, and began playing professional ball in 1926, when Stan the Man was just six years old, and played the next 32 years before I took a break. What’s more, I played opposite Musial from 1951-1953 as a member of the St. Louis Browns when I was in my mid-40s. Stan was a great player, and a wonderful guy, but I was probably pretty much the greatest pitcher who ever lived. (Ed. note: Where are you going with this?)

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Scene: Helicopter shot of Los Angeles, zoom in on a flashy red convertible, driving erratically down Wilshire Boulevard. In the rearview mirror, we see a car pursuing them. The suspect in the passenger seat looks back, and we follow his gaze to a jet black muscle car, driven by Adrian Gonzalez. Gonzalez’s partner, Hanley Ramirez, leans out the passenger window and tries to shoot out the tires of fleeing convertible.

Hanley: Get me closer!

Adrian: This is as close as you’re going to get.

Hanley: I don’t care how, but you’ve got to get alongside them.

Adrian: I’ll try.

Cut to Yasiel Puig, badge hanging from a chain around his neck, borrowing a bulldozer from a construction site a few blocks away.

Cut back to Gonzalez, who steps on the gas. As the convertible swerves right, he pulls up next to it. Ramirez shoots out the tires, but the car keeps going as the driver struggles to maintain control. A third passenger, from the back seat, leans out of the car with a shotgun and points it at Ramirez. Over the radio, we hear a voice:

Yasiel: Don’t worry guys; I got this.

Yasiel Puig pulls out in front of the convertible in the bulldozer, and leaps clear at the last second. There is a spectacular collision, and the car explodes. Rattled, Gonzalez loses control of his car and hits a palm tree. Ramirez is severely injured.

Adrian: Hanley! Hanley! Talk to me buddy!

Fade out.

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This week’s episode of Back In the Game is called “Play hard or go home.” I wish I could have that choice. Instead, I stayed home today thanks to my disease vector of a son. And while I could  say that this stupid show made me sick, slowly sapping me of my will to fight on against life’s many injustices, that would be a lie. And I cannot abide a lie that doesn’t benefit me in some way. Plus, Carson gets cross if we don’t post, and it disturbs me to see such a gentle hipster stirred to anger and making threats he can’t follow through on from across the ocean.

So what do we have this week? As the rookie coach and as the girl, Terry is tasked with running the Little League’s dreaded annual fund raising campaign by the misogynist douchebag league president whose name I can never remember (which can’t be a good sign for this show since he’s one of the four main characters). Simultaneously, she is trying to find a date for The Cannon, who has seemingly turned extra mean because he’s not getting any. Meanwhile, Danny is trying to make inroads with the 10 year old Baseball Annie, Vanessa, who has temporarily broken up with her asshole boyfriend.

Terry sends the kids out in a parking lot full of ladies to find a date for The Cannon, and they return with Night Court veteran Markie Post, who is way too good for this show. The Cannon, to teach his daughter a lesson about meddling in his love life, steals the Little League money and hires a barfly to hang around the house and annoy everybody. Then he goes out with Markie Post anyway and Terry sells The Cannon’s TV to get the candy money back. Great, now none of them get to watch TV anymore. On the bright side, they won’t have to watch the desperate celebration of humanity’s core awfulness that is this show. So kudos to them.

Also, congratulations to Danny for somehow stealing Vanessa’s iced tea, putting a love note (that somehow stays dry) under the bottle cap, and slipping it back into her lunch. When she reads it, she smiles, probably to cover up how disturbed she is that he broke into her locker, stole her drink, and broke the seal that’s supposed to reassure you your beverage hasn’t been poisoned. Here’s the stupid episode in all of what passes for glory in this worthless age:

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Death, my friends, is a part of life. Specifically, it is the last part. The part where life stops. Yea (and Yay!), with the Tampa Bay Rays eliminated last night, Delmon Young’s 2013 is dead. Delmon finishes his 2013 with a .260/.307/.407 batting line that’s suspiciously similar to his career .282/.316/.423 mark. He struck 11 baseballs so hard that they traveled beyond the outer barrier designed to illustrate the differences between the ballplayers and the rabble, and to keep said rabble in their place. He was also, for the third year in a row and the sixth year (out of seven) in his career, at or below replacement level.

In the postseason, he was a hero in the Wild Card game, hitting a home run off of Danny Salazar to give the Rays a lead they would never relinquish, and he knocked in two runs in the Division Series. All in all, Delmon may have done enough during his 70 plate appearances with the Rays to get a guaranteed contract next year, though woe is to the team that gives it to him.

And so, in celebration of not having to watch him anymore, it is thus that the royal We insert Delmon Young’s name into a shitty representation of the Western Canon, thus diminishing these works even further into the flammable morass of Lake Erie that is reality-TV-based popular culture.

Today, Delmon Young is sea-faring explorer Dirk Pitt, catting about the Antarctic, investigating the mysterious deaths of a bunch of sea mammals, and about to be drawn into an international mystery,  in Clive Cussler’s thrilling ocean adventure Shock Wave:

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Friends, I’m so sorry. I was supposed to get this review to you last Friday, but stupid Gregg Doyle and his stupid take on stupid celebrations got in my way and prevented me to from recapping the latest episode of ABC’s new sitcom, Back In the Game, about a single mother who moves back in with her ex-ballplayer dad, and tries to coach her son’s Little League team. Thanks to Carson for taking a break from his usually autocratic, by the numbers leadership style, and letting me post this today

Now, times are tough for the little sitcom that could. Nielson says it earned a 2.2 rating for its series premiere, which was better than what ABC finished the year with in 2012-2013, but also their lowest sitcom debut since 2009. Last week, that number dropped by 14 percent, so it’s probably a matter of time before this is replaced by re-runs of Modern Family.

In the interim, let’s enjoy the time we have together.

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I’m tired of liking things, and watching other people who like things do those things they like, which is why I was really happy (and then immediately annoyed that I was happy) to read CBS Sports’ Gregg Doyle’s article on why he’s tired of baseball players pouring champagne all over themselves in celebration of winning a thing:

“It takes a lot of planning to make this spontaneous celebration go off just right.

And the players, they do it. They think it’s great. Why do they think it’s great? Because they’re not much on thinking. They’re fully grown kids, is what they are, and they celebrate like children by doing the same thing everyone else has always done. Why? Because everyone else has always done it.”

When my son graduated from kindergarten, we sprayed him with Orange Shasta and I dumped Gatorade over his mother, so I understand where Doyle is coming from. That’s kids stuff (and also a reason why your wife makes you sleep in the garage for a week). Baseball players are supposed to be men.

Men aren’t supposed to have fun and behave like children. We don’t want them to show enthusiasm or “play like a little kid out there.” Because, trust me, I have seen my son’s T-ball games. And I have watched episodes of ABC’s Back in the Game. The dirty little secret the liberals don’t want you to know is that little kids suck at baseball.

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Update: As with most of my great ideas, it turns out that someone has had this one first. Last week, Scott Weber of the always excellent Lookout Landing did something incredibly similar . So similar our titles are pretty near identical. I was not aware of his work before writing this post because I am an idiot. My apologies to Scott. Please go check out his fine work.

Update #2: This is for commenter reillocity below:

Last night, Buzzfeed Sports took a short break from posting pictures of adorable animals in baseball uniforms to chide the Pittsburgh Pirates, who haven’t had a winning season, let alone won a playoff game, for more than 20 years, for celebrating their win over the Cincinnati Reds:

PIC: Team Gets Way Ahead Of Itself, Throws Party Because They Made The Quarterfinals Of A Tournament pic.twitter.com/WgmuwTETcl

— BuzzFeed Sports (@BuzzFeedSports) October 2, 2013

And, of course, they were right to do so. For who isn’t sick to death of the city of Pittsburgh and the Pirates and all their bullshit happiness at finally winning, and releasing the tension that has been building up for more than a generation. Fuck those guys.

Thankfully, as he always is whenever someone is being joyful or doing something remotely interesting, angry dad Brian McCann was there to tell them to tone it down and cut the fun short:

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Once upon a time, I made you a promise. As I am a man of my word and glad not to have to think of anything creative to write about today, I plan to make good on that promise. I watched and reviewed the pilot episode of ABC’s new Little League sitcom, Back In the Game, so you didn’t have to see it and wonder if you’re missing anything. I will be doing every Friday between now and when it is canceled, or I am politely asked to stop, which will probably be soon.

Anyway, Back in the Game revolves around Terry, a down-on-her-luck, newly single mom with a 10 year old son, Danny, who has just moved back home to her father, “The Cannon” (no, I’m not making that up), a former minor league baseball player. Her son wants to play baseball to impress some girl who only dates ballplayers. Again, these kids are 10. Anyway, he sucks, and doesn’t make any of the Little League teams, and this being a pretty horrible Little League organization, he’s told he’s not allowed to play. Hijinx ensue when Terry and another single mom, whose movie producer husband died and left her a fortune (we are told in tortured exposition) band together to offer to coach and fund, respectively, another team for the misfits.

Here, for everybody who has forgotten, is the trailer for the series:

That actually makes this show seem far worse than it actually is. The setup, while tortured, is actually fairly funny. Maggie Lawson, for all her inherent hotness, actually conveys her world-weariness really well. And her character, a former high school baseball player and All-American softball player in college, is far more formidable than in the trailer above, especially in her dealings with the douchebag who runs the league and never played high school ball. James Caan is far better than I would have expected, and makes what should seem like a horrible and grating character actually sympathetic.

What doesn’t work?

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