The fight between our beloved Cincinnati Reds and the St. Louis Cardinals underscores a couple of things:
1.) Brandon Phillips is right. The Cardinals are a bunch of whiny bitches.
2.) He is a moron for saying so.
The Cards, and especially their manager, whine about everything. Tony La Russa got fired up when Phillips called him out on this, claiming his team never blames anyone when they lose and they never get arrogant when they win. But that’s just not true. La Russa has complained about seemingly every facet of Great American Ballpark. The mound. The baseballs. The jewelry the Reds wear. And it’s not just the Reds. Albert Pujols complains about defenses “trying to distract him” while he’s batting. Chris Carpenter complains when batters yell at themselves for striking out. On and on. These complaints typically come after the Cardinals lose.
But why does Brandon Phillips feel the need to jaw about it?
Did he think his teammates needed to get fired up? If so, we’re in trouble. The fact that the Reds are in playoff contention for the first time since the late 90′s should be inspiration enough.
Did he think he needed to ignite the Reds v. Cardinals rivalry? Hardly. Dusty Baker and Tony La Russa genuinely hate each other. And, assuming the Reds don’t pull a Florida Marlins move and unload all of their good young talent, they are set to compete with the Cardinals for years to come. They’re our closest rival now.
Did he think he could back it up? So far he hasn’t done shit. Prime example: Reds down four in the ninth inning Tuesday night with two on and two outs. This could be the start of an incredible rally. Instead, Phillips grounds out. Again. The guy he brawled with? Yadier Molina homered in his first at bat after the fight, having walked to the plate to a showering of boos. I’d say Molina just made Phillips look like the whiny bitch.
Trash talk is cheesy in football, but at least it’s tolerable. You only play your division rivals twice, and everyone else just once. In baseball, you play your rivals over and over and over. By trash talking, you set yourself up for looking like a moron just by the fact that you are statistically bound to lose one of those many games. And you are bound to have a bad game yourself. Or in Phillips’ case, several bad games.
So what comes of the fight? Short term, the Reds came mentally unglued Tuesday night. Long term, they will probably lose Johnny Cueto and Scott Rolen to suspensions. How does this help the Reds?
Phillips should only open his mouth when there is a Subway commercial script in front of him. Or a ball he can actually hit out of the infield.
Here’s my video from the fight–I’d turned off the camera because it looked like it would be a typical baseball “fight”. So I missed a lot of the good stuff when the fists started flying.
I’ve never really thought about it before, but I’d imagine that that’s a pretty good way to determine whether a movie is good–if the silent film version is good, then you know you’ve got something on your hands. Maybe that’s why this reimagining is so damn good.
In many ways, Weezer's career mirrors the plot of Lost; a great start led into a weird, meandering adventure that ultimately went nowhere and by the end nobody cared all that much.
Now, don’t get me wrong, this could be a hoax. I half wish it was. Also, I simply don’t know what to make of this. In the grand scheme, it could be a commentary on the fact that nobody buys physical compact discs anymore, and that the album art isn’t all that important, or that “We’re Weezer and we’re going to put a picture of Jorge Garcia on our record just to prove that we can still sell it even though the music is gonna pretty much be garbage.”
The photo in question is apparently a crop of a photo Garcia took with Rivers Cuomo. Rumor has it that immediately after posing for the picture, Garcia asked who Cuomo was and when told Weezer did not break up in 1997, nearly had a coronary.
We’re chuggin’ along in the Comedy MVP series–and this is 2000 through 2004. Yeah, you’re pretty much gonna hate us. Ready?
2000: Joel and Ethan Coen: In 2000, my favorite of the Coen brothers’ movies came out: O Brother, Where Art Thou is their take on The Odyssey, which on one hand sounds significantly not like comedy. Of course, you’re wrong about this. OBWAT might be one of the better comedy films of the last few decades–it’s smart, fun to watch, and there are plenty of scenes that are perfectly hilarious.
2001: Will Ferrell: 2001 was around when the “More Cowbell” had started to catch on. Perhaps his best SNL turn, however, was as the straight man in the Celebrity Jeopardy sketches.
2002: Ricky Gervais: Series 2 of the UK version of the Office. Awesomeness.
2003: Dave Chappelle, Mitch Hedberg: 2003 marks season 2 of Chappelle’s Show, which might be some of the best television the US had to offer this decade. Also, one of the more important stand-ups of our time, Mitch Hedberg, had Strategic Grill Locations released in 2003.
2004: Will Ferrell, Patton Oswalt: Anchorman. Feelin’ Kinda Patton. Nuff.
We’ll be back sometime this week with 2005-09. Sit tight, chumps.
So forgive me for what must be my 30th sports post, because I’ve just learned that THE Ohio State Buckeyes are, in fact, as close to Jesus as a sports team can come.
It is Ohio State football that stands as the annual life vest of hope against the riptide of terribleness.
I realize that isn’t technically long enough for a block quote, but it’s so awesomely pretentious that it deserves some kind of special formatting. Oller continues…
When your state is rusting away in spots and the majority of your teams are borderline pathetic, well, it’s nice to have one that seldom loses. Think about that for a moment. Failure is the fabric of life. Things fall apart. Dishwashers stop. Cars die. Grass grows longer, not shorter, and must be cut or turn to seed and weed. Each morning ends in darkness.For the majority of Ohio’s sports fans, each season ends in darkness, too. But a light has been lit for those who adhere to the scarlet and gray faith. Those blessed Buckeyes have begun.
Jim Tressel's Sweater Vest is Scientifically Proven to Heal All Who Touch It
So, wait…THE Buckeyes are not only a shining beacon of hope for all Ohioans, they are also like a lawnmower and auto mechanic at the same time? What?
Oller’s got a point: THE Buckeyes are reliably good, the Browns and Indians are reliably bad, and only recently have the Bengals, Bearcats and Reds turned things around. But he’s going waaaaaaaaaayyyyy overboard when he assumes THE Buckeyes are some sort of safety blanket for sports fans in the entire state. When is the last time you heard anyone on Cincinnati sports talk radio talk about THE Buckeyes, except to wonder whether the Bearcats are a better team? THE Buckeyes aren’t part of the conversation here, and I can guarantee you they aren’t part of the conversation in Cleveland.
The fact is fans in Cleveland and Cincinnati don’t need THE Buckeyes as a “life vest of hope” because living with ups and downs is just part of being a fan. Sorry that we don’t go around screaming “O-H” into people’s faces expecting them to counter with “I-O”, but we’re just fine with our teams here, thank you. A more accurate story might be that people in Columbus have nothing to brag about except THE Buckeyes (and also Schmidt’s in German Village) Maybe if Oller had made it south of, say, Grove City, he’d understand that.
