Dead Religions

Bobby and I tonight, rehashing Moneyball while watching the Angels vs the A’s on one TV and USC losing on another. Bobby is still red about the fat guy behind us talking during the show, but happy the Trojans are getting stomped.

Bobby wants to know what would have happened if Beane had gone to Boston. Would the Red Sox players had revolted when Beane pulled his locker room antics? Bobby wants to know why Eric Chavez, Mark Mulder, Barry Zito, and Tim Hudson weren’t in the movie. Uh, because they weren’t getting paid squat.

Where is David Carr these days? Google Search says he is with the New York Giants. Who knew? Who cared, other than us right now?

USC is coing back. USC is now winning. USC isn’t going to a bowl, and Lane Kiffin is still a moron.

Reminder to self — Bobby is always correct about Super Bowl loctions; don’t argue with him on that topic. A Super Bowl in NYC? Go Browns! Way to hold out for a cold weather Super Bowl.

Ivan Rodriguez is still throwing out baserunners in Major League Baseball.

USC is now losing again, but driving. They sure could use that XP they pissed away. USC fumble. Ooops.

Jon Lester and the Boston Red Sox pretty much ended my fantasy championship run. Bobby says Carl Crawford is cross eyed. I think he is mistaken — the Red Sox crack medical staff would have noticed that.

The Angels will be paying Torri Hunter and Vernon Wells a combined 39 million next year. Perhaps their GM should go see Moneyball. What does Hunter have two “r’s” in his name? Does he know Jamaal?

USC is going down hard. They won’t be ranked anymore. Let the Hackett Era II commence and let the Pete Carroll death watch begin.

Now watching Oregon and Arizona. Something is wrong with us, but the game looks amazing in HD.

We are planning our next great adventure — hitting a top NCAA football rivalry every year. We are arguing about what game to go to first. I say Auburn/Alabama; Bobby says Oklahoma/Texas. Compromise: Lafayette vs. Lehigh.

NFL Netork on now — time for bed. But first… shots!

I saw the movie last night; I don’t feel like writing a full review, plus I am busy today. It is a compelling movie, not so much for the baseball parts, but the human dynamics of the characters in the movie. This isn’t an action film (the baseball scenes drag at some points), or a Rocky type story. It isn’t a rah-rah Billy Beane story either.

A few thoughts — the Shapiro character on the screen represents John Hart. The timeline of the movie had to be compressed (very successfully), so when Beane “discovers” Paul Brand (Depodesto) in Shapiro’s office, that was really John Hart circa 1998-99. This isn’t a criticism of the film — the story line could not have worked had the film jumped back to 1996. The interesting thing about that early scene Indians execs are portrayed as arrogant hot shots who pretty much sneer at Beane. I can certainly picture Hart and the rest of the staff acting that way. The entire Indians organization is portrayed as a top notch, clicking machine at the top of their game — in other words, they had a very good reason to be confident. My, how things have changed.

The Shapiro character on the phone who gets totally worked by Beane in a trade later in the movie fits the time frame for Shapiro as GM. This is one of culminating scenes in the movie. The player Beane covets is Ricardo Rincon, the guy John Hart traded Brian Giles to get. Beane only gave up Marshall McDougall to get him. The scene illustrate show Shapiro could have probably received a lot more for Rincon from other teams, but Beane manipulated a few other GMs (and his own owner) to get his man. The scene is very well done, but Ricardo Rincon? Just why did real life GMs covet hims so much?

There is a terrific scene with Beane and David Justice. I won’t give away anything, but it is a terrific clash of egos, very subtly done, perhaps my favorite scene in the movie.

Phillip Seymour Hoffman is brilliant as Art Howe.

The compression of the plot timeline works very well, except for one very large opportunity. The acquisition of Jeremy Giambi comes at the beginning of the 2002 season, under Beane and Brands’ new Moneyball era. I fully understand why the producers did this — they didn’t want the 2001 season creeping into the plot. However, Jeremy Giambi was the asshat that didn’t slide on Jeter’s throw in the 2001 ALDS. Had he slid, Jeter’s throw isn’t immortalized, and the A’s probably win the Series. This certainly gnawed at Beane and the old time scouts — Giambi was arbitration eligible, and the A’s kept him around. The complexities of this would have been hard for a non-baseball fan to understand, so I see why it was dropped, but the scene in which Giambi gets traded because he pisses off Beane could have been even better with that backdrop.

While the movie extols taking advantage of market inefficiencies and the importance of OBP, it pulls no punches in showing that Beane and Brand ultimately failed at reaching the World Series. There is no happy, Hollywood baseball ending. In fact, the baseball part of the movie ends very bleakly. Ultimately, this is why the film succeeds.

The movie ends with Beane turning down the Red Sox and a shitload of money to stay with the A’s. Again, I won’t give anything away, but this scene absolutely drives home the human element of baseball people in a masterful fashion. There is no weepy sentiment and baseball romanticism is squarely kicked in the nuts; just real human emotions. Forget the stats, forget the scouts, forget the big money teams; baseball is human. The final scenes are so bare they are almost anti-climatic. Despite that, the audience broke out into applause as the screen faded to black (no one claps at movies in Southern California) — a testament to the power of the scene and the overall movie.

Fast Eddie has been holed up in a Tempe hotel room for two days, existing on a diet of pork rinds and Jagermeister mixed with pink lemonade while listening to nothing but the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ new LP on his I-Pod. He says he’ll come out when the Red Sox are eliminated from playoff contention. Fast Eddie was always a fuck up, but I am a bit concerned for his sanity. The hotel is a block and a half from his house. Why he wants to terrorize hotel maids instead of making his statement in his own home remains to be seen, but I an sure he has visions of FBI choppers circling the hotel. Fast Eddie hasn’t been right since he stopped doing cocaine.

I told Fast Eddie I’d drive out to see him and take him to see Moneyball. That goof didn’t even know that Moneyball had been made into a movie. “Brad Pitt as Billy Beane?” he asked. “Holy shit, the statheads won the Revolution. Ten years ago, who would have thought Pitt would be on the big screen preaching about the virtues of OBP? Fuck me — what are the scouts going to say? The Arizona Fall League is going to be a kick in the ass this year with those guys crying about Pitt. You coming out? Oh wait, your wife hates me; you might be coming this way, but not to see me.

“My wife doesn’t hate you,” I lied. “She just doesn’t like me spending time with a guy who has done hard time, and she knows you have cut people. Plus, the Revolution has been over for years. Even minor league parks put OBP on the scoreboard. Sure, some dickheads are still fighting the war, fancying themselvess some sort of Old School vanguard, but there are still twits in the South fighting the War of Northern Aggression. Guess who are the only people I’ve seen pan Moneyball? Keith Law and Baseball America.”

“Tell your wife that it doesn’t count as prison if it was in a third world country. If the war is over, it hasn’t been over long, and no one told the scouts,” Fast Eddie interrupted. “Besides, anyone who calls himself Old School is just an old white geek trying to be hip — most scouts. But, dude, Brad Fucking Pitt is playing Billy Fucking Beane. Not even a numbers freak like you could have seen that coming. Hey, remember that time….”

Yes, I remembered that time — it was before Michael Lewis even thought about convincing Billy Beane to write that book that would infuriate Joe Morgan. Fast Eddie was still a few months away from going to a Dominican prison for six years for sticking a guy. Fast Eddie was still employed by a major league baseball team. Fast Eddie, a fuck up since high school, still had a future.

Growing up, Fast Eddie was one of the few minorities in a white bread Indiana county that was a notorious Klan hotbed. Fast Eddie was Filipino, not black, so he never found a noose around his neck, but he was always paranoid even though his parents were pretty damn wealthy. He earned his nickname because he was a pool player and a cross country runner. “It beats ‘Darkie’,” he shrugged at the time.

One of Fast Eddie’s college jobs was cleaning up some old dude after that guy shit the bed. Fast Eddie was some sort of hospice worker for this old guy — Fast Eddie’s dad, a doctor, got him the job. Fast Eddie was making very good money for a college job, but he was cleaning up an old guy’s shit. However, the old dude’s son was a big scout for the Royals, and Fast Eddie and that guy hit it off. Yes, you guessed it, cleaning up that old man’s shit was how Fast Eddie got into the scouting business, and Fast Eddie became very good at discovering live arms.

Jump to October 2001. Fast Eddie and the Yard Gnome are chopping lines on a sink in a bathroom at Scottsdale Stadium. The country is jagged because of the planes flying into buildings thing, and Fast Eddie was a mess because his relationship with a Broadway actress was coming to an end. The Yard Gnome was torn up because he was on the fourth day of a blow bender. I was standing at a urninal, pissing out my breakfast, wondering when the cops were coming through the door.

The Yard Gnome had put his cocaine in my backpack, so that meant his eightball was nestled between my Stadium Mustard and a copy of the Total Baseball Encyclopedia we used to end all arguments. Meanwhile, Sir Jolters was ranting about Jeromy Burnitz Tribe jerseys and Cleveland hipsters — something about how Burnitz jerseys off the discount rack will one day be what the pseudo-cool wear to create a false impression that they wore something other than status quo when they were young. Then the Yankee and Astro’s scouts came throuugh the door, and things went to shit real quick.

Next: Stats versus Scouts; Jackalope Style

Here is the Marlins’ new logo:

The 70’s Astros meets 80’s porn. I am at a loss for words.

The Cleveland Indians announced a new promotion, Indians’ Snow Days: Feel the Sting of Winter, that ensures suffering will continue at Progressive Field through January 16th. The Tribe brass plans on turning the ballpark into a winter playground that will offer a ice skating, snow tubing, and the chance to commiserate with the ghosts of past Indian failures. “The winter contains the true suffering months in Cleveland, and this year, we are refusing to cede that time to the Browns,” announced a jubilant and somewhat sober Larry Dolan. “For years, that lousy football team has had a monopoly on pain well past the holidays, but this year we are cutting into their pie. Fans can come out to re-visit the place where the Indians pissed away glory year after year.”

“Last year we introduced Indians’ Snow Days,” continued Dolan, “but we made the mistake of promoting it as a wholesome family event. Well, the whores on Prospect ruined that. Those broads are tough and aren’t afraid of showing some skin in the cold. That is not family friendly, and it is gross. This year, we are counting on depression and despair to keep them away — it works in the summer. This winter, Jose Mesa will be the Grand Chairperson of the event. If the whores show up, we will give him a roll of cash, and he will lead them away like the Pied Piper so we can get on with the business of generational suffering. The scoreboard will show a loop on Indians failures to educate the little ones — making them sob is our goal. This will certainly be good for alcohol sales. Parents will put peppermint schnapps in the hot chocolate just to get their kids to be quiet.”

Mayor Frank Jackson was ecstatic about the new plan. “All those people will be that much closer to the casino. Since alcohol will be served, the city will make a fortune on DWI arrests and impound fees. More revenues mean more opportunity for corruption. Those snow tube lanes are broken bones just waiting to happen, which will mean emergency rooms will be bustling. Plus, we are going set up Ohio Lottery booths — the gift that just keeps giving.”

Eric Wedge received one last chuckle as his Seattle Mariners defeated the Indians 12-6 in a rain shortened game on Monday. “A perfect trip to Cleveland — we didn’t have to stay long, and we got to leave early. We will be in Minneapolis to watch Monday Night Football. If only all travelers could be that lucky. Oh, and we won — eat that, Cleveland.”

The Plain Dealer, the nation’s last bastion of print journalism, reported there were only about 350 fans in the stands at the time of the first pitch (announced attendance was around 15,000), probably because most of Cleveland was searching desperately for Colt McCoy jerseys. “My God, my God, what have I done?” asked owner Larry Dolan after the game. “More people showed up at the old stadium during the Stouffer Era.”

Carlos Santana set a club record for HRs in a season for a switch hitter, illustrating that the Tribe has not had many power hitting switch hitters. Now that the Indians are eliminated from the playoffs, Asdrubal Cabrera continued to break out of his slump, but still trails Santana in OPS by 22 points.

Meanwhile, Atlanta Braves closer Craig Kimbrel blew a save, Roy Halladay tanked, and Joey Votto hit into two double plays, effectively ending my fantasy team’s championship week. I am going to lose to Bobby, which means it will be a long off season. In fact, if Mount Tambora blows soon, there might not be baseball for a long time.

Strange morning — walked out to the bar to see an errant sprinkler nailing my new HDTV. Luckily, the only casulty was the Verizon box. On the way to the grocery store to buy booze, I realized the sell out was complete. Once I angrily fought for the oppressed; now I only get passionate when my electronics are threatened.

I almost killed a cyclist on the way to the grocery store — on purpose. I love the fair burgh where I live, but it is overrun with cyclists, especially on Sunday mornings. They don’t think they have to yield to 1.5 ton vehicles.

Browns, with their backs to the wall, already forced into a must win game, are down already. I work with a guy who cliams to be a Browns fan. I think he is an imposter because he sues words like “Hope” and “Faith.” However, what type of sick fuck would pretend to root for the Browns? I think he got wind of my upcoming reality TV show and is trying to get into my good graces.

Demons and family legacy on Survivor. How is that show still on? What sort of cultists still watch it?

6-0 Colts. Trading for FGs for punts is a brilliant first half strategy when your All Pro White Running Back is suffering from the Madden Curse.

Cribbs with the big run back. Too bad the Colts kicker is a bigger man than Cribbs.

Michael Bush just stole fantasy points from one of my RB, McFadden. Fantasy thiefs are the worst.

4th and inches, Browns go for it. Browns get it. The Browns’ season changes. Hope and Faith are alive. Browns TD — McCoy pass — does he still throw like a girl, Powell?

Tim Hightower is finally having a breakout season. Beanie Wells isn’t.

Another Colts FG — I left that kicker on the bench because I thought he’d just be kicking XPs all day.

The new Charlie Batch era might be starting in Pittsburgh. The suspense is mounting.

The Browns have fewer quality recivers than the Indians have power hitters. Massaquoi with the big catch! He is the Little Fukudome. Hillis TD — the march to the Pro Bowl has begun.

The Bills are turning back into pumpkins. The Raiders look good. Maybe Al Michaels should just STFU.

All football. No limits. Only from Sprint. I have Sprint and have no idea what that means. There were limits?

The All Pro White Running Back just fumbled. The road to the Pro Bowl has pot holes. Cam Newton just threw an INT. Growing pains for the youths.

Collins hot on this drive — Browns are done because they refuse to tackle. Oh Icarus, where have you gone? Browns defense turns Prometheus and hold the colts to a FG.

Steve Smith with a retard fumble. Sweet.

Bills are coming back. Maybe Al Michaels was right. What if we turned trash into surfboards? Then we would have surfboards made of trash. Not a difficult question.

Hey, Indy fans, just because you don’t have an MLB team doesn’t mean you have to emulate the St. Louis Cardinals with your whining. Oooh, you are mad — what are you going to do — set the tractors in the parking lot on fire? Loot the International Harvester dealership? Oh wait, you can’t!

Browns defense with the interception deep in Colts territory. Kick the FG now. Shit, Browns fumble. Got it back — kick the FG now.

Bills take the lead. Browns finally get that FG so they can lose 19-17. Browns defense hold. Hope and faith are alive.

Larry Fitgerals long TD. Meanwhile, Boldin just had two goal line drops.

Conservative play calling and goofy trickery (Fontenot up the middle!) doom the Browns drive, but McFadden scores for the Raiders, propelling my fantasy team.

In baseball, the Red Sox are choking.

Way to stop the clock, McCoy. What type of play call was that? The All Pro White Running Back busts one for a TD? Did the Browns score to quickly?

Rex Grossman is having another big week. He is resurgent. Maybe he has a little Bernie Kosar in him. Chew on that, Powell.

Nice backwards pass on the turnover. That should be a $500,000 fine. Colts fans are leaving — good thing — the crops are ready in the fields. The ones that are staying are booing their team. What a bunch of asshat insurance adjusters who think they have wealth because they have season tickets.

Pete Carroll is now on the hot seat. Soccer is king in Seattle.

Cam Newton is a god. Browns turn this into an onside kick pucker. Scored too quickly. They recover the onside kick, so all is well.

Victory shots! To Hope and Faith, those lusty whores!

Cleveland Indians’ owner Larry Dolan, who had been sipping bourbon since lunch, was in tears late Friday night as he watched the Detroit Tigers celebrate their clinching of the AL Central. “It should have been us,” Dolan lamented, “but we don’t have enough talent in this organization. We look for character, not the ability to play baseball. Still, I wouldn’t change a thing — there will be no Albert Belles here on my watch.”

“It was all part of my plan to change the team nickname from the politically incorrect Indians to the Ignatius Choir Boys. My wife put a temporary hold on that though because the Church hasn’t exactly been getting good press lately because of some inappropriate touching of some priests. I am tired of my team being named after some of history’s biggest losers. The Native Americans who lived around here were so odious that they were wiped out by other tribes in heinous acts of genocide, something that is not in this latest wave of Revisionist History. I better be quiet now; my wife is going to be pissed, and she has me on a short leash.”

Raul (Beloved Nephew) and I tonight — Bobby working. Raul slipped into the fantasy baseball playoffs and has to play the number one seed — me. I know no one cares about our fantasy league, but we have an interesting side bet — loser has to nail a hooker that looks like Oprah Winfrey. I think Raul secretly wants to lose.

Fukudome bails out Perez in the ninth. Perez sucks — trade him in the off season for Lance Morrison who wore out his welcome in Miami. If Morrison runs his mouth in Cleveland, my friend Guido will counsel him on a Lake cruise. Fear is a wonderful motivator.

Royals win! Ozzie Guillen will be the Marlins’ manager next year.

Why does Pert Plus feel compelled to advertise on the MLB Network? And why is a bear getting a physical?

Belgium cyclists are being interviewed during the Mariners game. God, they have bad teeth. Sometimes HD is painful.

Harold Reynolds is doing another one of those teaching clinics on that studio diamond on the MLB Network. Whenver I see that, I wonder what it would be like to watch it on acid. I onced figured out the meaning of life from watching a MC Hammer video on acid in college — his baggy pants spoke to me. I have since forgotten the meaning of life, but Harold on acid might remind me.

A clean shaven Eric Wedge has to be an Aqua Velvet man. Shots! I really want to have a beer with Wedge.

Tigers will be clinching soon. Will they start burning houses in Detroit? Will Cleveland be afire after the Browns lose to the Colts?

Deion the Fairy is on again. No wondew DirecTV is losing customers to Verizon.

Some dude in the A’s game is on a treadmill, trying to complete a marathon before the game ends (should have picked Yanks/Red Sox game). Why? It is a Friday night. Is this what HS AV Club members grow up to be? No MST3K buddies to hang out with?

Say what you will about Raul, but the lad brings over killer salsa. Not bad for a guy who thinks he is white. He is getting worked up about U.S. soccer now. Good Lord.

It is so chilly tonight I had to don a hoodie to complement my shorts. It is nice growing old as a cold weather pussy in California. Soon you people BACK THERE will be freezing your ass off. Enjoy fall, winter is coming.

Harold Reynolds is have a, “Get Off My Lawn” moment. Cuddle up with Joe Morgan, Harold.

Tigers clinch. Manny Acta’s dream dies. Alex White gets rocked, so Chris Antonetti saves his head.

Raul just put one TV on “Jersey Shore.” I have never seen this show, but Snookie is a pig. Is The Situation gay? I need a shot just to make that visual disappear. Jameson’s for everyone!

Tigers are wearing swim goggles to clebrated so bubbly doesn’t get in their eye. The terrorists did win.

In today’s Los Angeles Times, Steve Dilbeck referred to MLB umpire Bill Welke as “Quick Thumb.” Fact: Welke’s ejections of Clayton Kershaw and and Don Mattingly were only his second and third ejections of the year (he threw out Jose Bautista earlier in the year for arguing balls and strikes). However, Welke has thrown out thirty guys from the 2005 season through last night, putting him seventh in highest umpire ejections in that time period. His career ejection rate is fifty percent above the norm. “Quick Thumb” fits.

Meanwhile, the Cleveland Indians’ season is collapsing about as fast as the end Bernie Kosar’s career as a starting quarterback. The Indians were manhandled (again) by the Texas Rangers. So far this season, the Indians are 1-8 against the Rangers, being outscored 61-28. Thankfully, the ass whipping will end tonight as the season series concludes. The Indians are expected to reach the .500 mark again sometime in the 2016 season.