Monday, August 31, 2009

bye bye jim and jose

the things coming out of my manager, kenny williams' head are getting crazier and crazier! someone oughtta start my GM back on his anti-OCD pills!

first, he practically ripped up the system to get diva jake peavy (who's now on the DL with elbow problems-nice going kenny!), then he got alex rios and mark kotsay, now in perhaps the biggest shocker of the year, jose contreras gets traded to the rockies, and



(if you read my "dugout" links that i post up here, that is how jim thome announces his arrival at the chatroom)

got traded to the los angeles dodgers! yes, you read that right! big jim thome has gone to LA. since LA is obviously gonna make the playoffs, big jim's chance of getting a world series ring before he retires is greater out there than back here in chi-town. what the dodgers plan to do with jim, since he's too old to really do anything, remains to be seen. i wasn't too surprised about contreras leaving, since he's pretty much done for, but i was shocked that jim would leave us.

in light of this shocking trade, i'd like to say thank you to jim and jose. though you've both seen better days, i'd like to thank you for your years of service and may you find success in your new cities of employment.

in a fitting tribute on southside sox, user madopal had this to say:



and in reply, user boejouma replied:

to all of our hearts

goodbye everyone. ps-sox lose yet again. we're now 6 games back. what a miserable season this turned out to be.

The Dugout: Always Look On The South Side Of Life

psychology and the chicago white sox.

The Dugout: Always Look On The South Side Of Life

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Sunday, August 30, 2009

2010 pie

fresh from southside sox. this little ditty (ripped off from "american pie") pretty much sums up our whole season

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember How spring training used to make me smile.
And I knew the boys had a chance
To make it to the Autumn Dance
And, maybe, stick around for a while.

But late August made me shiver
With every loss they delivered.
Bad news on the front page;
No more hope at this stage.
I laughed so hard I almost cried
When I read the dumb shit about pride,
Turned off the games and went outside
The day the season died.

So bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye.
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

Did you think we'd rise above,
And did you have faith in Fields' glove,
Because Cora tells you so?
Do you believe who they put out,
Goggles, The Bridge, all those shut outs,
And poor Q! limping off the field real slow?

Well, there was the Colon experiment,
We all know how awesome that went.
Him and the Count just shat the bed,
How many innings will DJ get?

We called up a Georgia broncin buck
Tore the stitches off after initial suck,
But even He couldn't save this clusterfuck
The day the season died.

I started singin "Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

Now last year we got the Central crown
Stood to repeat since the rest are down,
But it just wasn't meant to be.
When you trot out Gobble, Broadway, and Nessie,
Plus Linebrink shits bricks for all to see,
At least there was perfection from Buehrle...

Oh, and then The Ace got knocked around,
After another seventeen sat down.
Danks' shakiness returned,
Was shutdown or got burned.
And while Floyd's been solid down the stretch,
There were points where he'd make you wretch,
Wise ensured legacy with The Catch.
But still, the season died.

We were singing, "Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

Defense melted in a summer swelter,
Bullpen giving up bombs; better seek shelter,
Just two back then falling fast.
Last games on dome's fake-ass grass
The old guys tried for one last gasp,
People shout to stop living in the past.

Now the trade deadline was taken shrewd,
We locked up Peavy and that Rios dude.
We want to go to The Dance,
Oh, but we screw up every chance!
'cause the facepalm lineups take the field;
Runners the pitching would always yield.
Errors galore, their fate was sealed.
The day the season died.

We were singing, "Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

Oh, for the day they were in first place,
Instead of Pods out there with bad breaks
With no time left to start again.
So come on: Pods be nimble, Pods be quick!
Pods picked off like a dumb prick
Cause the devil's gonna collect, my friend.

Oh, and Ozzie kept Alex in a cage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No snowball's chance in hell
Could break the doghouse spell.
And as Sox fans argue into the night
About when Peavy's start is right,
The offense loses all its fight
The day the season died.

They were singing, "Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

Next year we'll get a healthy Q!,
A Savior with less defense miscues,
Some contracts will be turned away.
A shakeup in the lineup core
Can't play the same guys as years before,
No sense paying them for declining play.

And on the nets: commenters screamed,
The kittehs cried, dumb statements reamed.
The right rail was a joke and
"No subject lines" verboten.
And the one guy that I like most:
Sat at home, bored, career is toast.
Sign Frank so he ends as a Pale Hose
Now that the season's died.

And we'll be singing, "Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

We'll be singing, "Bye-bye, Count, Thome, and Dye."
See you later alligator,
We'll call up young and cheap guys.
Sign scrap heap fodder Kenny pulls out his backside
Saying, "this'll be the team that gets pie."
"this'll be the team that gets pie."

indeed, what a miserable season it was.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

The Dugout: Jim Passes Reggie

our favorite chatman jim "wordupthome" thome surpasses reggie jackson on the home run list! more to come on this later!

in the meantime, enjoy the dugout

The Dugout: Jim Passes Reggie

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Sunday, August 16, 2009

why your stadium sucks-US cellular field edition

here's an amusing article i found on deadspin. in a weekly segment called "why your stadium sucks", the writers review a different baseball team stadium and rip it to shreds. this week's victim was safeco field, but looking in the past entries dug up an entry about the cell!

so here it is: why US cellular field sucks.

Hard Cell: U.S. Cellular Field is the hideous ransom paid to the White Sox after they spent the late 1980s threatening to hie themselves to St. Petersburg. This was deemed a fate too awful to imagine — the franchise had been in Chicago since 1901, after all — even though it's in the natural order of things for cranky 80-year-old nuisances to slink off to some godforsaken spot in South Florida where they can be safely ignored. In any event, the taxpayers gave the White Sox their lame Royals Stadium ripoff, the last ballpark built before the retro craze and certainly the last time anyone thought the Royals a franchise worth imitating. In fairness, the stadium did feature several design innovations, chief among them the decision to place the farthest reaches of the upper decks somewhere near Aurora. No one much liked the place, which is why it has been in a constant state of self-mutilation from the moment the Sox snipped the ribbon. A vast five-stage overhaul began in 2001, when the stadium was 10 — 10 — years old. The White Sox: baseball's cutters.

Shining Armour: In 1989, as the White Sox mulled various stadium proposals, a Chicago architect named Philip Bess drew up plans for a ballpark in the spirit of what he called, in his book City Baseball Magic, "pragmatic idealism." The design of Armour Field was "governed by a concern that it be a genuinely urban building, constrained by its block, with an architectural presence, scale, and monumentality befitting its status as a public building," a true neighborhood ballpark. It was a wonderful proposal and looks even better today, after two decades of downtown baseball nostalgia palaces. "Camden Yards, Jacobs Field, and Pac-Bell are not 'neighborhood ballparks,' but rather 'downtown ballparks,'" he told one interviewer. "Many people in our culture have stopped thinking of cities as good and desirable places where people live as well as work, shop, and play. Instead, they think of cities as 'entertainment zones,' and of stadiums as 'anchors' for downtown entertainment zones. The goal has been to replace the tax revenues lost by the flight of middle class families from cities, to use public dollars to finance new ballparks in an effort to keep municipal services and governments afloat. But this seems to me a short-sighted solution. Better to make cities themselves livable again; and well designed smaller-scaled neighborhood ballparks can be a legitimate part of that strategy, and make money for team owners at the same time."

What happened next was everything Bess had sought to avoid. New Comiskey was thrown up in 1991, a suburban stadium dropped into an urban setting, uprooting 250 households, disrupting the street system, turning the old Comiskey Park into a parking lot and more or less gutting the old neighborhood of Armour Square. It's not clear if the White Sox ever seriously considered Bess' proposal. My guess is Jerry Reinsdorf took one look at a rendering and laughed himself out onto 35th Street. Bess never really had a chance, anyway. As Charles C. Euchner has written, the architect's proposal would've removed the buffer zone — a park — between black Armour Square and white Bridgeport, a politically influential neighborhood that has been home to five Chicago mayors, including the current one, Richard M. Daley. The Bridgeporters never would have allowed it, and so the ballpark that sprang up across from old Comiskey was, in many ways, a tribute to the characteristics of its surroundings: small-minded, hostile and all about clout. That, in Chicago, is a true neighborhood park.

The view from the stands (everything sic'd):

"'The Joan' (labeled by a few after the horrendous Joan Cusack ad campaign put together by US Cellular in 2004) features a lower section, box seating and a top tier which has rarely ever been filled. About two months ago I watched as a young man fingered his girlfriend in the left field seats. Both were wearing jean shorts. Classy. Worst physical issue with the park: The top tier was designed by the same deity who created Mt. Everest. As you climb the staircase into the stratosphere just keep your eyes on the prize ahead of you, otherwise you might start to feel nauseous. Which reminds me of this story about the steepness of the park ... Rangers V White Sox 2005: Garland is pitching for his life while a girl who just turned 21 is getting puh-lastered four rows behind me. Her screeching is almost unbearable but when the game is finished one man was brave enough to give her a high five only to deke her out at the last second, causing her to fall over thee rows of chairs and come crashing into our backs. The end result was a boobie prize. Her tit popped out and she left the stadium in tears. I masturbated for days. Oh yes, did I mention the jean shorts? If you ask nicely I will email you my set of jean shorts around US Cellular Field. Believe me ... you're going to want these." (Jim O.)

"It's the 2007 season, I'm a White Sox season ticket holder in the upper deck. It's a Sunday night game for ESPN, 3rd inning or so, and we let some people returning to their seats pass by our group. One of the passing fans accidentally dribbles a couple drops of beer on the middle aged woman in the row in front of her. The woman turns around, and chucks an entire full cup of Miller Lite on me. I know it's Miller Lite because I could taste it, that's how much it was. Not knowing what happened, I assumed I spilled my own on myself (notice the theme here...drinking). This woman the whole game is hammering down beers as if Prohibition goes into effect the next day. At the end of the game, the woman leaves her email address on her ticket and mentions she is sorry for throwing a beer at me and I should email her for her tickets to a game later in the season. The email address ended in ''. Noticing she is far too old to be a student at The University of Chicago, I researched the name and address via Google to see if she was faculty. Not only was she faculty, she was a dean of students. Only in Illinois would this bribe be acceptable, Blago would have been proud." (Mark M.)

"white sox fans know their baseball. and any good white sox fan knows that most of the fans are rarely intelligent enough to find their own seat. during a 2008 indians/sox game, my friend and i took our nosebleed seats behind first base. a mother and her two bratty kids were sitting around two rows behind me, and the young boy-i think-was screaming his head off like a little girl everytime something even somewhat interesting happened. finally, an annoyed couple in front of me got fed up. the boyfriend turns around and says, "hey kid, why don't you give that one a shot once your balls drop?" the mother looks as if she's just been shot. a random drunk, cut-off t-shirt-wearing redneck throws himself at the guy and my buddy and i are left to witness the aftermath. the sox got hammered and i stayed sober, staring at my ticket stub. how much did i pay to sit here again?" (Evan)

"It's 1991, a good year for the Sox, new stadium, exciting team. My dad gets field level seats down the 3rd base line. A foul ball comes our way and the guy in front of me catches it. Someone in a group of guys in the row behind us asks to see the ball because there is some sort of special insignia on it since it's the stadium's inaugural year. As soon as the ball is handed over, the guy behinds me throws it to his buddy standing in the aisle who promptly runs away with the ball. This obviously incites the gentleman who caught the ball in front of me and he starts swinging at the guy behind me. This fracas goes on with me in the middle for about a minute before my dad and security can break it up and escort the combatants away. Guess who got their ass kicked: ME, BECAUSE I'M SIX YEARS OLD. Stadium staff quickly whisk me into the bowels of stadium to apologize profusely and bandage up my bumps and bruises. I still think we could've parlayed the whole incident into something bigger and gotten free season tickets or a copy of Big Hurt Baseball for Super Nintendo, but all I got was a baseball and an ice cream, so it wasn't all bad." (Mark H.)

"As a Cubs fan I can honestly say I would rather drown in a cesspool of smelly, creepy Cardinals and Brewers fans than spend 3 hours around Southsiders. Everything is about the Cubs. Everything. Especially when 'it's not about the Cubs.' They are most insecure, vindictive, petty sports fans I've ever been around. And that's counting hockey fans." (Drew)

"As a life long Sox fan, I'd say the easiest way to describe the Cell experience is to compare with that other Chicago team. Wrigley is old and falling apart. The Cell is new and full of modern amenities and a growing forest of bronze statues. Wrigley always seems packed. The Cell always seems half empty. Attendance was awful before the World Series and while it's gotten better, you can almost always get tickets on the same day as a game you want to see. Though you will pay like you're going to see a top ten team instead of a team that's come in 1st in the division four times since the Cell opened. Wrigley sits near one of the main centers of the gay community in Chicago. The Cell sits near some fairly harsh neighborhoods. And the fans... At the Cell our drunks aren't content to sit and look pretty while texting on their Blackberries and talking on the phone like the drunks at Wrigley. No, our fans rush out and beat the crap out of a Kansas City Royals first base coach. Our fans attack a first base umpire. At least once a month it seems like some asshat is delaying a game by running out on the field. If the Steve Bartman incident had happened at the Cell, he would have been torn to pieces and his head put on a pike over the front gate. In general, the fans are a reflection of Ozzie Guillen - foul mouthed, abrasive and a bit nasty at times but uniquely Chicago. Of course the best part about going to a game at US Cellular Field (besides wondering if you might get to see someone stabbed in the crowd or attacked on the field)? Not having to listen to the biggest homer announcer in all of baseball." (Sarah P.)
"I love the White Sox, but there too many fucking statues in and around the joint. The statue depicting DeWayne Wise's catch during Buehrle's perfect game is already being molded in Hawk's basement." (DomChota)

"We've all heard stories about the Vertigo Seats..consider this- When the Bears were rebuilding Soldier's Field- the most logical thing was to have them play at 'Sox Park' during the construction year ( After all the tax payers did pay for this place, and its in Chicago ). What did the Bears do? They avoided Sox Park like the plague & they shipped the Bears 2.5 hours South to The University of Illinois for every 'Home' game. Nothing like that "home feel" when you are being shipped to the middle of Illinois on a Saturday!" (Neal J.)

"First off, Sox fans, it's U-S C-e-l-l-u-l-a-r F-i-e-l-d. Not 'Cominsky Park,' not 'Cominsky's Field.' Not even Comiskey Park like the old days, but at least I can put up with that. Southside "Chicaaaahgoins" do tend to add an 's' on everything, but mostly to grocery stores for some reason. Jewel becomes The Jewels. Meier becomes Meier's. Soldier Field becomes Soldier's Field, but I digress. There seems to be a rule that no one can attend a Sox game unless their name is Tony, Tina, Vinny, Pauly, Lisa, or Marie. It's like a god damn Soprano's episode 'over dere.' It's AWESOME people watching, though. Tons of wife beater tanks and quarts upon quarts of hair spray which reminds me of my 1987 8th grade Jr. High yearbook. Just don't light a match. Lot's of green Southside Irish pride Sox hats to go 'round and the attitude to go with it. US Cellular is filled with anyone who has ever started a sentence with, 'Like I says' and 'Know what I'm sayin.' (No I don't, because you haven't started anything nearly resembling a sentence yet) They pull up in their Trans-AMs ready to raise hell. The park itself is a train wreck. An improved train wreck, but still a train wreck. They really missed the mark, as The Cell was one of the first of the new breed of ballparks in the 90's. Builders had to do a re-work on the upper deck steps well after many games played, because too many of you clumbsy 'yooz guyz' fell on their craniums with two beers in their hands. (They really tripped over their gold rope chains, in reality)The upper deck was way too steep. Ingenious planning. I miss the old days of Disco Demolition already at the old park. If you want decent food and cold beer go right ahead. If you want to fear for your life because of the shiteous neighborhood and lack of security be my guest. Leave your suburb SUV's at home and pull up in your IROC-Z or Fiero and you'll be just fine. You may get a fist bump or a shout out by one of the guys from youtube's 'My New Haircut.' See also: William Ligue Jr." (Craig H.)

"For some background, this was my first time to Chicago and the South Side so I had no idea what to expect. As I'm walking off the L with a buddy who made the trip, the first thing you notice is the smell. It literally smells like garbage as you're walking in. Why? Who knows, but WTF. Secondly, is the bathroom fight that took place. The bathrooms in the outfield have the urinals and stalls in a row next to each other with very little room to form a line. This causes confusion about who's next in line as no one knows if there's on singular line or a line for each stall. So, this sketchy gentleman, complete with the ratty shirt and cocked hat takes a place in front of a couple of us but directly in one of the stalls. He also has a shit-eating grin on his face like he pulled a fast one. Anyway, a stall opens up and he goes for it. Well, the gentleman directly in front of me also makes a play for the stall. They soon put their arms in front of each other as they angle for the open stall. Shoving ensues, yelling is abound but shit-eater wins. Well, would'nt you know, the stall next to him opens up and his adversary takes it. For some reason, he decided to talk shit to the shit-eater about the stall which took all of 30 seconds out of his life. Shit eater then steps it up and starts using insults you'd expect from drunk trailer trash: bitch, pussy, cocksucker, etc. The other man doesnt let up either and returns the favor. Shit-eater then reaches over the wall and starts punching the guy as they both spill out of their respective stalls.. All of this in front of children using the urinals who were almost collateral damage. Thank God a security guard decided to take a leak or else an actual fight might have taken place." (Michael M.)

"I used to attend games at the Cell often. Then I found a job." (Ryan S.)

my gripe about the cell was that there was no roof. the one day i went, it was sunny and i suffered a massive sunburn that made me sick. if i can't handle being out there for a game, i don't know how the players do it! i guess that takes experiance and practice, but that was my 1 gripe about the cell. the food didn't bother me too much and the drinks were ok. the stadium's other features (like the open-air shower for the kiddies) weren't bad, but it's that damn sun!

and in other news, the sox once again cannot sweep an opposing team. today, they lose by a final score of 3-2 in favor of oakland. unfortunately, john danks was the starting pitcher, and i guess he just didn't have his stuff today. hopefully, our next series against KC will bring better results.
but in happy news, my boy carlos quentin may not need surgery on his left foot in the offseason! this is good cuz my boy cannot afford to miss any more worktime! my little crystal chandelier is getting better :).

Friday, August 14, 2009

crucial updates

despite my long absence, there are some crucial updates to be made:

1. i have been granted an opportunity to contribute to a popular baseball blog. the editors of "more hardball", gm_carson and burton, have invited me to contribute articles to their blog. since theirs is an all-around baseball blog, i can't do the in-depth analysis of my white sox that i normally engage in over here at cell's bells. however, i can contribute some of my more quirky items, like "the dugout" (which hasn't been working since i've returned from vacation), and random quotes by my loudmouth manager ozzie, the latter of which should prove useful talking materials.

my point is, do not fear that i will abandon cell's bells. i will continue to post enteries here, but now you can catch me elsewhere.

2. the entire reason for this blog's existance: THE WHITE SOX!!! i've all but neglected them!

things have not been well for my boys in black-and-white as of late. they played well against the angels while i was in CA, but upon arriving home, things just dropped off. though john danks pitched the game of his career against seattle on tuesday, and got the win, but they split the series with the mariners. today, they played the As. contreras was due to pitch today, and did, but blew a 6-run lead. last i checked the As and sox were tied at 7 in the bottom of the 8th. since mark kotsay used to play for the As, i wonder if they gave him a happy homecoming.

in light of jose contreras' return to rock-bottom, i wonder when diva jake peavy is due to begin pitching for us...

thats all for now. i returned an hour ago from the dodgers-diamondbacks game here in AZ. d-backs won and dan haren pitched very well. so well, he had the balls to hit andre ethier with manny ramirez coming up in the 7th. both men got out. the snakes lit up starter clayton kershaw in the 2nd, putting on 4 straight runs. if they'd scored 2 more, the taco bells down here in AZ would have given away 3 free tacos with the purchase of a large drink and showing your ticket stub. but alas it was not to be. you could smell the tacos, but the taco bell was closed :(.

as for that diva manny, chase field got especially noisy when he came up to bat. i booed, LA fans cheered. its a damn shame manny had to get busted for taking HCG, cuz i really think he would have looked nice with the boobs he aquired from using that hormone. it would work well with his disgusting dreadlocks.

and despite the obnoxiousness of dodger fans, todays game was a reminder as to why i love baseball so much. there was great pitching, spectacular catches, a defense that knew what it was doing, steals that required balls of steel to pull off, a charged atmosphere, and the fans behaved themselves for the most part.

thats all for tonight.


Monday, August 10, 2009

Checking in With Barry

since im still in a vacation-mood, i thought i'd post this amusing article from the back page of "sports illustrated". this piece was written by chris ballard.

TO: Baseball fans and media
FROM: Barry Bonds

Remember me? Dude who gave you 762 free souvenirs and never once got thanked? Dude who embarrassed National League pitchers for two decades, put up the most ridiculous numbers in baseball history and won seven MVP awards? Time was, you respected me. Some of you even loved me.

Until you hated me. So I didn't smile and sign every little kid's T-shirt. So I ignored a teammate or two. So I blew off reporters—hey, they were just going to make stuff up anyway. And yeah, so I took some of the Clear. O.K., maybe I took enough to put a horse in a coma, but what's the difference? Point is, I could play the game. Play it like no one else. Ever.

None of that mattered, though. You called me a cheater and said it all had to go—the respect, the records, even the chance to play. Come on, two years ago I put up a 1.045 OPS. You're telling me no team could have used that kind of talent last season? Know how many hitters have an OPS that high right now? (Yeah, you bet I keep up.) That's right: one. Your boy Albert Pujols—or as my friends call him, the Last Great Clean Hope (Until He Isn't). But me? I sat and waited for a phone call that never came, unless it was my lawyers wanting to talk about that annoying perjury case.

Teams thought I'd be a p.r. nightmare. A locker room problem. That I was old and grumpy and couldn't field. Hell, Adam Dunn is young and grumpy and can't field, and the Nationals signed him for 10 mil a year. But no, I was the Great Steroid Pariah. Yeah, you're damn right I know what that word means.

So I have to ask: What do you think of me now? Come on, let's go down the list together of all the big names linked to performance-enhancing drugs: McGwire, Sosa, Palmeiro, A-Rod, Manny and now Big Papi. You people love Big Papi. Can't get enough of him. But wasn't it obvious his numbers were bogus? Dude used to be a scrub. Then at 27 he suddenly turns into Reggie freaking Jackson? He went from hitting 20 home runs a season to 54! But none of you noticed because you were all talking about my hat size, and besides, David Ortiz didn't look like a user. He was too goofy, too soft and—let's be honest—too fat. It was like saying Santa Claus was on the juice.

So how are you going to treat Papi now? Will you boo him and throw syringes on the field like you did to me? Are you going to sic Pedro Gomez on him? Because if so, can you get on that sooner rather than later? The guy's still camping out on my porch. I'm not joking. I can see him through the curtains right now.

While we're at it, just what price has Manny paid? Let's see: a 50-game suspension and then ... what? More love from you guys. Just last week some joker from a Long Beach paper went on about how great Manny was because when he approached Manny for an interview and mentioned Armenian food, Manny said the two of them should go out for Armenian sometime and gave him his number. Hello! I love Armenian food. Are you telling me all it takes to change your opinion is sharing some tas kebab? Are you people really that shallow?

Wait, don't answer that. Go on hating me. It's cool. I still have my trial, and I need to finish patching things up with my wife now that we're no longer getting a divorce—despite that big-mouth girlfriend of mine. And of course I need time to work on my Hall of Fame acceptance speech—that is, if I decide you all deserve to hear one.

And think about this: Only seven of the 104 names on that master list of juicers have come out. That means there are nearly one hundred still to drop, and that's just from that one round of testing six years ago. Jose Canseco says there's a 95% chance anyone who played in the last 20 years was using something, and even though he's a total nut job who I'd probably hit in the face with a bat if I saw him in a back alley, dude does seem to know what he's talking about when it comes to cheating.

So here's what I'm asking. As each new name comes out and you guys all care less and forgive quicker because you just want to move on already, think about me for a second. You know, the guy you singled out among an invisible crowd of hundreds of players, the guy who took all your anger for all those years and never let it break him. And ask yourself this: What if I'd been a nice guy? What if I'd smiled at the crowds and had a cute nickname like Big Bappi and took all of you out for Armenian food? And what if you just found out I'd been on the juice—well, what would you think of me then? Would I still be public enemy No. 1? Or would you feel different? Because I'm thinking you would.

I'm thinking that right about now you're feeling bad about how you treated me. I'm thinking maybe you'd like to apologize.

Not that I care, of course. No, not at all.

and in final business notes, my boys have added yet another player to their seemingly endless aquisitions of players: rightfielder alex rios from toronto. looks like this is it for JD. goodbye buddy, you've served your time well.


Saturday, August 1, 2009

The Dugout: Jokes and Jokes, Month of July Edition

bobby cox and charlie manual play abbot and costello with this comedic exchange!

The Dugout: Jokes and Jokes, Month of July Edition

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yet another busy week in white sox nation!

first the trade deadline was this week, and in a shocking twist, my gm kenny williams picked up journeyman mark kotsay, AND san diego diva jake peavy! yes, you read that right! jake peavy has come to the white sox! it took 3 different tries, a bunch of minor-league players, and 1 pissed off pitcher before that diva finally agreed to come. now comes the performance-peavy has to prove that for all the trouble it took to get him here, he's not a bust. if peavy turns out to be a bust, then kenny's got alot to answer for.

my dad was telling me that the reason peavy came over was so that kenny could get rid of jermaine "JD" dye. but in last night's game, i saw JD sitting in the dugout next to ozzie. i guess that rumor was false. but still, you can never have enough aces.

speaking of last night's game, my sox had the game of the week by ass-raping the yankees 10-5. in a strange twist of the lineup, dj "tabasco" carrasco got the call to start instead of gavin floyd (who's pitching tomorrow). john danks started thursday and won, so yesterday would have been BHB. anyway, carrasco got off to a bit of a rough start by giving up 3 runs to the yankees in the 1st. but in a happy turn of events, the sox roared back, putting up 1 run in the 1st, 2 in the 2nd, 2 more in the 5th, and after the yankees tied it up in the 5th, my boys in black-and-white unleashed a torrent of runs in the 7th-tacking on 5 more.

indeed, the 7th inning was what sealed the yankees doom. ozzie ordered a double steal in which jayson nix stole home and chris getz stole 2nd. then, we just lit up the pitcher, hitting small ball but piling on the runs. posada, the yankees' nail-painting catcher, couldn't catch anything that came his way from the infield. as a joke, my brother told me that i should play for the yankees, since i would make a better catcher then posada, and i'm relatively inexperianced.

has my boy carlos been on a hot streak or what? he hit a home run in MN, and hit another home run yesterday. my boy also hit some RBI doubles, and caught the game-sealing popout.

dustmop bobby jenks was nowhere to be seen. my dad told me that he's been out sick, so linebrink closed the game out in place of him.

my dad told me that raping the yankees like this was the best thing to do, cuz the yankees spent so much money to get all these guys, and most of them have been ok-not the best, just ok. it's more of a revenge thing. it appears that it's a birthright for almost anyone born outside of new york to hate the yankees. that whole AL east is so overrated.

tomorrow i'm heading off to california with my uncle and brother! my uncle promised to take us to LA for vacation, so we're going tomorrow and staying for a week. i'm really looking forward to this trip, but i won't be able to write for a week cuz im not bringing my computer. its just too much of a hassle to crate along.

bye everyone! i'll write when i get back from LA!