The Bullshit Disaster continues.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Captain Rigoberto and the Psychedelic Boomerang Ship: A Journey

In order to ignore the stench of lame headlines and boring, bullshit stories circulating Baseball this week and to desperately combat all the negativity and doubt that's always swirling around and strangling me this time of year,
I thought about a few things, three "predictions," as useless and speculative as any other, to get me through this week of worthless shit talking.

-James Loney will fucking rule.
Some might call it a "break-out" year when Loney hits 25 home runs or hits 100 in. The thing is, Loney has been a solid, consistent performer, offensively and defensively and he's also only 25 years old. I think Loney will improve his numbers and establish himself as a premier first basemen but still be overshadowed by the numbers Kemp and Ethier put up again. Fans know what's up but nationally I think he'll be as underrated as he has been the past two seasons. And that's fine with James. The fans will show him love.
I hope I'm not jinxing anything but since I probably am, let's hope Martin and Furcal don't share a consistency of their own and offensively suck again.

-George Sherill will look like a cholo.
I don't want to jinx a prediction for Sherill to rule all because we need him to be the best set-up man in the game. We need him to lead the league in that bullshit statistic, holds? We need him to be there in case Broxton's too exhausted from fucking Brian Wilson's mom and forgets how to throw a strike. George Sherill will probably be pretty good. Our bullpen is a definite strength. I don't want to fuck it up.
But I will predict without question that George Sherill will be kind of fat underneath baggy pants and a jersey. He'll have a flatbilled Dodger fitted on. He'll have a good mustache and goatee upon a face of stone. George will look chingoooon.
The funny thing is that George Sherill's kind of a sweaty white dude from Memphis. And he likes White Zombie. Fuck yeah, George. Welcome to L.A., ese.

-Vicente Padilla will be a badass.
Shit, even if he loses his first five starts then needs Tommy John surgery, there's no denying Padilla's badassness. He just took a bullet to the leg and didn't give a fuck. Then publicly said so. Laughed it off, went and had a drink. Apparently Chinandega, Nicaragua doesn't fuck around.
With that said, I think Padilla will have a great season. If he picks up where he left off last season, stares down batters with a glare borne out of a civil war and ends up winning 14 or 15 games, he'll be an absolute badass. Here's to you Vicente.

It's still not spring yet. It won't feel like it until this baseball shit gets under way. The winter will subside and we'll all move on again. Then, there might be something worth talking about going on. Something beyond the headline, "Shane Victorino says he feels great about Phils' this season." Who gives a fucking shit? But you'll read on because time is currently stagnant. And work sucks and life sucks but hopefully the Dodgers will not.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Preseason Fodder or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Hate the Giants.

I just read an article in the San Francisco chronicle, the finest paper in all the land, where Bruce Jenkins had a cute tirade about the Dodgers, Manny Ramirez and for some reason, Eric Gagne.

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2010/02/23/SP6P1C5TFK.DTL

What’s the deal with SF Giants beat writers seeping into Dodgertown a few days into spring training? Is there nothing to talk about concerning their own team?
I know it’s the calm before the storm and there isn’t much to seriously talk about until a cataract plagued umpire yells, “Play Ball!” on april 5th. So, media fodder is going to be inevitable but stick to your own, assholes.
Manny is dividing the Dodgers in half? You say that and then back it up with nearly every notable Dodger, young and old, talking about how they know Manny and it’s not a big deal. The players, Torre, Colletti and the fans aren’t worried. We know what's up.
The national coverage concerning Manny saying this is his last season in Los Angeles is fucking preposterous. The headline should have read, “Duh.” Or at least, "It's Still Fucking February!"

And as far as shit goes with Eric Gagne, I’m still wondering why San Francisco could give a fuck. Gagne is one of my all time favorite Dodgers. He had a great run I’ll never forget. The arm problems, the HGH rehabilitation, his post-Dodger resume. Nobody gives a fuck. Eric Gagne signing with the Dodgers is about as important as Shawn Estes signing with L.A. before last season. At best, if he makes a surprising comeback, he’ll be a middle reliever and the fans will cheer. So what? It still doesn’t explain the fascination with two nothing stories that have nothing to do with the Giants.
They could talk about how Tim Lincecum will win his third consecutive Cy Young but along with Matt Cain and a few other pitchers combined still make less than Barry Zito. Even with Timmy's new contract. You remember Zito? He's that guy that was real good in Oakland but gets paid ridiculously by the Giants for a mediocre curveball and a cocaine problem. Hey, at least he's never injured.

Dear Giants media,
Save your shit talking for when we’re locked in a division race mid-season. For now, talk about how wild and crazy Brian Wilson’s shitty tattoos are or about Pablo Sandoval’s new and improved 270 pound frame. You could discuss the Giants being the best thing going on in the Bay Area, in the world of sports and otherwise, which is real fucking sad considering the history of things.

You losers talk about yours and we losers will talk about ours. Until that first pitch is thrown on Opening Day. Then it’ll be on.

Shuffle and deal, motherfucker.

My blind allegiance to baseball is wearing thin. I have been informed, in an e-mail buried in a heap of junkmail, that the villainous assholes at MLB.com, because they're so nice, will automatically bill me for my premium viewing package because I subscribed last season. Now, I know I'm going to pay the motherfuckers either way, I always do, but it's the sheer deception and creepiness of it all. It's not, "Hey, don't forget you can pay to watch baseball on the internet." It's, "We have your credit card information, so fuck you."
I'm in, I'm all in, they know I'll spend it all. When you grow up poor and then remain poor, baseball or any sport can be that alleviation, that beautiful world outside your own you're hopelessly addicted to. And these gutless peddlers know it. It's the same deal when I'm at Dodger Stadium. If I was at a bar and I bought a Bud Light and the bartender said, "Ten bucks," I'd choke somebody to death and leave. But it's baseball so all I can do is burn the currency I have and definitely some that I don't have. I'll buy their goddamn beer and pay for their goddamn games with the insane prayer in mind that Matt Kemp will make a diving catch or Andre Ethier will hit a three-run shot to win the game. And then I can be suspended in that fine moment in time when we all look around and feel exactly the same. It's all worth it then. So, every year about this time, as I'm waiting anxiously and uncomfortably for this shit to start, I'm angry about everything, the world outside and intertwined. Everything. But even so, I see my hand and I put it down. I'm all in. For Vin Scully at least. I think I'll spend it all.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Introduction to this mess...

Today is as good as any other. I'm beginning this blog, a Dodger blog I guess, but it's more about the end of the world in a way. Or the seemingly fucked up bullshit disaster we all find ourselves in, as human beings embedded in the failure of these states and as Dodger fans. It's an inexplicable thing we all share. Because whether you like baseball or sports doesn't matter. The plain and awful truth is that whatever interest, art or passion you are into, it intercedes and coincides with the great and grand disintegration of this earth. And that shit is heavy.

But it's not all negative. Let me put my gun down so I can type better.
I can't wait to be in Los Angeles on Opening Day. I'm going to drink 30 beers, 27 or 28 outside the stadium, and hopefully revel but possibly recoil in the outcome of the game. Dodger dogs and pre-game blunts will also be involved. If my friends and I don't get hassled by the L.A.P.D.'s finest(four white males, copstaches and copglasses, all in their conspicuous cop-like SUV, narc-ass goons looking just like "any other fans,") it should all go down as a good fucking day in Dodgertown once again.

And so, with the pain and anguish of baseball inside a more broad and encompassing shit-time in American history, I'm starting this blog to document the 2010 season. The games, players, transactions, etc. But more than that, this blog will hopefully chronicle, somewhat creatively, the demoralizing demise of self that I face every goddamn season. And maybe just maybe, we can bathe in champagne and set fire to some cop cars sometime in October. Through summer's fine breezes and it's inevitably sweltering bullshit disasters, I'll be there. And I sincerely hope that you will too.