Tag Archives: shit

Mike Rizzo Extended, Promoted, Why?

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“You promoted me? Have you seen how our team’s doing?”

Mike Rizzo has signed a new long-term contract and was also promoted to President of Baseball Operations. In other news, I was promoted to CEO of my company for producing a massive shit, so pretty much the same thing.

I’m probably overreacting. Rizzo created a team that did fantastic last year, and is just vastly underperforming this year. Reasonably, he’s not the one to blame.

Unreasonably, he is the one to blame. Fire him! Fire everyone! Burn this whole team down and start from scratch! Just make sure Ben’s Chili Bowl is protected from the fire, that will be the only thing to carry over to the new regime.

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Well, This Sucks (Nationals Sign Rafael Soriano)

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Attempts to drown Soriano in the past have failed, sadly.

I hate Rafael Soriano.

I absolutely despise him.

This isn’t the joke kind of hatred I had for Sean Burnett at times, or the dislike coupled with sadness that God would do that to a person that I had for Tom Gorzelanny. This is legitimate hatred, the first time I’d say I felt this way about a Nationals player.

Soriano is selfish, overrated, and while I can’t be sure of it someone has been calling my house and hanging up when I pick up and it’s probably him so fuck him for that too.

Am I angry at Drew Storen for game 5? Yeah. Do I have issues with trust towards Tyler Clippard? Some, sure. But just cause you’re constipated and having trouble producing at a comfortable level doesn’t mean you have to spend $28 million dollars on cow shit to put in your toilet to make you feel like you did the job you were supposed to.

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NLDS Game 4: Walk Off: The Jayson Werth Story

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The black power salute doesn’t send the same message coming from Jayson. (Photo by Rob Carr/Getty Images)

Did the Nats win: Was Onannes a fish-goddess of Chaldean myth? (Yes)

Was it fun to watch: The ending was as gratifying as sex. Only this was the first time I’ve felt satisfied thanks to a man’s powerful wood.

Visceral Emotion of the Game: A lingering uncertainty as the best way to go about explaining the excitement-induced mess I made in my pants to the laundromat.

On a day where most of the country watched two of our leaders debate some of the most contentious issues that impact our nation, there is one issue that is certainly not for debate: Jayson Werth is the greatest baseball player of all-time. If you don’t agree with that you’re probably from the past, when Jayson Werth was nothing more than a loathsome hairy man who spent most of his time in Philadelphia. But as that role has been filled by Scott Hartnell, Jayson has found his new place as the single greatest baseball player to ever live.

Many Nationals have often vied for the title of greatest in the past. Some examples:

  • Livan Hernandez – Greatest Caloric Intake.
  • Nick Johnson – Greatest Mustache (Sarcastically).
  • Joey Eischen – Greatest pitcher of all-time.

Not all of them won, like poor Joey, who fell just a tad short. But even as Livan and Nick succeeded, their “greatest” titles didn’t mean much in the long run (aside from taking a few years off Livan’s life). Jayson, on the other hand, is the first National who can proudly claim that he is the greatest without anyone arguing the fact, because I don’t listen to other people’s opinions.

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… : …

“I don’t want it. Do you want it?” “Uh, not really.” “…” “…” “One of us should probably get it.” “Yeah…” “…” “…nah” (AP Photo/Wilfredo Lee)

Final Score: Marlins 9, Nationals 0

Dame of the Game:

Nope.

Shame of the Game:

The Washington FUCKING Nationals.

——–

….

So here we are. August 29th, 2012, and the Nationals are four games ahead in the NL East after losing their fifth straight. Five months ago, I never would have thought that I could be this upset at a four game division lead on August 29, but then I never would have thought that I could accidentally gamble away all my possessions and be forced to make my new home among the Swamp People either, so there you go. Continue reading

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Dunn Dunn… Dunn Dunn…: Jaws Drop as Nats Attack in 8th

Final Score: Nationals 10, Marlins 7.

Dame of the Game:

Adam LaRoche: 2-4, 3 R, 2 HR, 2 RBI. Adam hit two home runs and reached on a crucial error, showing a nice mix of power and luck. He would do well at a casino, in that Lady Luck would be on his side, and he could also just punch dealers until they give him money.

Shame of the Game:

Michael Dunn: .2 IP, 4 H, 1 BB, 6 R, 0 ER, 1 K, 1 E. None of Dunn’s runs were technically earned, but they came after his fielding error. If every pitcher did like Dunn and began the inning with an embarrassing error, they would have a fantastic ERA. They would also be very bad.

———-

A little mistake can spiral out of control. Like signing with the Phillies, or reproducing while having the last name Gorzelanny, things may not look terrible at first. But you will soon pay a great price. Today, Michael Dunn made a little error. No biggie, Marlins still up by 2. 1. 0. -1. -2. -3. -4. Well that escalated quickly.

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The Morse Invasion: Nats Conquer Milwaukee Like It’s Iberia in 711 A.D.

I don’t know why this random guy in a Brewers jersey thinks anyone is going to pay $21 to ransom him back from Ron Roenicke. (AP Photo/Tom Lynn)

Final Score: Nationals 11, Brewers 10

Dame of the Game:

Michael Morse: 2-4, HR, 2 R, 4 RBI, BB, K.

To: themilwaukeebrewers@thelowerhalfofthenlcentral.com

Subject: Re: Morse?

Message: No. No remorse.

Shame of the Game:

Ryan Mattheus: 1.2 IP, 4 ER, 5 H, 3 HR. Mattheus entered today’s sausage race as a shit sausage. Man, he was bad.

——–

There are few things in life more satisfying than turning off a terrible baseball game to do something more enjoyable only to turn it on later to discover that while you were away and inwardly conceding defeat, something ridiculously fantastic happened. One of the more satisfying things is actually watching those ridiculously fantastic things happen.

My personal experience with Sunday’s game was the former, but I’ll take it. When I disgustedly moved on with my afternoon, it was 7-3 Brewers in the 7th. This situation produced in me a similar emotion to that given by my subsequent action, removing some mold-covered cheese from my rot-smelling refrigerator. This refrigerator is basically a mold factory–you can’t leave food in there for more than a few minutes or it’ll start crawling with some ungodly pestilence. Sorta like leaving Ryan Mattheus in this game.

When I checked my phone for the score a considerable amount of time later, I naturally assumed the game would be long over, the Nats having settled for a series split–the most mediocre of outcomes against the most mediocre of teams.  When the score appeared as 11-9 Nats in the top of the 11th, I first paused for a few moments to ensure that my score-checking app hadn’t randomly decided to show me the results of a Nats/Brewers game from 2007 or something. But no. It had actually happened. My wrongly-colored sliced cheese had transformed from smelling like death itself to exuding the sweet scent of whatever the Nationals version of this would be. In the metaphor, at least–in real life the cheese still smelled horrible.

At first I wondered things like “how” and “who” and “why” and “will this dramatically alter the course of the future of the universe?” I’d later find out the answers (4 runs in the 8th, 2 in the 9th, 2 in the 11th/Roger Bernadina, Michael Morse, John Axford, and the eminently hateable Jose Veras/because all previous events in history had somehow contributed to predetermining this outcome in ways that are not comprehensible to humans/no), but those didn’t matter. In the end it was just another improbable win for a Nats team that seems to have no regard for probability, morality, or public nudity laws (I assume).

Let’s hope they win a few more so we can have a naked World Series parade in November.

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