Tag Archives: sleep

After Loss to Atlanta, Nats Need to Take Mylanta

Roger Bernadina takes a nap and tries to wrap his arm around his girlfriend next to him, only to realize that she left him months ago for Rick Ankiel. (AP Photo/John Bazemore)

Final Score: Braves 2, Nationals 1

Dame of the Game:

Ross Detwiler: 6 IP, 1 ER, 7 H, 1 BB, 5 K. New nickname to add to his pile of nicknames: the Rosselot (Sir Rosselot?). Is Ross more catlike or doglike? You decide.

Shame of the Game:

Ian Desmond: 0-4, 2 K, Walk-Off Error. For Desmond’s 15th error of the year, let’s throw him a quinceanera party where everything goes wrong. Poisoned food, balloons that pop as soon as you inflate them, guests that thought they were going to an actual quinceanera party for one of their friends’ daughters, a cake that says “Congratulations on your latest failure!”, Ian Desmond’s presence.

——-

This was a banner game for Nationals that I hate. Ian Desmond and Sean Burnett, two players who have on the whole redeemed themselves considerably in my usually-unforgiving eyes, combined to produce a bottom of the 9th that justified every negative thing I’ve ever said about them. First Sean fucked. Then Ian sucked. I shall henceforth refer to these two unsavory individuals as the Fuck-Suck Duo. Coming soon to an Independent League/brothel near you.

I can’t complain too much about them while the Nats are still 7.5 games up in the division and seemingly have their playoff spot locked up. Wait, they just lost again? WELL FUCK YOU SEAN AND IAN, FUCK YOU IN WHATEVER PLACE YOU LEAST WANT IT.

…ahem.

Let me take a moment to talk about Kris Medlen and his 13 strikeouts and continued sub-1 ERA as a starter.

Okay, the moment’s passed. Phew, that was an unpleasant conversation.

I have to say, as we head into the last half of September, I’m running out of jokes to make about this Nationals team. There’s only so many times I can make different versions of the same joke about–

Wait, I got one. Continue reading

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Mountains of Det: Detwiler Towers over Cubs in Win

“Hey Adam, see those guys over there? They’re on the Cubs.” “Heh.” (Greg Fiume/Getty Images)

Final Score: Nationals 2, Cubs 1

Dame of the Game:

Ross Detwiler: 7 IP, 0 R, 4 H, 3 BB, 3 K. Just in case there’s any correlation between the size of the actual national debt and the size of the National Det’s goodness, I say we start a few more wars, give universal health care and college education to everyone, and build a government-funded tower to the sun.

Shame of the Game:

The Cubs. They’re just an embarrassment to humanity.

——–

82 isn’t a very exciting number in most contexts. It’s a B- on a test, a mildly warm day in degrees Fahrenheit, a normal weight for an anorexic person, and a terrible speed for a major league fastball. But it does have a significance when applied to the number of wins a baseball team gets in a season. 82 is the number that differentiates the teams that succeeded more often than they failed from the teams that failed more often than they succeeded, or worse yet, the teams that succeeded and failed the same amount and thus had zero effect on the universe (lookin’ at you, ’05 Nats. Why’d you even bother?). The Nationals are now guaranteed to finish the season “at least a little bit good,” even if Stephen Strasburg decides to lock the rest of the team in a  closet for the remainder of September because he can’t stand to see them playing without him. Continue reading

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I Left My Steroids in San Francisco: Nats Are Going Home To City Not By a Bay With a Win

Time Lincecum would have had to hold his glove up a little higher to effectively hide the fact that he was sleeping. Also, he would have had to not be the starting pitcher of an ongoing baseball game.  (AP Photo/Jeff Chiu)

Final Score: Nationals 6, Giants 4

Dame of the Game:

Danny Espinosa: 2-4, HR, 2B, 2 RBI, R, 2 K. Once upon a time, Danny Epinosa was having a horrible season. Now he’s having a league average season. And he lived average-happiness-level-ly ever after.

Shame of the Game:

Melky Cabrera. While he was not technically in this game, this is retroactive to all previous games he played against the Nats when he was cheating. No one cheats against the Nats and gets away with it. No one except the people who haven’t gotten caught, that is.

——–

It shouldn’t come as that big of a surprise that so many Giants take steroids. Barry Bonds, Guillermo Mota (#s 2 and 1 in historical importance to the franchise, respectively) and now Melky Cabrera. It’s been right under our noses this whole time. Right there in the name, in fact. What is a giant if not a man using a ton of steroids? How do you think all the famous giants of myth and legend got so big?

Did Atlas just wake up one day and realize he could lift the entire planet? No, he obviously pumped himself full of man-power-juice, then did some crazy workouts Paul Ryan-style, then grabbed the earth and put it on his shoulders. How did Polyphemus become enormous and mutate himself into only having one eye? A strict diet of pure testosterone, raw vegetables, and raw sheep. Duh. And the Big Friendly Giant? Not so friendly when the roid rage hits.

Which is all by way of saying that of course the Giants are on steroids. Melky was caught, but I have little doubt that the rest of them have some kind of unnatural substances swimming around their veins. Or else they would have changed their team name already. Continue reading

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Great Black Shark: Bernadina Makes Deadliest Catch to Save Game

I’ll leave the image of razor-sharp teeth slicing through Astro flesh like a flaming knife through already-melted butter to your imagination. (Photo by Bob Levey/Getty Images)

Final Score: Nationals 3, Astros 2

Dame of the Game:

Roger Bernadina: 0-2, R, 2 BB, K, Game Saving Catch. Danny Espinosa had this thing locked up. All three RBIs, including a home run and a presumably game winning hit. But then, well, you know.

Shame of the Game:

Ryan Zimmerman: 0-5, 4 K. They call this a “golden sombrero,” but that seems racist to me. Why is it especially bad just because it’s Mexican? Why not call it a “Shimmering Chapeau” or a “Towering Top Hat”?

You might think it’s hypocritical of me to accuse something of being racist given the title of this post, but a) it’s too perfect, and b) actually that’s the only excuse I need.

——–

Let’s just skip to the end on this one, shall we. Sure, there were 11 and 5/6 innings of occasionally tense and mostly pretty boring baseball beforehand. Sure, Ross Detwiler and Danny Espinosa did “well.” Who cares. Aside from all the Ross Detwiler and Danny Espinosa stalkers out there, of course, of which I’m sure there are hundreds. For normal people, though, only one thing happened in this game worth caring about.

Baseball plays usually happen pretty fast. The buildup to plays tends to be very slow–lots of people staring at each other, people slapping and poking themselves, people waggling things, hopping up and down, shaking their heads furiously, chewing on something disgusting, adjusting their penises to the optimal Baseball Ready Penis Position. It’s all very dramatic and/or ridiculous, depending on your perspective. But usually after a pitch is thrown, you pretty much know the outcome right away. Thus, a viewer’s experience of a baseball play often has just two emotional states: Before and After.

The last play of yesterday’s game was an exception to this rule. For me, the 2-2 pitch from Tyler Clippard to Brett Wallace took me through a full five-step emotional journey. Here are those steps: Continue reading

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Go Jump Off a Lidge: Nats Win Despite Awful Job by Awful Person

Another failed attempt at matchmaking by Rick Ankiel (Photo by Patrick McDermott/Getty Images)

Final Score: Nationals 3, Marlins 2

Dame of the Game:

Ian Desmond: 1-4, HR, R, 2 RBI, K, Walk Off Sac Fly. Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng. Fine. Here it is. Just take your reward and never come back. I still hate you, Ian Desmond.

Shame of the Game:

Brad Lidge: 1 IP, 2 ER, HR, 3 BB, BS. I’ll deal with you later, Brad Lidge.

———

I had a great headline about how great Stephen Strasburg is all ready to go. With a paint-shop and everything. I was all ready to post it and go take a nap. I looked longingly at my bed. Staring back at me, just peeking out from under my covers, were the pathetic, loathsome eyes of Brad Lidge. The one man standing between me and blissful slumber. “Come on, Brad Lidge. I’m exhausted. Just let me get some of that sweet bed and forget all about worries and cares of my wearisome existence. Pretty please with Davey Johnson’s dandruff on top?”

“No. I’m stealing your bed. And furthermore I’m about to give up a two-run, game-tying home run to Logan Morrison.”

“Fuck you, Brad Lidge.” Continue reading

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