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A Petition to the Philadelphia Phillies

Let me start by saying congratulations to the Philadelphia Phillies for sneaking out of the bushes and assaulting the hopes and dreams of not one, but two franchises. My condolences to the Rangers, but nothing fills me with the Christmas spirit quite like seeing the Yankees fail. With that said, I’d like speak directly to the Phillies. Excuse me, dear reader, while I make a plea.

Dear Phillies,

Wow, Cliff Lee. Nice job. That means you’ve got the reigning NL Cy Young Award winner (Roy Halladay), a career 150-83 pitcher (Roy Oswalt), the ’08 NLCS and WS MVP (Cole Hamels), and now a man who had a 10.28 K/BB ratio last year (Lee). However, all that talent comes at a price. Those four alone will be raking in over 55 million dollars of your money next year (I think. My math is awful). But I have a cost-cutting solution that will benefit both of us…


La Russa is Back! Bring in the Geezers!

The Cardinals and long-time manager Tony La Russa recently agreed on a contract that will bring him back for the 2011 season, as well as a mutual option for 2012. What does this mean for Cardinals fans? Well, it means more classic double switches, more pitchers batting before Brendan Ryan (although I still haven’t decided if that’s a bad thing—ZING!), and maybe even another Glenn Beck rally if he’s feeling political, like when he went on record saying he supported the supremely racist Arizona immigration law. Seriously, Tony? All that aside, what we will definitely see is an influx in Tony’s favorite guilty pleasure, and I’m not talking about taking naps at stoplights at 3 AM. I’m talking about atrocious 30-something infielders. T-Bone adores picking up players well past their prime, assuming they had a prime in the first place. The requirements for this list are simple, and the same criteria Tony uses: they have to be well over 30 with an OPS below .700 (the lower the better). Here are four players that TLR should keep his eye on, some of which might actually play for the Cards next year or played for them in the past…


A Letter to Edgar Renteria

Dear Edgar Renteria,

As a Cardinals fan and admirer of most of your work in St. Louis, I want to take the time to congratulate you on winning the World Series and MVP honors.  You’ve had a tough career recently, what with your struggles in the American League and the recent trips to the DL.  But you came through for your team when it mattered most, and I respect that.  However, something has been bothering me the last few days, and I hope you don’t mind if I give you a short history lesson which isn’t in chronological order (otherwise it ruins the punchline, so just go with it), followed by a very simple question.


The Best Sports Sign Ever? The Best Sports Sign Ever.

I’m going to be upfront with you, reader: I’m prone to hyperbole.  I say things are awesome or the best that certainly aren’t awesome or the best.  On more than a few occasions I’ve proclaimed the Baja Chalupa from T-Bell to be the best food ever.  That’s not true, and I’ll be the first to admit it (the Sourdough Jack from J-Box is the best food ever).  But try to believe me when I say that I have seen the greatest baseball sign in the history of baseball signs.  “Cliff Lee struck out Chuck Norris…with two pitches” works on so many levels.  We’ve come a long way as a society, but in my humble opinion, Chuck Norris jokes are the greatest achievement of the human race (See?  There I go again with hyperbole…it’s a slippery slope).  They were funny at first, stayed funny for far too long, then stopped being funny.  Because of this sign, they are funny again.  Thank you, Texas.  This almost makes up for the fact that you execute the mentally challenged.

Facepalm: A Rant Against Baseball’s Worst Announcer

(For those that don’t know, the term “facepalm” is used when someone says something so stupid, so dumb, that your only response is to cover your face with your hand. Because knowledge is power!)

I’m not a violent person. When I get frustrated, I don’t get into fights or start kicking puppies. I deal with my anger constructively: I grab a pint of Chunky Munky and watch a So You Think You Can Dance? marathon. But everyone has their limits, their threshold, their boiling point. I’ve found mine. Which is why, should I ever come without striking distance of Fox Sports announcer Tim McCarver, I don’t think I could stop myself from punching him in the throat. Sure, there would be criminal charges, but at least that fool would stop talking.