posted by killre
Thank you, Turner Family of Networks. I just love being jerked around like you're a cadre of schoolyard bullies and I'm the weird kid who wears short pants and dark socks and --come on, you guys-- wants his bleepin' book back! Really, I do.
That had to be my opening paragraph. Its purpose is to let you know this post is about a television network playing sophomoric games with its viewers. I'll circle around to how Turner Nets pooed this particular screwch after the following, fully-acknowledged digression...
Despite the fact that I now reside in this God-forsaken, provincial cluster of cul-de-sacs known as the San Francisco Bay Area, and despite the fact that this site's Official Baseball Player, Angel "The Pagan Angel" Pagan, now plays (quite well, I might add) for the San Francisco Giants, I just can't help rooting for one John B. "Dusty" Baker.
No, it isn't because of his recent health problems. If you're looking for that kind of saccharine shinola, go to a site that doesn't use the word "impious" in its slogan. I want Baker's Cincinnati Reds to win the National League Championship for three reasons...
3. They aren't the ball club formerly known as Those Poo-holes From Saint Loo.
2. The short-term heartbreak it would cause Giants fans along the way.
1. The far deeper, more subtle, more long-term dark shadow it will leave on the psyche of the Chicago Under-achievers and Bud-lighters Society (C.U.B.S.).
Baker, you see, has had three jobs in his managerial career: the Giants, the C.U.B.S., and now the Reds.
With the Giants, he won three Manager of the Year Awards, two division titles, a League Championship, and woulda, coulda, shoulda won a World Series in 2002 if he hadn't been such a woeful tactician as to pitch to Troy Glaus --the Angel's leading hitter-- with a one-run lead and an open base in the eighth inning of Game Six... but I'm digressing from my digression.
With the Reds, he has already won two division titles in four seasons and, as of this keyboard clacking, has a two games to none lead in this year's divisional playoff-- not that the lying sacks at the Turner Family of Networks wanted me to know that... but more on them in a moment.
In between the Giants and the Reds, Baker managed the C.U.B.S. During his tenure, they managed to win a division title and even --Holy Cow!-- more games than they lost two whole seasons in a row-- a franchise watershed that dated back more than three decades at that time. One has to feel that if Baker now wins a pennant with Cincy, Cubs Nation will have to once again mutter to itself, "Dude, maybe there really is a curse..."
So I'm rooting for Dusty.
As much as I like National League baseball, though, I have other things to do and even I have to admit that even playoff baseball can be wonder-inducingly slow at times. No problem-- I have a DVR. Oh sure, it's a cheap, place-your-bets DVR, prone to suddenly dropping picture for 42-second stints with frightening regularity, deciding I don't want to watch Jon Stewart or Tina Fey after all, or that I do want to watch pro football even when I don't... but hey, it's better than not having a DVR.
So come Sunday morn I programmed a couple of recordings and went... um... out. I... was... doing something... provincial, okay? I was doing something provincial. In my defense, it involved a ride on a choo-choo train, so... yeah.
Having returned home, I settled in to watch my recording of Washington at Saint Loo. Throughout the telecast, TBS kept telling me the Yankees' game might be delayed by rain, but if/when it got underway, it would be on their sister network, TNT.
Fine by me. I was avoiding the Yankees' game anyway, and if it was on TNT, like they said, it wouldn't interfere with my recording of the Reds-Giants game.
Imagine my surprise, then, when upon switching to my recording of the Reds and Giants on TBS, I found the Yankees instead. Well, I told myself, maybe they decided to fore-go the usual pregame see-you-b.s. of milquetoast announcers asking idiot ex-jock analysts stupid questions and listening to them babble babble babble boo; they'll cover ten minutes or so of high-humidity american league ball, then transport us through the magic of satellite signals and signal switchers to the Game They Promised Us.
Right?
Wrong. By the time I figured out that the preempting prevaricators were drilling me like their names were Black & Decker and mine was Spruce "Pine" Fir, I'd missed four --the most crucial four-- innings. Not only had I missed all of the Reds early scoring (they didn't need much, it turned out), I missed more than half of Bronson Arroyo pitching a one-hitter through seven.
See, I can't even write that sentence the way it should have been written. I should have been able to say, "...pitching a perfect game into the fifth," but I can't honestly do that because I spent most of that time down in a figurative Pulp Fiction cellar being almost casually Ving-Rhamed by people who get a small percentage of my cable bill!
Why could they not simply move the Yankees game to TNT and leave it there? Because they didn't want to preempt their mini-marathon of six-year-old Law & Order episodes.
So thank you TBS, TNT and especially you Michael Wright, President of Programming. On behalf of fans in the greater New York, Baltimore, Cincinnati and San Francisco markets, as well as fans of playoff baseball everywhere, thank you for jerking us around. I guess it was silly to think that since you paid 2.4 billion dollars over eight years for the right to broadcast the early rounds of the MLB playoffs, you'd actually want people to watch the early rounds of the MLB playoffs. Clearly, I don't understand the business you're in, Mr. Wright.
"Listen, the last thing in the world I want to have to do is scroll a banner across the bottom of the screen telling those 32 hard-core Law & Order fans out there that if they want to watch episodes 213 through 218 for the 17th time, they're gonna have to wait until Tuesday.
"After all, we made promises to those people."
-------------
P.S... Bud "Nobody Kills Anyone In My Store 'cept Me and Zed" Selig must go.
|
Impious since 2006
Oct 8, 2012
Turner's Classy Movement
Oct 4, 2012
The Jape of the Schlock
posted by killre
"What mighty contests arise from trivial things," wrote Alexander Pope in 1712. The phrase was later adopted by Hasbro as a slogan or a motto or perhaps merely a self-conscious justification for the board game Trivial Pursuit.
I'll be the first to admit the pursuit I'm about to embark upon is pretty trivial, but I just can't seem to let it go...
Chris Mathews was like a kid on Christmas morning during Wednesday's edition of his MSNBC show, Hardball. Former White House press secretary Dee Dee Myers and the Huffington Post's Howard Fineman joined him on set at the University of Denver to shake the presents 'neath the tree and try to guess what might transpire during the first presidential debate between Barack Obama and Mitt Romney.
Toward the end of the segment, their discussion centered on whether Obama would do better to pounce on any early opportunity Romney might give him or lay off and see if moderator Jim Lehrer (of PBS) would press Romney on the point in question. (If not, Obama had the option of coming back to hit Romney on it later, albeit to less effect.) Myers and Fineman voiced their opinions and then --just before the when-we-come-back and the cue to commercial-- Mathews coughed this bulky nugget onto the table (I'll paraphrase):
"Why did the cavalry leave the fort to fight the Indians? Because they're cavalry."
Huh?
A throw-away line, to be sure, intended to elicit a chuckle more than make a point, then carelessly crumpled and tossed in the general direction of the nearest recycling bin. Yet here I go, chasing after it, picking it up, smoothing it out, puzzling over it...
Mathews delivered the one-two as if he were quoting someone. Who, when or why the words were ever spoken I couldn't say.
At first blush, this cloudy question-and-answer gem might be taken as a sort of blue-collar wisdom akin to Yogi Berra's "It ain't over 'til it's over" (a saying that is true, by the way, except when it isn't).
A second consideration might lead one to the possibility that some not too deep-thinking 19th century military man didn't want to answer the question, so he decided to be snide about it. Sort of an Ozzie Guillen type with mutton-chops. Several years ago Guillen, then manager of MLB's Chicago White Sox, was suffering through a press interview following a tough loss. One reporter had the temerity to ask him why he'd put such-and-such a pitcher into such-and-such a situation in the bottom of the whatever inning. Guillen replied, "I made the pitching change because I'm the manager."
I'll pause at this point to permit you to ponder the profundity of that pronouncement.
I call it a Job v. God answer. For those of you unfamiliar with the case of Job v. God, I'll summarize. The name Job, by the way, is pronounced with a long vowel sound, as if it were spelled Joeb.
God was throwing a big party out at the lake house one weekend...
See, now, already some of you are starting to think about being offended. To you I say with utter sincerity: Trust me, you're going to be a lot angrier by the time this story is over. Please refer yourself to the big word on the banner at the top of this page.
So anyway, God was throwing a big party out at the lake house one weekend. He'd invited all the highest-ranking angels in the company. Of course, they'd all have had to attend, even if they weren't among the most dedicated brown-nosers in the cosmos.
Lucifer arrived late. On purpose. This was back before he and God had their big falling out, but even back then Luci (as he was known to his friends) was more brash than most of his colleagues.
Yes, Lucifer was called Luci by his friends. It was a different era, when proud men bore names like Mordecai, Hiram, Orville, Marion, Shirley... heck, even Willard. (Actually, Heck was a name, too.)
Anyway, Lucifer arrived late, but almost immediately he realized that God was being a boastful douchebag this day.
"Luci!" the Old Man boomed. "About time you showed up. I was just telling the boys about My pet human Job. Have you ever seen a more well-behaved human?"
Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Of course he's well-behaved. You've given him everything! A beautiful family, good friends, wealth, power, land, stock options..." He paused to knock back a shot of Hot Damn!, then snapped his fingers for another. "I'll tell you something, Yaya--"
God had made it abundantly clear He didn't like being called Yaya. He frowned. For most, it was terrible to behold. Of late, though, Lucifer had started to take perverse delight in displeasing the self-righteous Old Fart, so he bulled on. "I'll tell you something, Yaya, I'll bet you that if you let me torture Job, I'll have him cussin' a blue streak in less than a month."
"You'll bet Me," God said. "How much?"
Lucifer shrugged. "Ten thousand bucks?"
God raised His eyebrows. "That's a lot of scratch."
Lucifer smirked. "Afraid You'll lose?"
The Almighty considered, then He spake so He unto him, and saying: "You're on, you cheeky little dung beetle!"
So Lucifer threw all his energies into what he called Project Dirty Word. He destroyed Job's house, killed Job's whole family, got Job fired from his, uh, job (short vowel), stole all his money, afflicted him with, like, three or four chronic diseases... pretty much took everything from him but his Social Security. Even for Lucifer, that's a third rail.
Job was a tough old bird, but even the toughest among us has a breaking point. He filed suit in Superior Court. Once he'd gotten God face to face, he demanded to know why he'd been treated so unfairly.
Unwilling to admit that the whole sorry series of events stemmed from a childish wager He'd made with Lucifer, God pursued a stupifying defense. He looked at Job and said, "Who the hell are you to question Me?" Case closed.
Now, then... where was I? Oh, right:
Why did the cavalry leave the fort to fight the Indians? Because they're cavalry.
The problem with this pearl isn't just that the answer is unsatisfying in its over-simplicity; the problem, like the cases of Job v. God and Reporter v. Guillen, is that the answer never addresses the real question. It presumes that there will be a fight, and that the question is where. The real questions are, however, (a) why must there be a fight and (b) if there must be one, how best to wage it?
You see, the cavalry does not ride forth to engage the enemy simply because they are cavalry; instead, they are cavalry because someone must ride forth to engage the enemy. That may sound like mumbo-jumbo to some, but it isn't. The former is a case of tactics dictating strategy; the latter of strategy dictating tactics.
As to who in Chris Mathews' attempted analogy --Lehrer, Obama or Romney-- is supposed to be represented by the fort, the cavalry or the Indians, I still don't know...
...but I'm probably over-thinking it.
-------------
P.S.... Bud "I'll Have a Hot Damn! to Wash Down My Hot Dog" Selig must go.
"What mighty contests arise from trivial things," wrote Alexander Pope in 1712. The phrase was later adopted by Hasbro as a slogan or a motto or perhaps merely a self-conscious justification for the board game Trivial Pursuit.
I'll be the first to admit the pursuit I'm about to embark upon is pretty trivial, but I just can't seem to let it go...
Chris Mathews was like a kid on Christmas morning during Wednesday's edition of his MSNBC show, Hardball. Former White House press secretary Dee Dee Myers and the Huffington Post's Howard Fineman joined him on set at the University of Denver to shake the presents 'neath the tree and try to guess what might transpire during the first presidential debate between Barack Obama and Mitt Romney.
Toward the end of the segment, their discussion centered on whether Obama would do better to pounce on any early opportunity Romney might give him or lay off and see if moderator Jim Lehrer (of PBS) would press Romney on the point in question. (If not, Obama had the option of coming back to hit Romney on it later, albeit to less effect.) Myers and Fineman voiced their opinions and then --just before the when-we-come-back and the cue to commercial-- Mathews coughed this bulky nugget onto the table (I'll paraphrase):
"Why did the cavalry leave the fort to fight the Indians? Because they're cavalry."
Huh?
A throw-away line, to be sure, intended to elicit a chuckle more than make a point, then carelessly crumpled and tossed in the general direction of the nearest recycling bin. Yet here I go, chasing after it, picking it up, smoothing it out, puzzling over it...
Mathews delivered the one-two as if he were quoting someone. Who, when or why the words were ever spoken I couldn't say.
At first blush, this cloudy question-and-answer gem might be taken as a sort of blue-collar wisdom akin to Yogi Berra's "It ain't over 'til it's over" (a saying that is true, by the way, except when it isn't).
A second consideration might lead one to the possibility that some not too deep-thinking 19th century military man didn't want to answer the question, so he decided to be snide about it. Sort of an Ozzie Guillen type with mutton-chops. Several years ago Guillen, then manager of MLB's Chicago White Sox, was suffering through a press interview following a tough loss. One reporter had the temerity to ask him why he'd put such-and-such a pitcher into such-and-such a situation in the bottom of the whatever inning. Guillen replied, "I made the pitching change because I'm the manager."
I'll pause at this point to permit you to ponder the profundity of that pronouncement.
I call it a Job v. God answer. For those of you unfamiliar with the case of Job v. God, I'll summarize. The name Job, by the way, is pronounced with a long vowel sound, as if it were spelled Joeb.
God was throwing a big party out at the lake house one weekend...
See, now, already some of you are starting to think about being offended. To you I say with utter sincerity: Trust me, you're going to be a lot angrier by the time this story is over. Please refer yourself to the big word on the banner at the top of this page.
So anyway, God was throwing a big party out at the lake house one weekend. He'd invited all the highest-ranking angels in the company. Of course, they'd all have had to attend, even if they weren't among the most dedicated brown-nosers in the cosmos.
Lucifer arrived late. On purpose. This was back before he and God had their big falling out, but even back then Luci (as he was known to his friends) was more brash than most of his colleagues.
Yes, Lucifer was called Luci by his friends. It was a different era, when proud men bore names like Mordecai, Hiram, Orville, Marion, Shirley... heck, even Willard. (Actually, Heck was a name, too.)
Anyway, Lucifer arrived late, but almost immediately he realized that God was being a boastful douchebag this day.
"Luci!" the Old Man boomed. "About time you showed up. I was just telling the boys about My pet human Job. Have you ever seen a more well-behaved human?"
Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Of course he's well-behaved. You've given him everything! A beautiful family, good friends, wealth, power, land, stock options..." He paused to knock back a shot of Hot Damn!, then snapped his fingers for another. "I'll tell you something, Yaya--"
God had made it abundantly clear He didn't like being called Yaya. He frowned. For most, it was terrible to behold. Of late, though, Lucifer had started to take perverse delight in displeasing the self-righteous Old Fart, so he bulled on. "I'll tell you something, Yaya, I'll bet you that if you let me torture Job, I'll have him cussin' a blue streak in less than a month."
"You'll bet Me," God said. "How much?"
Lucifer shrugged. "Ten thousand bucks?"
God raised His eyebrows. "That's a lot of scratch."
Lucifer smirked. "Afraid You'll lose?"
The Almighty considered, then He spake so He unto him, and saying: "You're on, you cheeky little dung beetle!"
So Lucifer threw all his energies into what he called Project Dirty Word. He destroyed Job's house, killed Job's whole family, got Job fired from his, uh, job (short vowel), stole all his money, afflicted him with, like, three or four chronic diseases... pretty much took everything from him but his Social Security. Even for Lucifer, that's a third rail.
Job was a tough old bird, but even the toughest among us has a breaking point. He filed suit in Superior Court. Once he'd gotten God face to face, he demanded to know why he'd been treated so unfairly.
Unwilling to admit that the whole sorry series of events stemmed from a childish wager He'd made with Lucifer, God pursued a stupifying defense. He looked at Job and said, "Who the hell are you to question Me?" Case closed.
Now, then... where was I? Oh, right:
Why did the cavalry leave the fort to fight the Indians? Because they're cavalry.
The problem with this pearl isn't just that the answer is unsatisfying in its over-simplicity; the problem, like the cases of Job v. God and Reporter v. Guillen, is that the answer never addresses the real question. It presumes that there will be a fight, and that the question is where. The real questions are, however, (a) why must there be a fight and (b) if there must be one, how best to wage it?
You see, the cavalry does not ride forth to engage the enemy simply because they are cavalry; instead, they are cavalry because someone must ride forth to engage the enemy. That may sound like mumbo-jumbo to some, but it isn't. The former is a case of tactics dictating strategy; the latter of strategy dictating tactics.
As to who in Chris Mathews' attempted analogy --Lehrer, Obama or Romney-- is supposed to be represented by the fort, the cavalry or the Indians, I still don't know...
...but I'm probably over-thinking it.
-------------
P.S.... Bud "I'll Have a Hot Damn! to Wash Down My Hot Dog" Selig must go.
Oct 3, 2012
The Thrill on Capitol Hill!
Blasphemes' Debate #1 Drinking Game
Drink when the following words or subjects are brought up:Cayman Islands
47 percent
Built That
The Very Poor
Immigration
Obama Care
Massachusetts
When Obama mentions: George Bush, says "aaaahhhhhh....." (also and/or "uuuhhhhh") "Sasha and Malia, wealthy, fair share." Finish the bottle if he says "Mormon."
When Romney mentions: Jimmy Carter, laughs inappropriately, stammers, Job creators, olympics, class war fare. Finish the bottle if he says "birth certificate."
If either talk about dogs or start singing - move to Canada.
Debate #1 Tonight: The Tremor in Denver
Oh yeah! The contest of the two heavywei- er, the two nominees. Yeah... oh, hells ye- you know I can barely get enough enthusiasm to type, let alone tune into this borefest. Sure there are prescripted barbs and fanciful facts that won't past muster in the morning - but it's the debates... Time for the 5 or six people who haven't made up their minds about this thing to not watch, and not care about, and still be undecided. Hmmm... Coke or Pepsi... Tide or Cheer ... golly, this one is tough. Who's offering the coupon in the Sunday fliers?
Look for those talking heads and spin-sters to already be downgrading Obama's performance and explaining away the tiny downtick after tonight, and the same air heads talking about how Romney needs to re-re-re-introduce himself to the voting public.
It's very easy for me to conclude that it's all coming down to the haircut and who "looks like" the President. Really, it's a casting call, not a policy discussion. Maybe there's a few who are getting excited for Romney to make a Reagan "are you better off" echo -- but since it's Romney, he'll probably ACTUALLY ask, "Are you better off?" And then Obama will cock his head, light a smoke and say, "Bush." And then he'll blow smoke rings out of his ear.
If you've got some whiskey, join in on me with this and watch it live. I was almost thinking about bringing out the old Twitter account and playing along... but I really don't think all two of you give a rip, and I don't think I want to be interrupted from raising my bottle to my lips.
I will be surprised if they discuss sequestration = neither of them are owing up to that "little" problem.
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