Put In Yoshii

ESPN's Page 2 - Home to all your unfunny anti-Semitic joke needs!

noreply@blogger.com (Put In Yoshii) — Thu, 23 Aug 2007 03:07:00 +0000

So, in the spirit of overwhelming boredom, I made the rather egregious error of clicking on one of Page 2's ham-handed attempts at humor, "In Search of the Great One-Night Wonders", a collection of memorable single-game performances as reported by a National Inquirer-esque publication. Unsurprisingly, there was not a laughable joke to be found (well, that's not quite true, since laughable is usually used to describe things that are so pathetic they are to be mocked and laughed at), but there was one very bizarre "joke" regarding Shawn Green's 6-for-6 day in Milwaukee five years ago. You can scroll down to read it yourself, but for the lazy-wristed, it goes like this:

"Green then capped his day by becoming the first player since Boog Powell in 1974 to consume a brat, Polish, Italian [sic] and hot dog at the postgame buffet and not get sick."

Now, Shawn Green is the most recognizable Jewish player in the majors right now, and he's taken off Yom Kippur in the past, so he's at least somewhat devout. Therefore, I find it just a little odd that he would be consuming bratwurst, Polish and Italian sausage (by the way Page 2, you could at least proofread your shitty articles), and a frickin' hot dog, four foods that are decidedly non-kosher. In fact, the only scenario I can imagine Green eating brats, hot dogs, and sausage in is if he was making a dramatic declaration of his conversion to Christianity after finding Jesus during his monster game. "After hitting my fourth home run, I looked to left field and saw Christ himself descending down Bernie Brewer's home run slide. I knew then that He has been guiding me throughout my career, and to show my faith and gratitude towards my new savior, I'm gonna eat me some unclean fuckin' animals! Woooo! Christianity is hella tasty! Can someone sprinkle some holy mustard on these bad boys??"

"Green Day" - if I could come up with witty stuff like that, I wouldn't have to keep this shitty blog.

Jayson Stark: Somewhat Literate

noreply@blogger.com (Put In Yoshii) — Wed, 08 Aug 2007 01:07:00 +0000

Apparently, ESPN baseball columnist Jayson Stark wrote a book recently (I mean, who hasn't?). Many elite literary circles have compared Stark's prose to the likes of Hemingway and Faulkner (in that they all write in English and have a tendency to use nouns and verbs, amongst other elements of the language), and the book quickly rose to #3 on the bestseller list (Category: Non-Fiction Written by Slightly Annoying, Underqualified ESPN Columnists).

Now, I haven't read it, but my dad did. He had just finished reading The Sea, a difficult, erudite novel by John Banville that won the Man Booker Prize, awarded to the best British/Irish book each year. Needing to give his brain a rest, my father picked up Stark's book. His sort-of review follows:

I mean, the guy writes like a third-grader, but after reading that ridiculous 'The Sea', I needed something really easy like this. He makes up a lot of this stuff just to get people going, but I guess that's what works. It only took one night to read, and it helped clear my head a little after that last book.

Brain clogged from verbose verbiage? Try Jayson Stark, literary laxative!!

Also, in the aforementioned Stark article, he writes, "Maybe that will happen to A-Rod. Maybe it won't. But not even baseballpsychic.com can tell you that answer." Upon reading that I thought, 'Hey, that sounds like a cool site, maybe I should go to it!' But then, much to my dismay (and yours, if you clicked on that link), baseballpsychic.com does not exist and never has. Stark, unable to find an apt-enough website to validate his point, decided just to make one up.

But what if baseballpsychic.com did exist? What sort of predictions would Jayson Stark be able to pry from its portentous pages?

Coco Crisp posthumously awarded Congressional Medal of honor for acts of bravery and valor in the Great Mascot War of 2010.
Brewers adopt the trend of putting in all-you-can-eat seats, only to be bankrupted when Prince Fielder takes a day off to "test out" the new section.
Devil Rays win 2009 World Series...of Crustacean Gobbling
With George W. Bush as the owner and Tim Donaghy as the manager, Mike Vick and Barry Bonds form the nucleus of a new expansion team, the Newport News Projectile Targets.
Steroids are taken.

Sounds like a pretty sweet site, I hope it exists at some point.

(Quick aside: I basically agree with my dad's assessment of Stark's writing. It's an easy, bearable read, somewhat interesting, and he has a pretty decent knowledge of his subject, which is more than you can say about a lot of sportswriters today. But that's still not going to stop me from making fun of him.)

Jayson Stark and John Banville really owe me for plugging their books for free. That is, they would if anyone ever read this damn thing.

STEVE TRACHSEL JOINS EXCLUSIVE 300TH MINUTE CLUB

noreply@blogger.com (Put In Yoshii) — Mon, 06 Aug 2007 20:23:00 +0000

BOSTON, MA - In a weekend full of historic accomplishments, with Barry Bonds tying Hank Aaron's all-time home run mark, Alex Rodriguez becoming the youngest member of the 500 home run club, and Tom Glavine winning his 300th career game, perhaps no feat was more impressive than Baltimore Orioles right-hander Steve Trachsel becoming the first pitcher to ever notch 300 minutes on the mound in a single game, in a start against the Boston Red Sox. Making Trachsel's already staggering feat even more impressive was that he only pitched for six innings and allowed just six baserunners.

"I had no idea going into the game that I would make history," an exhausted Trachsel said afterwards. "I just went out there and pitched my game, like I always do."

Trachsel admitted to retreating to the clubhouse in the top of the 4th inning for a quick "catnap", which manager Dave Trembley said "was the fastest thing he did all day."

"That nap I took in the top of the fourth helped restore my energy," Trachsel said. "But the nap I had in the bottom of the fifth, that's what really kept me going. I don't think I would've made it to three hundred without that support."

Trachsel was referring to a fifth inning at-bat against Red Sox slugger Manny Ramirez. With a two-one count and a runner on first, Trachsel laid down on the mound to contemplate his next pitch. After a few minutes, he took off his cap, retrieved the resin bag, laid his head on it and settled in for a long summer's nap.

Upon seeing this, Ramirez shrugged and laid down in the batter's box. "He went night-night, so I thought it was nappy time," said Ramirez. "But I not tired, so Julian help me go sleepy-sleepy."

Starting the sixth, Trachsel needed to log only forty-one minutes to reach 300. However, a one-pitch at-bat for leadoff man Mike Lowell took a mere seven minutes, putting Trachsel in danger of falling short.

"Yeah, that Lowell at-bat was rough," Trachsel remarked. "Don't know why he swung at the first pitch. Maybe he was just bored, I'm not sure. But I really had to work after that."

Asked to describe his stalling strategy after the Lowell at-bat, Trachsel explained: "At first I thought I might as well just throw the damn ball, it's probably not going to be a strike anyway, but then my testes itched a little bit, so I stepped off to scratch them. Then I thought, 'Best if I take a little walk around the back of the mound, just in case they start itching again.' A pitcher's worst nightmare is to be caught with his scrotum itching in the middle of his delivery."

Said Red Sox outfielder Coco Crisp, "[Trachsel's] pacing was incredible out there, man. He knew he would get tired as the game went on, so he made sure to take as long as possible in the beginning of the game. That two-and-a-half hour second inning, that was just genius."

However, not everyone was impressed by Trachsel's display. Boston shortstop Julio Lugo complained after the game, "His scrotum-scratching stalling technique was just uncalled for. There's no need for that in the game of baseball."

Despite the controversy, the technique was effective. An eight-pitch walk to Jason Varitek sent Trachsel flying past the 300 mark. By the time he worked his way out of the inning, he had racked up an astounding 328 minutes. He left the mound to an ovation of snores from the napping Red Sox fans. The fans were slightly roused when Trachsel did not come out for the seventh. That inning lasted only thirteen minutes, despite featuring as many baserunners as Trachsel's entire outing.

"I thought about putting him back out there," Trembley said, "but I was just too tired. The bullpen had to bring themselves in for that inning."

"I really hope that no one else reaches 300 after this," Trachsel said. "It'd be cool to be the first and last person to do something in this game."

The previous record for minutes on the mound was also held by Trachsel. On August 24th, 2002, Trachsel, then with the New York Mets, logged an astonishing 288 minutes in just five innings before fading rapidly down the stretch.

In related news, Mike Glavine hit his 500th career home run in MLB 2K6, a feat that does not erase the ineffable sense of failure that arises from a career spent almost entirely in the minor leagues while your brother becomes one of baseball's best pitchers.

Bob Brenly: Clinically Retarded or Just Doing His Job?

noreply@blogger.com (Put In Yoshii) — Sat, 04 Aug 2007 05:33:00 +0000

Today the Mets played the Cubs, affording me the opportunity to watch the game on Chicago's WGN network, one of the six channels I get on super basic cable in UPSTATE NEW YORK (naturally, no NYC stations for Mets highlights) and introducing me to the Cubs announcing tandem of Len Kasper and his color commentator, Bob Brenly, (you can see them here making Joe Buck look like Gary Sheffield). Now, I realize that one requisite of all baseball announcers is an IQ lower than Rey Ordonez's batting average (or just lower than Rey Ordonez's IQ), but Brenly made one of the most fantastically stupid comments I have ever heard from anyone, Tim McCarver included. Observe, in paraphrase form:

So Pinella comes to the mound to check on Zambrano...you know, Lou walks to the mound just like a great pitcher, you see, he changes it up. Let's take a look at the replay (yes, they actually showed an entire replay of Pinella walking from the dugout to the mound at this point) You can see Lou starts off jogging for a few steps, then he slows it down, then as he gets closer to the mound, he speeds it up a little, not too much...just like a pitcher mixing up his fastball and changeup. Now, see, he jogs off the mound for a few steps, slows down to a nice stroll...and trots back to the dugout. Lou, just like the great pitchers, always changing it up!

This brought a dead silence even from B-Bren's lead singer, who was so flabbergasted he couldn't raise a fuss or a holler. I wish I had Tivo so I could listen to this over and over, but I'm lucky to just have a TV. But while I'm mocking him, I've got to admit it's a damn fine description of Lou's gait. I'm sure these guys could use Brenly's perambulation play-by-play. Hope to hear you at 4 AM during the next Olympics, Bobby!

Trying to one-up Brenly after the game was erstwhile announcing idiot Lou Pinella, who responded to a question about Zambrano's arm cramps with, "I'm not a hygienist, I don't know what to prescribe to these players for cramps." It's certainly true, Lou, that you are not a hygienist, but even if you were, I doubt your flossing, cavity-checking, and molar-polishing abilities would do much good for a guy with arm cramps.

Also, Eddie Vedder sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" and joined my boys in the booth afterwards, where they played Pearl Jam's cover of "The Kids are Alright" by The Who. Eddie said he didn't remember ever playing the song, even though there are multiple instances of him singing it. But, he's Eddie Vedder, he's getting kinda old, so I guess we can let him have his fun. I wonder if he remembers singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" just one year ago. My guess would be no.

So Carlos, would you like a bubble gum, mint, or cherry wrap for your arm?

Oh shit! R.L. Stine, Contemporary Nostradamus

noreply@blogger.com (Put In Yoshii) — Fri, 03 Aug 2007 06:00:00 +0000

Unlike the typical dog days of summer, there has been an incredible volume of news this year, both in the sports world and the real world. However, a few days ago, news outlets began leaking the biggest, most important story of the year:

The continuation of Trapped In the Closet! After months of speculation that R. Kelly's masterpiece, the apex of mankind's long history of creation, would leave crucial plot details unresolved (will Twan ever figure out who broke wind?), Trapped In the Closet's 6.4 billion fans were relieved to find out that the series will, in fact, continue with its world-class portrayal of midgets being humiliated. Ohhh shittt!

On a significantly unrelated note, remember Goosebumps? (rhetorical question as a means of introducing a different subject; of course you remember Goosebumps) I stumbled across this cover of Goosebumps #12, published in 1994:

Which got me to thinking...where have I seen this face before? Of course, the answer was soon obvious:

Oh man that's weird! Nine years before this mug shot, R.L. Stine (or at least the poor schmuck who did his cover art) correctly predicted the hideous visage that Michael Jackson would become. And with that vaguely ironic title, (he wished to be looked up at by young children, and his wish was granted...in bed!) this is pretty creepy. In fact, you could say it's giving me...Goosebumps!! Ooooooh! (Please don't say that)

Remember how the word "Goosebumps" on the front cover was textured with little dimples so it resembled actual goosebumps? Now that's fucking marketing!

My History as a Raptors Fan, Plus Some "I-Wish-I-Was-A-Cool-Sportswriter" Nonsense

noreply@blogger.com (Put In Yoshii) — Wed, 01 Aug 2007 23:34:00 +0000

When I was a little kid, I loved dinosaurs so much, I was determined to be a paleontologist when I became a big boy. Then I realized, after seeing Jurassic Park, how stupefyingly boring that would be, doing nothing but digging, dusting, and getting harassed by an ornery Sam Neill. Real dinosaurs were way cooler, especially the velociraptors. But since there were no real dinosaurs (screw you, meteors), I had to settle for the next best thing: the NBA's newest expansion team, the Toronto Raptors!!

At first, it seemed like the hardwood incarnation of the cold-blooded killers (may have actually been warm-blooded) would never live up to their reptilian counterparts. The dinosaurs were actually smarter than the ballers (Do you think Damon Stoudamire knows how to open doors?) But gradually, the T-Raps evolved into a legitimate basketball team with the arrival of AC/VC (the erstwhile Air Canada - Vince Carter, now "the Anti-Christ, Vince Carter"), who ended up being like the T. Rex that comes in at the end of the movie, eats all the raptors, shits on their fans, and moves to Disneyworld to become the biggest attraction there.

But both groups of raptors would survive, becoming smarter with time. In Jurassic Park III, the raptors were so smart, they were able to talk to each other! In fact, they're becoming so smart that in the upcoming Jurassic Park IV, they'll have their own super secret underground organization that's hell-bent on recovering the Holy Grail in order to bring about the second coming of their savior, Jesus Velocichrist. Starring Shia LeBeouf as Velocichrist.

But anyway, the Toronto Raptors have surged back to respectability, becoming one of the elite teams in the Eastern Conference (which is kind of like becoming of the elite performers on MadTV) . They were still a year away last season, lacking the big game experience necessary to advance in the playoffs. Luckily, they got that experience when the T. Rex left Disneyworld, came back to Costa Rica, tried to stomp all over the remaining raptors but was nearly killed, only to be saved by his friend, the mysteriously pan-ethnic Wifebeaterosaurus . /metaphor>

So after a disappointing end to a great season, I've been looking forward to the upcoming year, with their All-Star power forward, the incomparable (well, his hair at least) Chris Bosh leading the way in a puny Atlantic Division. However, off-season trades by the Knicks and Celtics have brought in Zach Randolph and Kevin Garnett, two of the meanest fours in the biz (business, for the layperson). To gauge CB4's chances against the guys he'll be going mano e mano with this upcoming season, I decided I needed a gimmicky feature to compare them all. So in the spirit of sportswriters making ridiculous, far-fetched pop culture references to describe professional sports teams and athletes, I present:

THE ATLANTIC DIVISION POWER FORWARDS, IF THEY WERE MEMBERS OF DAVE CHAPELLE'S "MAD REAL WORLD"

Huzzah! First a refresher (or intro) course for those of you not familiar with the Mad Real World:

Now, onto the comparisons:

Zach Randolph, Knicks - Well, this one's going to be tough, so first let's start off with who he's not: Chad. Um...Chad's dad. Ok. Actually, upon further review, it's not so hard. Whether it be sexual assault, or just plain regular assault on a teammate/housemate, Z-Rand and Tyree love to bring the pain. Nighty-night, Ruben Patterson. Keep your butthole tight.
Kevin Garnett, Celtics - My man KG, fresh out the joint...yup, Garnett is definitely Lysol. Just released from notorious Timberwolves Prison by Warden McHale, KG now gets to enjoy the sweet, lascivious white girl sex that is playing alongside Prince Paul and The Inverse Allan Ray.
Chris Bosh, Raptors - No doubt it's Tron, because Chris Bosh absolutely reserves the right to fuck you up. Not saying he necessarily will. I mean, he's a really nice guy. But every night, there's the possibility he's just gonna fuck you up. Consider yourself warned....biotch!
Eddy Curry, Knicks - Faze. And no, not just because they're both fat. Well, ok, kinda. But also, their incredible disinterest and obliviousness to what's going around them make them the perfect match. In fact, are we sure they aren't the same person? Eddy Curry...Ashy Larry, sounds sort of similar. All that smoking can't be good for Eddy's heart though.
Andre Iguodala, 76ers - The equivalent of the guy who threw down the sweetest dunk in my recent memory (even better in French!), has to be the girl who threw down the sweetest tits in my recent memory (past twelve seconds), Katie. Ok, I know that one didn't make much sense. Andre Iguodala is promiscuous. There. Now it makes sense.
Paul Pierce, Celtics - Chad's dad. Yeah, I know he's not a power forward, but it's an easy joke, so I'm taking it.
Jamaal Magloire, Nets - Lisa, the most forgettable character on the Mad Real World, for the most forgettable player on this list. Did you know Jamaal Magloire played in an All-Star game once? Man, they'll let any one into that thing.
Jason Smith, 76ers - Yeah, this one is pretty obvious. But it goes beyond just the physical likeness; just like Chad in the Mad Real World house, Jason Smith is gonna get raped in this division.

Correction: KG had sex with Andre Iguodala.

NY WOMAN HELD IN MILLER PARK SLAYING

noreply@blogger.com (Put In Yoshii) — Wed, 01 Aug 2007 05:44:00 +0000

MILWAUKEE, WI - Authorities are saying they have arrested a suspect in the brutal slaying of Guillermo Mota, 34, whose body was found in a dumpster Tuesday night in the parking lot of Miller Park.

Christine Glavine, wife of Mets starter Tom Glavine, was taken into custody early Wednesday morning after a confrontation with Mets general manager Omar Minaya. Witnesses said Glavine chased Minaya's vehicle on a crowded street in an SUV, screaming hysterically into a cell phone.

"It was crazy," said bystander Hope Curdsonn. "She was going on and on, 'How could you sign such a worthless p****, he throws his glove harder than he throws the ball, maybe if you didn't have your head so far up the Dominican Republic's ass, you could find a good player once in a while...' I couldn't believe it. It was like she was on crack cocaine."

Milwaukee Police Chief Bruce Gumpley said in a statement, "Mrs. Glavine, distraught over Mr. Mota's inability to preserve the the lead for her husband's 300th career victory, apparently took matters into her own hands, beating Mr. Mota savagely with Mr. Glavine's 1991 Cy Young Award trophy."

In addition to the blown save, Mota also received a blown out knee, jaw, and right lung. One official, who requested anonymity because he was not authorized to discuss the matter, speculated on why Mota was seemingly so defenseless. "At first, I just figured it was his recent sudden loss of strength and muscle mass that made him too weak to fight back," the source said. "But then I read a prior report of his self-defense methods, and well, let's just say this guy is no Nolan Ryan. Unless Nolan Ryan was a little b**** who threw his glove like it was his purse. Oh, no, wait, I just clicked on that link. He definitely wasn't. But Mota sure was."

When asked for comment, Tom Glavine replied, "My wife is very loyal and fully supports me when I'm on the field. Although sometimes her enthusiasm gets the best of her, I'm sure she would never go as far as to kill someone. I look forward to clearing her good name."

However, as he walked away, Glavine could be heard to mutter, "F*** that guy. I knew she shoulda buried his body next to Wohlers."

AP Correspondent John Franco contributed to this report

Put In Yoshii

noreply@blogger.com (Put In Yoshii) — Wed, 01 Aug 2007 04:19:00 +0000

Late in the 1999 baseball season, Mets fifth starter Masato Yoshii was asked what he would do if he was left off of the Mets postseason roster, to which he responded, "I'll be in the stands, eating a hot dog, drinking a beer, and yelling 'Put in Yoshii!!'"

So in the spirit of the great Yoshii (career win-loss record: 32-47), I've created this blog, ostensibly about my three favorite sports teams - the New York Mets, Toronto Raptors, and San Francisco 49ers. But in reality, it'll be me ranting on a wide range of topics I'm woefully uninformed about. I don't believe in reportage, analysis, or sincere, well-argued opinions. Instead, I'm all about eating hot dogs, drinking beer, and yelling obscure anecdotes about mediocre pitchers.