The Inaugural Post of the Big Skill

Before we give you Big Skill's first post, I feel there's something you should know about the guy. Normally, he is really laid back. Picture Jim Breuer in Half Baked, only Big Skill isn't stoned all the time. It's just that the subject of Kyle Lohse tends to bring Big Skill to a whole new level of intensity, as you are about to see.

As Jeff cleared up after screwing up the first post, The Root Beer Incident occurred at a Matt Kinney vs. Kyle Lohse match up against the Brewers. Also, I’m not afraid to say it. I’m not Bill Simmons here. I wasn’t making any friendly wagers that day. I had a good amount of real American dollars on the line. All on the back of… Kyle Lohse. Questionable? Maybe, but consider who his adversary was that day. Matt Kinney. Matt FUCKING Kinney. The same guy who gave up six runs on seven hits to the same Twins team his last time out. The same guy who has a career 5.29 ERA. The same guy who the Twins let go earlier that season for being too fat. That’s saying something too considering the original Fat Matt LeCroy played 107 games for the Twins that year. Trust me, LeCroy is fat. So fat it makes Frank Robinson cry.

But I digress. Lets get to the point here and talk about the most important thing learned that day. Well… the most important thing learned that day was not to let emotions get involved in gambling decisions. But, right behind that was we learned that Kyle Lohse is a massive pussy. If there was a female version of Elephantitis… it would mean that they have Kyle Lohse attached to them. I will never forget the look on his face when they showed him on the Jumbotron after that line drive lightly grazed him. Hey Kyle… you don’t like it when they hit the ball hard in your general direction? Here’s an idea. Don’t hang one down the middle of plate and let them hit rockets right back up the middle.

Lets take a quick look at some of Kyle’s other notable achievements. Who remembers where the last pitch Kyle threw as a starter with the Twins landed? If you don’t, let me remind you… in the right field corner at the Metrodome. And who’s fault was this? One can only imagine it was Kyle’s, right? Well, according to Kyle it wasn’t. In Kyle’s mind this was all Michael Cuddyer’s fault because he wasn’t able to chase down a hard hit line drive into the right field corner. I guess Kyle forgot that ole’ Cuddy wasn’t playing RF because of his spectacular range… but because he sucked even worse at fielding grounders than he sucks at chasing down flyballs. Anyways, after being immediately pulled Kyle then proceeded to scream out, “Can I get a little help here!” as he walked though the dugout on his way to spend some “alone time” in the club house. I can only imagine this looked something like this. Hey Kyle… you don’t like it when people hit doubles off of you? Well, I think we’ve covered hanging pitches in the zone, right?. Oh, and at some point he also hurt his hand slapping Gardy's door after getting lit up (If you had to do this… use your glove hand Kyle… haven’t you ever seen Bull Durham?). Sweet mental makeup, Kyle. (Side note: I see a little Lohse in Matt Garza. I mean it’s never good when you are uncontrollably shaking with nerves before you make your MLB debut… So, have fun with all THAT Tampa Bay).

Then Kyle finally cast aside all doubts of any possibility that he was truly a Man when he called the American League “Arena Baseball.” I mean, he could have the Maxim Hot 100 run a train on him while jamming with a resurrected Jimi Hendrix while doubling down against an ace in the high stakes pit at the Monte Carlo (I only wish there was a picture I could link to for this one, minus Klye’s involvement of course), and he would still be a pussy. Arena Baseball Kyle!? I think you mean Awesome baseball. Maybe it’s just me, but well executed walk off hit and runs just aren’t my thing. Sorry I’m not sorry that you aren’t good enough to effectively pitch without getting a free out every time though the order. I have no idea, but I would bet that Kyle was among the NL leaders in batting average against vs. pitchers last season anyways, just because he’s Kyle Lohse. It’s too bad the Phillies had to go and up his ego by trading for him last year in the heat on a pennant chase. Too bad the only reason was because the guy he knocked out of the rotation when he joined it was still a worse option than J.D. “The Real Deal” Durbin. Yes, the same J.D. Durbin that screamed, “That’s why they call me the Real Deal” after his first inning pitched in A ball and then put up a 94.50 ERA with the Diamondbacks… Karma’s a bitch huh, J.D.?

I’ll admit it. I used to like Kyle Lohse when I was a kid. I pictured him as a laid back guy who grew up in California who was currently living out my dream of being an MLB starting pitcher on my favorite baseball team. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He’s a pussy. Each day which goes by that he doesn’t sign that 4 or 5 year deal he was looking for (Thankfully there wasn’t a GM out there who was that stupid) is a good one. I can’t wait for him to sign a one year non-guaranteed minor league deal with the Pirates, and then watch Zach Duke beat him out in spring training. Drinks would be on me that day my boys.

Twins receive new and improved Delmon!

That’s right folks, according to the Star-Trib, the Twins will be receiving a brand new, only partially used Delmon Young this year. We were all expecting the old, emotionally distraught and overly aggressive Delmon. Instead we’re receiving a top of the line hitting prospect who has shown great steps in maturity.

I’m not going to lie, as often as the “the kid’s finally grown up!” card gets played in sports, the article made me excited. If it can be trusted and isn’t exaggerating, Delmon is anxious to put his past behind him. Getting him out of the company of Elijah Dukes probably helps matters. You also have to like the line from Young: “You get four years from 18-21 – you know, college time – where you can get in a little bit of trouble. But after that you’ve got to wake up and join the real world.”

First, I don’t think anybody is going to say a 22 year old professional baseball player is in the “real world.” The guy got a $3.7 mill signing bonus before his 18^th birthday. It’s nice to know that he made more money as a minor than I probably will make in my lifetime. As for “getting into a little bit of trouble,” let’s just hope he doesn’t take the example of some of his college-age contemporaries.

A conversation between: Dave Dombrowski and Jim Leyland

(This post is intended to be solely for humor. It is unrealistic, not intended to be an accurate representation of the personalities involved, nor to defame any individual involved. The personalities attached to the names are extreme caricatures chosen primarily because, well, they're funny. Views given by said caricatures also do not necessarily have any relation to the views of the author(s). Conversation posts were inspired by the hilarious conversation posts done by Orson Swindle at Every Day Should Be Saturday.)

(Dave Dombrowski, general manager of the Detroit Tigers, sits in a large throne chair behind the desk in his office clad in a gray, pinstriped suit, white shirt, and gold power tie. He furiously flips back and forth through scouting reports while gulping down coffee. There is a knock at his door.)

Dombrowski: “Yes, come in. Who is it?”

(Jim Leyland pushes the door open and slowly walks through. He is wearing his managing uniform, which looks as though it hasn’t been washed in weeks. Leyland looks disheveled and is smoking a cigarette.)

Leyland: “You said you wanted to see me, sir?”

Dombrowski (without looking up from his scouting reports): “Ah, yes, Jim, come in, sit down.” (Leyland ambles forward, taking a few relaxed puffs on his cigarette, and sits in the folding chair opposite Dombrowski.) “I hope that chair is comfortable. I’ve been meaning to get a replacement, but with the budget and all… I’m sure you understand. Now then, I want to talk to you about your suggestions for improving the team.”

Leyland (puts out his cigarette and immediately lights another, exhaling smoke as he speaks): “Yeah. Our offense was strong as hell last year… Better than when we went to the World Series two years ago. I feel like our pitching faltered down the stretch so we should go try and get a few more hurlers.”

Dombrowski (his nose twitches as he glares up at Leyland): “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job, Jim?”

Leyland (takes another drag of his cigarette without breaking Dombrowski’s gaze): “Not at all, Dave, it’s just – ”

Dombrowski: “You do realize who I am, right? Dave Dombrowski?”

Leyland (Takes a long drag and sighs out the smoke): “Yeah, Dave…”

Dombrowski: “The Dave Dombrowski that was hired as the youngest ever GM in baseball history? Tell me, who is that statue in the back corner of?”

Leyland (turns and notices a full-size statue of Dave Dombrowski in the back corner of the office for the first time): “Why the hell did you have a statue made of yourself and put in your office? Is that marble?!”

Dombrowski (with a smug smile on his face): “Hell yes it is. Pure gold was too expensive; budgets again, Jim. All great leaders have statues made of them. Lincoln, Washington, Roosevelt… and Dombrowski. Soak it in; let the greatness of the Dombrowski flow over you. Now then, the regarding the team… We’re going to give up Maybin, Miller, Rabelo, Badenhop, de la Cruz, and Trahern to the Marlins for Miguel Cabrera and Dontrelle Willis.”

Leyland (lights a second cigarette and takes his first drag before putting the other cigarette out): “All those prospects for Cabrera and Willis? I mean, Cabrera’s a great ballplayer, but we need pitching and that Willis kid –”

Dombrowski (slams his coffee mug on the table, splashing coffee over the scouting reports. His face turns red and a vein starts throbbing in his forehead): “What did I just tell you about my job, Leyland? It’s my job, I do it. Who made that 2006 World Series team for you? Who made it so all you had to do was sit and watch the games from the bench? Who got you those players, Jim??”

Leyland (rolls his eyes slightly as he lets out a puff of smoke): “Okay, I get your point Dave.”

Dombrowski: “Who got you those players, Jim?!?”

Leyland: “You did.”

Dombrowski (rising to his feet and leaning forward onto his desk, and yelling at Leyland): “Who did?!?”

Leyland (sighing indignantly, thinking to himself “goddamn kids these days.”): “The Dombrowski did.”

Dombrowski: “Damn straight he did.” (Dombrowski pauses momentarily to kiss his closed hand, hit it against his chest and salute his fist towards the Dombrowski statue before sitting back down.) “Inge killed us last year. Cabrera at third gives us an offense explosive that even their elderly, sedate manager has to get excited over.” (Leyland fidgets uncomfortably in his folding chair.) “The Dombrowski will be known for creating the best offense ever seen. Don’t screw this up and you’ll be in Cooperstown, Jim. This team is going to hit opponents harder than Frank Dux in the Kumite tournament.”

(Leyland sighes again and thinks to himself: “This guy is insane.” He slowly gets up and starts to walk out the door.)

Dombrowski (continuing, eyes wild as he pores over his now coffee stained scouting reports, oblivious to Leyland walking out): “It’s going to be beautiful, Jim! Never doubt the Dombrowski!! Think of the adoration… Everyone will know that I created this team! Me! The Dombrowski! DOMBROWSKI!!!”

Jim Caple makes me want to be thirty.

I know, it sounds crazy. Why would I want to age over seven years right now, when I'm in my early tewnties? Think of all the amazing time I would miss! My liver is probably the only part of me that would be happy. But, when you hit thirty, you become eligible to play in the Minnesota Twins Fantasy Baseball Camp. I cannot begin to put into words how jealous I am. I mean, sure, there's the 3,895 reasons I can't afford it, not to mention that I can't easily pick up and take a vacation to Florida, but how much fun would that be? Play baseball for a week and an endless supply of beer. It's like $3,895 to buy a week of heaven. Instead of being in Florida for a week playing baseball with retired pros and drinking all the beer I can handle, I'm in a snowstorm in Minneapolis. Awesome.

Since I have to hold off on the Twins fantasy camp for 7+ years, I decided to look into my other options. There is a Minnesota amateur baseball league, but the players on the team closest to me happen to have a large amount of college experience, with one guy supposedly having played for the Tigers. (The guy really never made it out of AAA. And he calls himself a baseball player. Psh.) Considering I have about as much baseball talent as Sir Charles has golf talent, amateur leagues are out.

This leaves me with the fall back option for the nonathletic masses: the video game. For all you under 30, or don't-have-four-grand-to-blow-and-free-time thirty-plus, individuals lacking baseball talent, have fun getting your fill with MLB 2k8 in a few weeks. (No MLB 2k_ game comment can go without saying how they effectively killed arguably the best baseball game ever by buying the exclusive MLB license and robbing us from sequels to MVP 2005. I will never forgive 2K Sports for this.) So have fun, amigos. Just try not to get too into the role of a ballplayer, or you'll end up with stains all over your carpet from spitting out your chew and inevitably attack your wife/girlfriend in a fit of 'roid rage. It's best leaving stuff like that to the pros.

Special Guest Writer: Jason Tyner!

Another great entry from Kev. The same general humor-post disclaimer applies: This post is intended to be solely for humor. It is unrealistic, not intended to be an accurate representation of the personalities involved, nor to defame any individual involved. The personalities attached to the names are extreme caricatures chosen primarily because, well, they're funny. Views given by said caricatures also do not necessarily have any relation to the views of the author(s).

Hey Y’all,

This is Jason Tyner, J-Ty. You may remember me from my time as the slap-hitting, scrappy outfielder for your Minnesota Twins. I also had a tendency to wow the ladies with my devastatingly good looks. Unfortunately, the Twins declined to offer me a contract for the 2008 season, the bastards. Anyway, I still have much love (and a few outstanding debts…hehe) for the Minnesota fans and wanted to let you know what I’ve been up to since my ties with the team were brutally severed.

After being cut by that bastard Billy Smith (note: I don’t want to start a rumor here, but I heard Billy Smith kills puppies for fun), I sat around waiting for the phone to ring. It didn’t. It was all good though, I was distracted anyway, what with the holidays and the Boat Show coming in to town. Plus, collecting unemployment is sweeeeet!! I get a fat check every week for sitting on my ass! Or at least I did, until Moqueisha down at the Unemployment office told me last week that I couldn’t collect checks anymore because I wasn’t making a “reasonable effort” to find alternative employment. Bitch (I heard she kills puppies for fun too, maybe with Billy Smith). So I got off my ass, and I called my agent/expert negotiator, Tommy Tanzer. That’s reasonable effort, Moqueisha!

I had to remind Tommy of who I was a couple times of course, but we eventually talked about my professional future. He told me I was a “shitty defensive left fielder who couldn’t hit.” I told him about my scrappiness, and how I was a great teammate and first-class person. He told me, “all that and $3.00 will get you a latte.” J-Ty’s no fool though, lattes cost $3.40, so Tommy just confirmed the value I bring to a ball club. Point, J-Ty.

Anyway, Tommy did manage to get me a job playing baseball; he is an expert after all. It’s not glamorous but it does get that puppy-killing bitch Moqueisha off my back (actually, she shouldn’t know about this…I still want that unemployment check), and it’ll help me build my value and get an MLB job next year. Plus, I’ll get to see some of the world. That’s right, I’ll be playing ball with the Melbourne Baseball Club in Australia! Check out that beautiful home field! Anyhow, that’s the plan. J-Ty’s gonna be reppin’ the USA in the land down under! I fly out tomorrow, but I’ll be keeping you all posted.

The Twins Superbowl Ad

Carl Pohlad doesn't spend enough money for you malevolent bellyachers? Why don't you stick A SUPERBOWL AD in your pipe and smoke it?!

That's right, the Twins made the egregious and pointless decision to drop I-don't-want-to-know-how-many dollars on a Superbowl ad this year. I know it's the Superbowl, and hordes of people in the Minneapolis/St. Paul metropolitan area are watching, but was it really worth however much that ad had to cost? The point of this ad seemed to be to get fans excited about the Twins new stadium. But the next two seasons are still being played in the Dome of Hubert H Humphrey, so I guess the ad was supposed to get the fans fired up for this season.

I don't know that much about advertising, but my economics mind is telling me that for that ad to be worthwhile, it has to cause a revenue inflow at least as large as the cost of the ad. So shouldn't you be targeting your ad towards people who are less enthusiastic about the Twins? Take those football fans, and make them interested in baseball.. Do that successfully, and you'll have a larger inflow of money than swinging more "hardcore" Twins fans from attending 4 games to 6 games in a year. At least, that's my ignorant and uninformed opinion. But this ad seemed definitely targeted towards the more knowledgeable Twins fans.

Unless you already follow the Twins, you might not have recognized Mauer, Morneau, and Cuddyer. I already spoke to one individual who said "That was Mauer and Morneau, right? Who was the third person?" Mauer didn't even get a close-up, but everyone in the Twin Cities area is going to recognize those sideburns. The non-bandwagon-post-2001 Twins fans also caught the Tom Kelly cameo at the end, but that held no significance to people who don't follow the team. I tried to look into if the license plate "140-HLU", which was used as a plate for the Mauer/Morneau/Cuddyer batting practice, held any significance. The end result was my being emotionally disturbed by the stalking capabilities of the internet.

There is one part of the commercial I appreciated: the promotion of malicious acts of vandalism against Cleveland fans. In three years, we're stepping it up to arson, and you'll be legally allowed to burn down your neighbor's house if he puts on a Grady Sizemore jersey. We're also working on making the act of branding any piece of personal property with the word "Pronk" punishable by a week in the stockades, but the legal system moves slowly, folks.

February: The Longest Month

(This post was written completely by Kev, lamenting the state of the sports world during the month of February. In my personal opinion, the only thing worthy of interest during February is the Fulmer Cup, which is covered by Orson Swindle at Every Day Should Be Saturday. Here's to hoping someone can break Enrique Robinson's current season high of 11 points. Now, Kevin's opinion on February.)

Rogers Hornsby once said on the subject of baseball’s off-season, “What do I do during the winter? I’ll tell you what I do! I sit at the window and wait for it to be Spring!”

Note that “The Rajah” was compiling one of the most kick-ass careers ever in the 1920’s, a simpler time, when, from October through April, there really wasn’t much to do. Oh sure, maybe you could get into bootlegging, open your own speakeasy, drive drunk (no DUI laws back then!), write some subtle, feminist advertising, or speculate wildly on the stock market. Maybe, if you were really up on the politics of the day, you could follow a pre-cursor to the Halliburton contracts in Iraq. But the sports calendar was basically blank.

Baseball ended in early October. During the fall, there was football, but not really. People still cared when Army played Notre Dame, and they liked watching Red Grange, but college football wasn’t the game we love today. Think about it: the best conference in the country, the SEC, celebrated its 75^th Anniversary this year; it didn’t exist in the 1920’s! As for the NFL, it was viewed as a curiosity, the kind of thing that ruffians were supposed to do. The best college players viewed it as vulgar to play pro ball (Grange bucked that trend as the decade ended of course, but it took the NFL awhile to really get going). The NBA was 20 years from being founded, college basketball didn’t really exist outside of a few major cities, and the NHL was still basically a Canadian curiosity. Essentially, once baseball ended, you were looking at 6 months of suck. Oh, and it was really fucking cold outside. In short, Rogers’ plan was a totally logical thing for the sports fan to do; sit at the window, drink some bootlegged Canadian whiskey, wait for baseball season to start.

Thankfully, the rise of football means we don’t have it that bad anymore. We go through the fall and part of the winter with college football and the NFL to feed our insatiable sports appetites. Then, the day after the Super Bowl, it’s brutally and quickly over. We wake up one Monday morning in early February and we’re in the same position as “The Rajah” was in, waiting for it to be Spring.

But wait, there’s still the NBA, the NHL, and college basketball. NBA and NHL regular season games are meaningless, even the players don’t care (witness Ricky Davis). Watching an NBA or NHL regular season game is like watching a Jason Statham movie without the fight scenes; what the hell’s the point? College basketball is a little bit better (the Duke-Carolina game last night was fun), but the cool part about college basketball is the tournament and that doesn’t get going until mid-March. That’s about the time baseball finally starts playing exhibition games too, and also about the time the weather shows signs of ceasing to suck. So there it is, February 4-March 20, when the sports world regresses to 1925. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a date with a plastic bottle of cheap whiskey and a window. Bottoms Up!