FanRagSports- Baseball agent Jason Wood is being investigated by the player’s union for allegedly filming numerous clients while they were using his shower, seven sources tell FanRag Sports.
Three sources say that Wood has been fired by CSE, where he was the President of Baseball. A search to replace him is underway, with the agency hoping to find someone to fill that role soon. Some players have already fired CSE and have hired new representation or are looking to do so in the near future.
Recently, a player who chose not be identified, was using a shower at Wood’s home and found a camera, sources say. The player confronted Wood, then followed by firing him immediately, sources say.
Multiple sources suggest that there were other players being filmed, with their identities being unknown.
Wood represented many players around MLB, including the Boston Red Sox’s Andrew Benintendi, Colorado Rockies’ Riley Pint and Atlanta Braves’ Joey Wentz.
Obviously the "why?" is more important than the "how?" considering this was a situation in which the privacy of multiple people was breached by someone who was both trusted and financially incentivized to keep a close eye on the type of sizable endowment that doesn't reside between his clients' legs.
Still, I can't help but wonder how Jason Wood convinced a handful of professional athletes that his residence was the right place to drop trou and give themselves a quick rinse. Like, what could the circumstances surrounding these meetings possibly have been that them in ending in an immediate, full-body lather was necessary?
Did the newly disgraced agent only talk business over 1-on-1 basketball games? Was his in-home office a sauna? Did he suggest they workout the details of the contract during an actual workout? Maybe Jason Wood veiled his predatory intentions with a cloak of genuine friendliness, but at how many homes - other than your own - have you worked yourself into a sweat that simply couldn't wait until you returned to the sanctity of the quarters where you shit, shave, and shower? Maybe I'm underselling the closeness of the agent-client relationship, but I don't seem to recall Vinny Chase making an impromptu stops at the Gold household for a self grooming.
I guess what I am trying to say is, with how well he apparently sold grown men on sprucing themselves up on the spot without it seeming odd, it's no wonder this creep was successful in the profession he'll forever be banished from. He's a sexual defiant of the highest order, but Jason Wood was (operative word) a goddamn perfectionist as a pitchman.
Perhaps the concept of lightening the delivery of injury-related news by blaming something so innocent and obscure that even the most impassioned fan would be forced to laugh at it was lost in translation? That's the only explanation I can think of, because - outside of Martin Perez sleepwalking into a bullfighting arena while wearing red pajamas - there's nothing guilt-free about breaking your elbow in a confrontation with cattle.
Admittedly, it's hilarious to see the phrase "incident with a bull" written out as if bulls are commonly participants in your average, every day incident, but it's more so in a "wow, what a moron" kinda way as opposed to a "haha, what a freak accident!" kinda way. Like, if I had to guess, the Rangers pitcher who makes $6 million a year off the use of his left arm luckily had the right one stomped on after inevitably being thrown from a top the back of irritable livestock. I have no proof that was the case, but the plot holes in an explanation that's only slightly less incriminating than a "playing in traffic while blindfolded incident" aren't exactly a fit for the type of benefit of the doubt you'd hope to give a professional athlete who hurt himself doing something undeniably stupid. I am not exactly a PR professional, but the negligence out only works when you verbally commit to a story in which you're not complicit in diving elbow-first into living, breathing, charging, or bucking danger.
Jose Canseco Offered His Thoughts On Sexual Assault And, Wouldn't You Know It, It Ended Poorly For Him
Jose Canseco's mind dump on molestation:
The response from his (now former) employer:
NBC Sports California immediately issued a statement addressing Canseco's remarks:
"Jose Canseco is no longer an employee with NBC Sports California," the network said in a press release, according to ESPN. "His agreement with us ended after the 2017 season. We certainly don't agree with his comments, which do not reflect the values of our network or our team partner."
The response from his former team:
Jose Canseco's response to the response:
“If people can’t take a joke, that’s ridiculous," Canseco sent Susan Slusser of the San Francisco Chronicle in a text message. "What I’m saying really has no meaning. Those tweets don’t even make any sense, they’re a bunch of riddles.”
Oddly enough, the most surprising thing about this situation is that prior to yesterday afternoon Jose Canseco still had two entities that retained a close enough affiliation with him to have to distance themselves when he inevitably did or said something mind numbingly stupid. Like, I know he was just a former player hired to sit on a panel and spew a thing or two from an athlete's perspective every once in awhile, but the fact that he was able to get that gig after publishing a written history of why he's not to be trusted as a co-worker really calls into question NBC Sports California's vetting process. Were taking about a known steroid user that pulled back the curtain to expose everyone else that was sticking a needle in their ass. So yeah, probably not the type of guy to let whatever semblance of a professional reputation he had left stand in the way of his undying need to stir up an attention-seeking shit storm.
And look, I'm not going to try to decipher a bunch of tweets that trivialize sexual assault by making it sound like it's nothing more than some sort of fetish by way of completely disjointed logic. Instead, I am going to 'stand up' for the memory of Yogi Berra and the type of comedy he made famous by renouncing said disjointed logic as a "riddle". I suppose I'm not surprised that Jose Canseco thinks the only defining characteristic of a riddle is that it makes no sense whatsoever since the circuits of his brain are far too short to truly be teased. In that sense, I actually feel bad that he's spent his whole life walking around feigning fake laughter whenever wit flew over his head quicker than the fastball Roger Clemens has been dying to throw at his temple.
Of course, that sympathy flew out the window after I reminded myself that he chose forced full frontal (and the like) as the subject matter for his first (and hopefully last) painful foray into the world of internet joke making. Still, if you re-read those tweets in succession then it becomes pretty disheartening that he stole Jerry Seinfeld's "what's the deal with all these..." schtick just to attach it to senseless bragging about how many women wouldn't take no for an answer from a meathead whose testicles were harder to find than his point. Some might say these "opinions" were artificially enhanced in an effort for them to perform better statistically on the internet. Whatever the case may be, it was only a matter of time before Jose Canseco ended up unemployed. I just hopelessly hope that his immediate shit-canning served as a life lesson in teaching him that he was put on this planet to be laughed at...not with.
If Yankees Fans Are All-In On The Return Of 'The Evil Empire' Then They Should Be Able To Admit That The Stanton Trade Doesn't Quite Pass The Smell Test
Whether or not they are deserving of the restraint, I'll stop short of calling Yankee fans frauds for going from "ya know, it's so refreshing to see things done the right way this time around!" to salivating at the idea of adding one of the most expensive bats in baseball in the time it took Derek Jeter to pull the trigger in the direction of his professional reputation. It's human nature to justify the moves your favorite team makes in an effort to win, and it's not exactly difficult to rationalize the insertion of a player who was one hanging curveball away from hitting 60 dingers into a lineup that was already more abusive on long balls than Larry David. Regardless of how A-Rod-esque the corresponding contract happens to be, Yankee fans should be pumped by the roster bolstering that caused the immediate uprising of 'The Evil Empire'.
They just shouldn't expect to be taken seriously if they claim that it was the result of nothing more than wholesome team building that is beyond reproach. I'm fine with them embracing the role of the bad guy, but not while also claiming some type of moral superiority that would stop their organization from taking full advantage of a relationship that's damn near familial. Due to Aaron Judge's unfortunate dental "situation", Derek Jeter is basically still the face of the New York Yankees. So don't tell me he is some holier-than-thou human when the transaction that he at least partially facilitated helped the team that he is synonymous with turn heel. As someone whose expertise as an executive is limited to promptly shit canning every long time employee that had a vested interest in the team's success, Derek Jeter hasn't exactly earned the benefit of doubting his continued allegiance to the organization that treated his recent retirement like it was a year long funeral.
And listen, I understand that it makes no sense for the Marlins to commit over 250 million to a guy whose star power would go wasted by a franchise whose immediate future is bleak. I get that it's not easy to move a contract that big when the person due a monthly Brinks truck has a no trade clause. I'll even admit that the first chapter of baseball's most recent success stories have basically been tales of yard sales, but - in sticking with that analogy - the Miami Marlins' owner essentially accepted spare parts in exchange for signing his Lamborghini over to his father figure to compete in the pennant race.
Credit to the Yankees for pseudo-nepotistically networking their way into the reigning NL MVP, but you can spare me Brian Cashman's candidacy as GM Of The Year when a trade of this manner would get vetoed out of principle in about 97% of fantasy leagues. I'm not ready to dig through my closet, pull out a tin foil cap, and claim that this was all some sort of meticulously planned conspiracy coming to fruition. I am, however, ready to say that Derek Jeter's shit officially stinks - whether Yankees fans want to continue to hold their noses or not.
Shohei Ohtani Chose Not To Be A Yankee So 'The Daily News' Confirmed That He Was Too Afraid To Earn His Pinstripes
Now THAT is how it's done! You can say that New York sports fans are spoiled far beyond the success (or lack thereof, in every case other than the Yankees) of their teams, but don't you dare tell them they give the city a bad rap as a sports town whenever a skilled player has the gall to take his talents elsewhere...
...No seriously, don't fucking tell them that insinuating a Japanese free agent is a coward on the front page of a publication is a fantastic way to scare off future foreign prospects that might be willing to give the states that are quicker to learn how to spell their last name than slander their character a shot. Let's just keep that one between us, because it's hilarious watching Yankees' fans stew every time an athlete dares to make vulnerable a superiority complex that has been passed on from generation-to-less-accomplished-generation and lived further past it's expiration than mold. Consider it our little secret, because the day New York City turns into an environment that breeds rational expectations that fall anywhere near in line with reality is the day that the cycle of self important, counterproductive douchebaggery wears off and players start choosing to play their for reasons others than an ungodly amount of money.
Bret Boone Randomly Slid In A Reporter's DM's To Joke About Sexual Harassment For No Apparent Reason
SeattlePI- Since The New York Times reported accusations of repeated sexual assault against Hollywood mega-producer Harvey Weinstein in October, it seems like you can't go more than a day or two without another high-profile man being accused of being a sexual predator.
Wednesday was no different, as two titans of media -- NBC's Matt Lauer and public radio's Garrison Keillor, host of "A Prairie Home Companion" -- lost their jobs following allegations of inappropriate behavior.
After tweeting my disappointment about the Keillor allegations, I received a direct message on Twitter from former Seattle Mariners second baseman Bret Boone, the three-time All-Star who was instrumental in the M's success in the early 2000s. That was notable in and of itself, as I don't get many (read "any") unsolicited DMs from professional athletes, former or current, let alone bat-flip and frosted-tip trailblazers like Boone....
I'm not entirely sure how Bret Boone defines sexual harassment. The tone of these unprompted messages to a reporter seem to imply that he thinks every powerful male that has skeletons pouring out of their closet is getting fired and having their career canceled because their greetings to the fairer sex were too chipper in the morning. If that's the case then he's going to find himself pretty shocked when he learns that half of 'Hollywood' finds themselves so "excited" by the presence of a woman that they instinctually drop trou and start jacking off whenever one enters the room.
Regardless, having not known anything about Bret Boone as a person before five minutes ago, I'm beginning to think there's nothing he loves more than making the opposite sex feel uncomfortable. Consider this, how many things are so near and dear to your heart that you randomly bring them up free of any sort of context with people that you have absolutely no connection to? As someone who prides himself on an ability to read a room, I'm not sure there's even one thing that I enjoy enough to incessantly force it on people in unwanted conversation. Meanwhile, Bret Boone has such a deep-seated passion that he literally has to go out of his way to talk to anyone and everyone about it. You thought vegans had a cult-like obsession with their beliefs? Well, when's the last time some unsolicited, online meat mockery got sent directly and only your way? Seriously, if Bret Boone were strolling through the neighborhood instead of hawking the internet he might be going door-to-door passing out 'Please Support The Patriarchy' pamphlets, because that's the real life equivalent of going inbox-to-inbox on behalf of every prominent predator that's made their way through the news cycle recently.
It's definitely unfair for me to assume that just because a former pro athlete thinks it's okay to walk up to strange women and demand that they smile (which he surely does daily) that he also thinks it's okay to expose himself and demand that they watch to completion. However, if your initial interaction starts with an unprovoked, shameless endorsement of the former, is it really out of the question that - if humored - it could end with the approval of something dangerously close to the latter?
The Phillies Hired A Manager That Has An Old Blog Post About Masturbating With Coconut Oil, And One Reporter Is NOT Happy
KapLifestyle- "You’re moisturized and smelling tropical, your teeth are white and your face looks like you’ve just visited a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon. The sun has set, and the moon is out. Perhaps you have a friend nearby, perhaps it’s just you by your lonesome…well, this is awkward. I’ve promised you authenticity, honesty and openness. Take this how you wish and I’ll spare you the step by step. Coconut oil is the world’s greatest lubricant. I can’t help where your mind goes with this. Once the ball leaves the bat, I can’t steer it." (Gabe Kapler, 2014)
There's a lot of people on this planet that I would love to sit down and have a beer with. I can now officially say that Gabe Kapler has been added to that list, and reporter Howard Eskin has been crossed off in permanent marker.
Admittedly, it's probably pretty silly to talk about touching yourself on the internet if you have aspirations of coaching in the most repressed league in the entire sports landscape. However, if you listened to Gabe Kapler talk around the time he implied that going to the kitchen cabinet for reinforcements can bring you quicker to completion without the most shit-eating of grins on your face then I simply cannot relate to you as a person. If you think it's unforgivable for a grown ass man - whose look leads you to believe that he lathers a lot more than his penis in nature's lubricant - to have made an old but relevant inference about masturbation then we just never going to see eye-to-eye.
He says "what about the poor children?", and I say "the poor children" who actually understand the half-serious storytelling of the Phillies new manager will be far better off having not resorted to the misguided use of shampoo. He tries to make it seem like jerking off is a sin, and I think he's nothing short of a jerk off for doing so. He wants the Philadelphia to hire a someone whose manhood hasn't been used for anything but procreation, and I think that's the type of counterproductive mindset that is killing baseball. He believes managers shouldn't waste their time touching themselves, and I think considering efficiency while engaging in a necessary evil is the mark of a good administrator. After all, some might not like the lesson but Gabe Kapler is unquestionably a teacher whose job it is to now...ahem...get the most out of his young players.
Howard Eskin and I are just fundamentally different people that could only ever share an opinion on a more explicit use for coconut oil if he got rid of his "knock it before you try it" philosophy. So here's to hoping he hasn't reproduced. Not only because he seems like quite the wet blanket, but because he sounds like the type of person who would set bathroom time limits to keep his son's dick dry in hopes that it helps him "develop" into the next sexually inhibited GM of the Kansas City Royals.
Maybe I'm silly for even acknowledging this because I'm really just responding to Warren Moon's use the word "bittersweet" on television. However, I have seen far too many people referencing the Deshaun Watson injury as it pertained to the Houston Astros' World Series victory, and - quite frankly - I find the affiliation deeply offensive to the team responsible for the latter.
Don't get me wrong, it's objectively awful news that one of the best young quarterbacks in football is done for the year. Deshaun Watson was already - no more than halfway through what was sure to be an award winning rookie season - one of a handful of exciting players at an all-too-important position. His absence on the field will cost his team a chance to remain relevant in a league that's become exceedingly mediocre, and that seems super unfair to someone who seems like a real good dude off of it. So yeah, this sucks for Deshaun Watson, it sucks for the Texans, it sucks for their fans, and it sucks for anyone that has even the the most passing interest in professional football. What it doesn't do, however, is suck enough to take away from the celebration of a championship that has been 55 years in the making.
It's unfortunate that the soulless sport of football keeps shooting its own stars onto season-ending IR, but every NFL team - whether they've realized it yet or not - rosters a disastrous injury (in Houston's case, 3 and counting) that's just patiently waiting to happen at the worst possible time. What most teams don't have is a fan base that can fall back on the unadulterated joy that's been granted to them by their city's first professional title in over two decades. Deshaun Watson will be back under center by the start of next season, and do you know what will remain unquestionably true between now and then? The absolute fact that Houston is the home of the reigning World Series champions.
If I were a diehard Houston sports' loyalist I would have looked at what would otherwise be an insanely depressing notification, put my phone down, took a deep breath, poured the contents of my 22nd beer of the day on the ground on behalf of Deshaun Watson's ACL, and immediately cracked open my 23rd celebratory cold one. If there is a single Astros/Texans/Rockets fan that is walking around with his shoulders slumped and a 'woe is me' expression plastered across his face he should be publicly shamed for not realizing that the phrase "can't win 'em all" exists for this very reason. Fortunately for this hypothetical "him", his teams were able to collectively win one, and - since that's more than can be said for a lot of people - he should continue to remind himself that this Astros team will walk together forever while Tom Savage remains the Texans' most handicapped quarterback on Sundays.
Ultimately, the point I am trying to get across is that - while you never want to see a guy suffer a serious injury - any Houston fan worth his salt would have signed up for this exchange...
Who Better Than Sam Hinkie To Weigh In On 'Sports Illustrated' Correctly Predicting The 2017 World Series Champs In 2014?
I just absolutely love that Sam Hinkie has - on his own volition - labeled himself the official spokesperson for seemingly laughable prognostications coming to fruition. Do you have a team that used time, patience, and hundreds of losses to overcome once miraculous odds to achieve greatness? Well, then you've got a team that proves that Sam Hinkie's mind is but a crystal ball that can predict how current failures can contribute to future improvement.
When you really think about it, it's pretty difficult to 'Trust The Process' when the culmination of 'The Process' is dependent on a fragile foot of a seven foot freak and a #1 pick that looks like he fell down the Draft Day stairs, bumped his head, and forgot how to shoot a jump shot. That said, how could you be anything but certain that things will work out in the long run when the person who set the counterproductive rise to the top in motion has countless examples of teams that have sucked their way to success at his disposal?
Who cares if he took a circumstantial cross-sport reference and used it to pat himself on the back? With the tanking era in full-swing in almost every sport, someone has to step up to the proverbial plate as its ambassador. Why not have it be the person whose basketball life died for the sins of the talentless scrubs he intentionally put on the floor in hopes of sabotaging sacrificial seasons in the name of Ben Simmons? Congrats to the upstart Astros, but - once the celebratory smoke clears - they will be just another team on the list of examples of why the Sixers are destined to do big things.
Look, I'm certainly not the type to discourage guarantees. Sports would unquestionably be less fun if athletes stopped emotionally making empty promises without regard for the asinine amount of circumstances that have to go their way for their team to win a title. So, in that sense, I'm glad that Kenley Jansen gave us an answer that is statistically a hell of a lot more likely to end up being mockable than it is prophetical. Still, I think I speak for all Dodgers fans in saying that this is just....too soon.
Like, let one of the most disappointing losses that a team and its fanbase can possible endure breathe for a bit before telling those in mourning that it's a sign of better things to come. This is like showing up to a funeral and telling the widow that "with death comes new life". It's technically not incorrect, but the timing of it sure is. No one wants to hear that there is potentially a breed with a longer life span available for adoption while their dog is getting put to sleep, so they probably don't want to hear their closer talk about a hypothetical World Series immediately after they failed to close an actual World Series. The Los Angeles Dodgers don't stand to withstand a fall from grace, so there is no reason to roll out a metaphorical safety net for their hurt feelings.
So, being that it would be a full year away from coming to fruition, I am unfortunately going to have to discount the legitimacy of guarantee. If for no other reason, then because the people whose minds it was meant to ease were too busy whiskeying away their current sorrows to care about a false promise of the future.
You see, now that is how you use the time-wasting tactics at your disposal for good. Well, orchestrating a stadium-wide chorus of boos is more accurately a commendation of awful, but if you're going to kill time then you might as while liven up the crowd in the process. I'm not so sure you can call the obvious inciting of thousands upon thousands of jeers a "silent gesture". Not only because the result was pretty damn loud, but because it spoke volumes about the respect that Rich Hill has for Yu Darvish.
I can understand the frustration that the casual baseball fan has with the amount of minutes professional baseball player spend standing around with their hand on their junk. However, you really had to relish that down time when those minutes are being used as a proverbial crotch grab to the guy that tried to sabotage the best World Series in recent memory with a racist rendering of the proud Asian pitcher that previous had his number. I still think it's absolutely ridiculous that Yuil Gurriel's suspension got pushed back until next season, but I'm glad that the Dodgers' fans - in conjunction with their starting pitcher - made it impossible for the offender to push the unforgivable incident to the back of his mind in a resounding fashion. Really have to tip your cap to Rich Hill for reading the room and allowing for the writing of the next chapter with an elongated show of support for his teammate. The timeless (literal and figurative) traditions of baseball finally provided us something we could enjoy, the absence of dead air and the public shaming of a culturally insensitive buffoon.
Have we all come to grips with donating any semblance of a respectable sleep cycle to an absolute marathon of a baseball game that somewhat miraculously maintained it's entertainment value throughout all 5+ hours? If you've got any puns about 'Minute Maid Park' and juiced balls remaining in the chamber of your drafts then shoot them off into their saturated online market, because I have a half serious question to get to.
Am I supposed to give a shit that the balls have obviously been altered?
I can see why the relievers whose dream states have been transformed into nightmares with the replacement of sheep by the balls they've been traumatized into counting as they fly overhead might not be ecstatic about the dangers of any sort of solid contact being ripe for the warning track. But for the casual fan? Doing the equivalent of pumping the balls full of 'Jolt Cola' seems like quite the compromise between boring pitcher's duels and being completely steroid fueled.
Let's face it, with it's dwindling popularity, baseball needs to cater to more than the cranky curmudgeons that call themselves "purists", and there's nothing your average, every day asshole of a sports fan loves more than home runs. It's either a biologically masculine mindset or an inherently millennial temperament, but - either way - my attention can't span for 5 hours unless it's being propped up by the increased likelihood of man hitting projectile hundreds of feet into the distance. It's entirely possible I have spent more time focused on baseball games throughout this series than I have in the last decade combined, and that has everything to do with how often the game script has been flipped with nothing more than one swing.
Now admittedly, splicing the genetics of a golf ball and a racquetball in with the DNA of baseball taints the integrity of the game, but - for once - that tainted integrity doesn't create a competitive advantage. Juiced balls might cheat the numbers, but they don't cheat the fans or the players.
Those that live and die with 'Major League Baseball' might not agree with a process that's become insanely accepted regardless of it still technically being hypothetical. However, if it weren't for dingers being hit by the dozen then we would probably still be talking about how the MLB stupidly failed to suspend a player for a public display of abject racism, so maybe having inanimate objects bursting at the seems with steroids of sorts might actually be good for the game. Baseball needed a metaphorical needle in the ass, so let's just be happy that it's no longer coming in the form of a literal needle in the ass.
The Astros Fan That Stole A Dodgers HR Ball From A Woman And Threw It Back Is Nothing If Not Committed
I'm not in the business of telling people how to be sports fans. If I were I might suggest not turning yourself into a viral sensation as an overgrown infant in the name of superstition, but - like I made clear prior - critiquing people for getting overly emotional and overly invested in a game they aren't participating in isn't my area of expertise. That's mostly because that would require a lot of potentially ugly self reflection, but it's also because different people place different values on different things.
For that reason, and that reason only, I think our buddy in the two-toned golf shirt should be excused for his obnoxious actions. In the same vein that society expects us to hand every foul ball to a nearby child, I think that man-child was deserving of the baseball that he unceremoniously stole and the answer as to 'why?' is pretty simple. Throwing it back meant far more to him than holding on to it would have meant for the woman who caught it.
Just take one look into those crazy eyes, and tell me - with conviction - that Little Johnny wouldn't be packing his shit for the foster home if the person they belonged to was forced to choose between keeping his first born and ridding the home stands of that tainted baseball. I've seen too many damn lunatics at sporting events not be able to identify when someone in attendance has ass-backwards priorities, but I'll be damned if I can't respect a man for sticking to them. He shouldn't apologize for doing what he wrongfully - in his heart - thought was right, because he would never forgive himself if he didn't turn himself into the buzzkill of the ballpark and the Astros went on to lose. Now, I wouldn't want to watch a high stakes ball game while within his same state lines, but I can appreciate the disproportional amount of passion that has him thinking that he can have an intangible effect on the outcome.
P.S. If these guys truly are friends then the one on the left just cost himself more invites than Larry David during last night's episode of 'Curb Your Enthusiasm'...and something tells me he gives the same amount of fucks.
I'm not sure there's any "good" news results from a universally understood racist gesture that takes attention away from a championship series that has served as a defibrillator to the dying popularity of the sport of baseball. That said, if I were Yu Darvish I would take some solace in the fact that looks-based insults mean a whole hell of a lot less coming from someone that appears to have voluntarily swagger-jacked the styles of a multitude of exotic birds. Obviously as a run-of-the-mill white dude, I am neither Yu Darvish or making a big enough deal about the mocked facial feature being one that is inherent to a particular group of nationalities. Still, while the main issue is that we can't have athletes in the most repressed professional sport promoting discrimination on national television, I can't help but feel like the low-blow is ever-so-slightly softened by the victimized party's ability to say "look in the mirror, bro"...
Now the bad news, of which there is no shortage, is that we are about 4 hours away from the first pitch of Game 4 and the MLB has yet to hand down a punishment. He probably doesn't deserve the benefit of the doubt with how blatantly offensive that expression seems, but I'm fairly certain that the brightest of lights was shown on the cultural differences that exist in baseball on its biggest stage. Regardless, this isn't about what is or isn't perceived as prejudice by Yuil Gurriel. This is about a league that's viewed as being run just as "white" as your average country club needing to put its foot down and prove they are as progressive as the makeup of their rosters leads you to believe they are.
Trust me, I hate when off-the-field antics affect on-the-field performance as well. As the importance of the games increase, more and more I find myself erring on the side of no suspension. Unfortunately, as far as I can tell, the only other form of justice that exists in baseball requires the excessive force of an intentionally inaccurate 100MPH fastball. While I think that there is too much on the line for a World Series game to devolve into a plunking contest, I also think that Yuil Gurriel's actions require a lesson that's painfully comparable to taking one on the chin. Watching the biggest game of his life from afar is just that. It might be an odd correlation, but if a celebratory show of enthusiasm is worth a baseball upside the temple then a show of racism (be it a result of ignorance or not) is worth a one game benching.
The rules might remain unwritten, but Major League Baseball's questionable history is basically etched in stone. They would be extremely remiss to pass up this opportunity to paint over some of it while eyes of all shapes, sizes, and colors are on them.
UPDATE: It sends a message. Sadly, that message is that they prioritize the maintenance of a healthy working environment for all players somewhere in between the outcome of the first week of a one hundred and sixty two game schedule and the outcome of a 'World Series' game, but it does send a message...
TMZ- The World Series hasn't just been a slugfest on the field ... Houston Astros manager A.J. Hinch was involved in a heated altercation after Game 1 and cops were called ...TMZ Sports has learned.
Here's what we know ... Hinch was hanging out at the bar at the team hotel in Pasadena on Tuesday night after Houston lost Game 1 to the Dodgers.
We're told he was having some drinks -- when some hotel guests came in and started talking trash about the Astros.
Sources say Hinch "snapped" and unleashed on the other patrons -- cursing and yelling in the middle of the bar. One witness tells us the incident turned physical and cops were called to separate the two parties.
We spoke with Pasadena PD and we were told they responded to the hotel at 10:30 PM to help security "keep the peace" during an incident involving Houston Astros "team management."
Don't you just love when people in professional sports prove that they're not all that much different than you and me?
I haven't the slightest idea if these people knew who A.J. Hinch was when they started bashing the team he's led to the World Series. However, due to a lack of details, I'm envisioning a scenario where a bunch of casual Los Angeles fans (I know, that's redundant) strut into the bar and start talking directly out of their ass. I see the Astros' manager sitting with his back to their table, forcing himself to take deep breathes between sips from a glass of mind-clearing whiskey so as to rid himself of the oblivious voices growing louder and louder in his brain. Well, at least until they made one unforgivable comment that lacked such an understanding of Major League Baseball that it instinctually made a man who has devoted his life to the game flip his goddamn lid.
Now, that's just a hypothetical. It's entirely possible that these dudes plopped right down next to him at that hotel bar with a purpose. Whatever the case may be, the fact that A.J. Hinch couldn't restrain himself while knowing damn well the ramifications that would result from fist fighting moronic Dodgers' fans on the eve of Game 2 makes me smile. Not just because a "bar fight" at an upscale hotel is a hilarious visual. But also because that hilarious visual features the manager of a professional baseball team losing his emotional inhibitions by way of alcohol at the least opportune time and transforming into the 43 year old sports fan that exists underneath his Houston Astros' jersey.
All I have to say is thank god the Nationals and the Cubs needed a fifth and decisive game. Not only because it added a hell of a lot of intrigue, controversy, and - most importantly - Washington centric humor to the NLDS. But also because that fifth game came late on a Thursday night and ultimately resulted in Jon Lester giving us a blueprint for how to best enjoy our weeknight to the fullest come Friday morning.
Let's be real, what we just witnessed is peak drunkiness. Jon Lester not so carefully tightroping the thin line between losing all inhibition and plunging into full-on inebriation. Having completely short-circuited any sort of active filter by completely submerging it in innumerable ounces of domestic beer, but being coherent enough to immediately apologize for it being out of commission. Kind of forgetting some things that just happened, but also being "with us" enough to discuss the gist. Still clever enough to invoke the use of an idiom, but not without completely idiocizing it. Being super observant, but not acting appropriately on those observations. Giving a relatively obvious answer...that was as genuine and fitting as it could have possibly been given his BAC.
When you go out tonight I want you to aspire to become as exactly as tuned up as Jon Lester was last night. You'll likely wake up a manageable hangover, some stories you half remember, and some friends that don't mind filling you in the details because they were able to laugh at at/with you instead of apologizing profusely for you. When you really think it, is there a better possible outcome for celebratory binge drinking?
This Question Asked Of Bryce Harper After His Season Ended Is Proof Of How Much We Love Meaningless Predictions
As Casey Stern ever-so-relevantly stated, asking an MLB player how he expects the team that just struck him out to end his (post) season to perform going forward is unquestionably a clown question, bro.
Shoutout to him for pointing it out, because the fact that I didn't think twice when I heard it live is proof positive that we've been enabling the Barnum's & Bailey's of sports reporting by being complicit in their endless deep dive into purposeless prognostication. It's as if we have become so beaten down with predictions of the completely unpredictable that we (well me, specifically) didn't even feel the painfulness of that awkward inquiry. It's absolute absurd to expect even the most professional of player to break down the nuances of the next series on the heels of him ending up on the wrong side of previous one, but the fact that it was casually slipped in as the next thing up on the notepad is a sign of how forced, repetitive, and - for lack of a better term - stupid sports talk tends to be. A member of the media had no qualms with asking Bryce Harper to grab Miss Cleo's crystal ball and do his best Tony Romo impression but I didn't even blink when he did, because what's the point in covering baseball if you're not giving yourself an opportunity to be right about the highly random result?!
'Major League Baseball' Released A Statement After Wiz Khalifa Puffed An Invisible Joint While Throwing A First Pitch
TribLive- The Pirates are dealing with fallout after Pittsburgh rapper Wiz Khalifa pretended to smoke a marijuana joint on the pitcher's mound at PNC Park on Wednesday night.
"Marijuana is a probated substance in all of our drug programs and it is unfortunate this situation occurred," MLB spokesman Pat Courtney said on Thursday via email. "The Pirates have informed us that this should not have happened."
Khalifa, 27, who was born Cameron Jibril Thomaz, was invited to throw out a ceremonial first pitch before the game against the Baltimore Orioles. Wearing a shirt with "Legalize it" emblazoned on the front, Khalifa, who attended Taylor Allderdice High School, paused for photos and autographs with chairman Bob Nutting, manager Clint Hurdle and several players.
I'm not even sure what to make of this, since Wiz Khalifa advocating the puff-puff-pass lifestyle was a foregone conclusion the second he accepted an invite to go literally anywhere outside of his house. I do, however, find the juxtaposition of hip hop's most lovable pot head to sports most repressed league to be rather hilarious. I'm sure at least some people within the Pittsburgh Pirates organization knew exactly what they were signing up for, but I love the MLB's insistence on doing damage control for the perceived promotion of a recreational drug that is bound to be universally legalized sooner rather than later.
Like, I imagine that beads of sweat started forming on the foreheads of their public relations team because 6 parents with children that are approximately 4 years away with hitting blunts in the park with their friends were offended because a tatted up rapper glorified the act of doing so. As far as I am concerned, any reaction was an overreaction to the overreaction of a handful of overly strict parents whose kids are undoubtedly going to smoke pot regardless of whether or not the ceremonial first pitch thrower at a Pirates' game had its slogan on his t-shirt. That said, the mental image of how that overreaction probably went down did put a smile on my face.
If The Tigers Intentionally Hit The Ump With A Pitch Then They Did A Decent Enough Job Of Making It Look Like An Accident
LBS- In the third inning of Detroit’s 5-3 loss to Cleveland on Wednesday, Ausmus and catcher James McCann were both ejected by home plate umpire Quinn Walcott for arguing balls and strikes. Just a handful of pitches later, new Tigers catcher John Hicks failed to catch a Buck Farmer delivery and it hit Wolcott in the shoulder on the fly, knocking him down.
Most people felt that it was a simple cross-up involving a pitcher and catcher who had just been abruptly put together, but the Cleveland TV broadcast — and one writer — implied that something more sinister was going on.
Delayed reaction to an off-target pitch, orrr a vengeful, intentionally plunking of an umpire that a piss poor team deemed a little too hasty in throwing out their manager? You be the judge.
I mean, the fact of the matter is that even having to question whether or not it was an accident has to be considered a win for the pitcher/catcher combo that potentially conspired to bean blue, no? I don't watch enough baseball to know whether or not John Hicks' hand-eye coordination is too trusty to completely whiff on a pitch that was far from wild. I would imagine that it's arguable given that a professional catcher of oft-unpredictable projectiles that move at a rapid pace just Daria'd the shit out of that laser. However, if there's a way to make it look like it's not then it's to come in fresh off the bench as a backup and crouch over the outside corner as an allegedly inaccurate fastball comes up and inside with some heat behind it.
I don't feel completely comfortable crying conspiracy here, and I'm pretty sure that skepticism is all it takes to get away with hitting an umpire with some chin music. It's up to a more trained eye to determine whether or not this was an athlete-taught lesson, but either way it could teach Quinn Walcott to keep a tighter strike zone in the future. A painful example of impact correction, if you will.
The Braves Accidentally Played 'Rock You Like A Hurricane' During Their Series Against The Miami Marlins
Imagine hearing the song 'Rock You Like A Hurricane' at a baseball game and automatically believing that some sadistic, second rate "DJ" was tucked away in the annals of the stadium maniacally laughing while making light of the natural disaster that is barreling towards the home town of the visiting team. Like, you really got to be desperately looking for controversy to assume that some dude making minimum wage to press a button is creating inappropriate, opponent-specific playlists.
Could it be that a popular oldie just happened to be up next in the rotation that almost definitely doesn't get filtered pregame, since - ya know - what are the odds that a catchy, common tune is going to remind the Marlins that if the Braves don't crush them then a tropical cyclone of epic proportions just might?
Nope, absolutely not. Definitely some behind-the-scenes dickhead with a twisted sense of humor and too much time on his hands. Only possible way an awkward, untimely reference could be made by way of a universally overused pump-up song. In fact, I bet 'The Scorpions' were the only 80's rock group to use a super over-over-top metaphor to describe careless, casual sex. Since that's more than likely the case, there's simply no way the Braves' half-asleep music technician could have ended up on the ass end of such unfortunate irony without being a tone deaf jerk. It's a shame his employer is too much of a coward to admit that...