Damaso the Decimator

...Decimator of payroll, that is.




face, meet palm



It seems Decimatin' Damaso Marte will now be on the disabled list for the entire 2011 Yankee baseball campaign, despite early hopes that he could return after the All-Star break.  We're assuming this also means next year's club-option portion of his contract should be declined, and he is officially done throwing innings for the Yanks.

Decimato signed with the Yankees in 2009 for $12 million over 3 years, plus the club option for a fourth.  Since inking the deal, he has pitched a full 31 innings for the team.  That's a pretty lucrative setup, when you consider the hours Marte actually logged on his in-game time sheet.

This got me thinking, and after a little digging, the information was intriguing enough to actually post numbers on your beloved-but-recently-forgotten iBoggs...

If we compare Marte's Dollars Per Inning Pitched with the other recent failures of the misunderstood genius that is Brian Cashman, Mr. Marte is quite impressive, indeed:


Damaso Marte - 31 IP, $12 million/3 years = $387,096/IP

Kei Igawa - 71.2 IP, $20 million/5 years = $279,069/IP

Carl Pavano - 145.2 IP, $38 million/4 years = $260,869/IP

Back in 2009, who would've ever thought Cashman could find a way to top Pavano and Igawa.... With a reliever, no less!?  Well done, sir - you certainly deserve a contract extension!

Sometimes, being a Yankee fan can be a little more uncomfortable than I'd prefer.

...and let's not forget about Rafael Soriano, who currently resides on the DL - he was signed prior to the 2011 season to a 3-year, $35 million deal.  If Rafael fails to pitch 91 innings over the course of this contract, he will overtake Marte for Most Expensive Innings Ever. 

Go, Soriano, Go!

how to be something on

If I wanted to break my own finger, do you think I could do it?

I don't know.  There was that movie with a guy I think might have been Martin Lawrence (too lazy to check imdb right now - you can do it for me - I remember a trailer involving a man biting his hand between the thumb and index finger while a horrified pretty person watched and grimaced) in which the guy claimed that no person is able to willfully draw blood on themselves.  .

Now, I don't really believe that's true, and I don't really believe in Martin Lawrence.  Regardless, if I wanted to, I do think I could break my own finger.  Or ankle.  Or shoulder.

Whatever.

As it is, I'm in the middle of the latest episode of Justinfied right now - my birthday is tomorrow, and I'm sitting on my couch drinking the last of the Basil Hayden's and watching DVR television (with one eye on the Everly monitor, of course).  I'm pulling my index finger back as far as it will go, wondering if my brain will allow me to snap it off at the big knuckle, thinking there's a possibility this could happen, and I wonder: Is this where 31 takes me?  Am I set to be the guy that simply takes care of business during the day - as interesting and varied as my psychosocial work can be - and comes home to play with the kid, eat dinner, and wait for Timothy Olyphant to get me revved up at nighttime while I rip appendages from my body?

Is this what the life of the Family Man truly is?

endlessly cooler than me

Here are the thought processes: jtb is the most talented Chef de Cuisine in Philadelphia. cobber88 managed to break out of the 'Cuse, get himself into a city full of excitement and Buck Showalter possibilities. I don't know what the hell jburn is up to right now, but I do know that his facebook profile picture is badass.

All three seem to be living The Dream, taking their Michael Keaton aspirations to all corners of the globe and spreading iBoggs love to all that seek it.  Meanwhile I'm the one left at the computer lamely complaining about middle class lethargy.

So, where do I stand, iBoggsians?  Is it time for me to wonder about my life so far - how much I have (not) accomplished, and how that may compare with my self-perceived parental-defined potential?  Probably.  Probably not. Despite the bourbon-influenced fear, my guess is that I'm doing just fine.  No matter what the individual may think about his own shortcomings, the outsider tends to be a little more optimistic. Yes?

I would guess that if jtb or cobber88 were to write this same post, they may think that eboye is doing quite well  - good house in the suburbs complete with BBQ deck and guest bathroom, incredibly fun and attentive wife, loving family (especially two very caring and obviously capable parents) crazy cute 9-month daughter, and a slew of loyal friends who are all willing to sacrifice a Friday night just to share a drink together.  Truly, that should be the dream.  After all, it's what most of us really want, right?

Hell yes.

So, no, I don't think I could break my own finger.  There's no reason to do so, and it would probably hurt a lot more than this Basil Hayden's in my belly.  The iBoggs universe is not a place for whiners.  Go to bed, you silly man - tomorrow it's your birthday.

learning to walk again

Some of you saw Saturday Night Live this weekend, most of you probably have not. It was the same as usual - tedious, obvious, and far too much Seth Meyers.  Saving the evening was Dave Grohl and his band, and this is just too badass to not re-post.

I've been on a Grohl kick lately, probably because he's been everywhere promoting the new Foo Fighters album, (streaming online since April 1st, officially released today) and I've come to the realization that this guy has reached true Rock Icon status.  I'm probably late to the party, but I'm also likely a little more conservative with that label.

Obviously Grohl was in the ballpark of Rock Legend the minute he signed up to be 6th in Nirvana's long line of percussionists, but the fact that he's pushed himself to the point of playing in multiple bands in multiple roles, continues to go platinum in a shitty market, and consistently maintains his rock n' roll attitude (shutup - I can't think of a better name for it) makes him one of the all time greats.  Street credibility is everything if you're going to last in the music industry, and Dave Grohl never lost his.

PED cocktails & dreams

Yeah, I know - we've been gone for a few days and that makes you sad inside.  No worries, Mila Kunis' latest hairstyle is here to help you out:



via the absolutely perfect
ChicksWithSteveBuscemeyes

They haven't photoshopped Allison Brie yet because the site would have to shut down - she's the one star that would disprove The Steve Theory (Buscemi + Hotties = Notties).


....I hope you've enjoyed your tumblr fun, because baseball just threw us a bit of a downer:



Carlos Baerga is my homie!



And so it goes - one of the most prolific and interesting hitters of the modern age has become the new spokesman for Bad Idea Jeans.  Manny really blew it this time, and it's hard to understand why - all he had to do was play out his contract, have a little fun with naked Johnny, and retire, well on his way to Cooperstown and Sox Nation Sainthood.

Instead, he gave everyone a free parting shot, with no chance for an on-field rebuttal.  He's been reduced to a cautionary tale - the superstar with unquestioned talent who dominated the AL for 15 years and compares favorably to Jimmie Foxx and Ted Williams, but is sure to be left out of the Hall of Fame.  All because he's an idiot (and not just the 2004 kind).

As a Yankee fan, I both despise and fear Manny Ramirez.  Whether he was bringing the Indians or the Red Sox to town, NY fans knew that Manny would end up with multiple hits and RBI in every box score.  The guy was a rope machine - his 1999 line of .333/.442/.663 44HR, 165 RBI was terrifying, even while the one-dimensional Sosa and McGwire were grabbing all the headlines from the NL.  Yes, ManRam was on steroids, but he was the most well-rounded druggie in the league.

Most notably for me, of course, is that Manny Ramirez batted .322/.413/.617 against the Yankees (an impressive split stat since it mostly consists of at-bats versus Clemens, Cone, Mussina, Pettitte, and Wells) and I hated him for it.  Over the next few years Manny may be remembered by most for disgracing the game, but I'll never forget how heated that rivalry got during those 2000-2005 seasons, partly due to that dummy playing the best ball of his career. 

It can be argued that the 2003 and 2004 ALCS are two of the top ten playoff series ever played, as measured by the intense, unforgettable drama that came with the height of the New York/Boston rivalry. ESPN-fueled or not, those 19-game regular season and 7-game playoff series were about as epic as they come in the history of the sport. Ramirez was an enormous contributor to those stories, filled with moments my daughter will be quite tired of hearing about by the time she's 12 years old.  No matter how much I may dislike the guy, he'll forever own a significant piece of my baseball memory.

So, yeah - Manny Ramirez is a big fat cheater.  He tainted what could have been an unforgettable career, sure to be featured in many future MLB Network countdown shows.  Instead, his legacy will be played out over the next week (and again in 5 years - can't wait, Wilbon!) by the Colin Cowherd talking heads who will relish his slow and painful baseball death.

I can't say I'm sad to see him go, but it's a damn shame.

fighting in a fake ring

I recently competed in a fantasy baseball league with a die-hard Tampa Bay (Devilish) Rays fan. All through last year we'd get on the message board almost daily, trading the usual barbs - he told me I was a bandwagon fan of the New York Free Agents, while I explored the joy of pointing out how lame Rays fans are, with their 5,000 tickets sold per game.  He'd say the Yankee players were overpaid, overhyped media creations, while I let him know what I thought of his team's .437 all-time winning percentage.  It would go back and forth for weeks at a time, probably annoying the other 14 grown men that enjoyed fairly mild participation.

Last season we made a public bet: if the Yankees finished ahead of Tampa in the AL East standings, I would have the privilege of changing his fantasy team's name for all of 2011 (like something along the lines of "BOO-HOO, WHERE'S CARL? FRIEDMAN = PUSSY. CC WAS THE ONLY SHRED OF TALENT GARNERING RESPECT FOR THIS BULLSHIT AAA CLUB).  Conversely, if the Rays were to finish ahead of the Yanks he would earn the right to rename my team, The New World Order, to another brand of his liking.

Well, despite a 1.5 game lead going into the final week of a forgettable 2010 season, the Pinstripes blew it.  Tampa finished 2010 one game ahead of New York in the division standings to win the AL East, and my team was thusly renamed "Jersey Skanks," complete with a new team photo.

apparently he lives in Jersey?
I didn't get it, either

I would have preferred to be called "The Skankin' Pickles" of course, but I took my loss like a man and changed both my title and photo identification for all to see.  I've kept this going for the first week of the 2011 season, and do intend to maintain my gentlemen's honor until November arrives.  I have a fine group of young studs on the squad, and I don't think the name will have any bearing on the outcome of this season's playoffs.

However, what I haven't told you - and this is the real kicker in the story - is my nemesis is no longer even in the league (exclamation point).  THAT'S RIGHT - HE'S A FANTASY QUITTIN' PUNK! He dropped out after losing in the championship match of the league playoffs, shortly after writing a message board essay on how the rules of the league, combined with real player injury, somehow managed to screw him out of the trophy he deserved.

Why did he run away, though? His reasoning was along the lines of, "I'm too good at this game to participate in your league, all you posers can suck my dust while I'm gone."

Dick.

How could he do that to me? I just lost the bet, changed my identity, and had already started hatching a plan to whoop his sorry Garza-Gobbling tail when the new season arrived.  Instead he blocks my revenge by QUITTING? 

I was angry. I was frustrated.  Mostly, I was annoyed that I agreed to keep such an awful name when there are so many better options on the table (especially in the peak years of Sheen, Allison Brie's Cleavage, and Merkle's Boner).  The denial of revenge is as bad as it gets in fake sports - the entire season is built on trash talk and rivalries - without someone to hate I have very little incentive in winning the season.  This guy went and broke the ultimate unwritten rule of fantasy sports, Woody Style, and left a league that wanted him back.

Thankfully, as you're probably aware, it seems karma is on my side - the Tampa Bay Rays currently sit in last place of the division, sporting an unsightly record of zero wins and six losses.  Their Yankee-like strategy of signing old free agents in the middle of their decline has kicked them in the ass, and they simply do not have the talent to keep up with the likes of the GREAT NEW YORK JETERIANS.

It seems to me that ROCK - yeah, that's what this guy calls himself - is being punished.  Cursed, even. My guess is that his (real life) boys won't have any opportunity at being a contender until he gets his sorry butt back into the league, and faces the Here Go Hell Come music that is THE JERSEY SKANKS!  Come back and take your beating, Rock, or suffer the worst real season of your life!

Suck it, loser - I hope your boys go 0-162.

IN BUCK WE TRUST

This was the image that greeted Orioles fans as we made our way to Camden Yards yesterday afternoon for the home opener against the Detroit Tigers. As if sweeping our opening series against the D-Rays wasn't enough to make us a little more hopeful than usual, seeing Buck Showalter shoving his digit straight into the soul of a city as if to say - "Stop crying about another losing season, and let's get to work!" - this set the tone for an amazing day.

Eric remarked in his last baseball post about the anticlimax he inevitably experiences when opening day arrives to the baseball season. This is what I imagine a true Yankees fan experiences - a fan of a team that is accustomed to competing deep into September and October. I wonder what this must feel like. Having suffered losing seasons with the Orioles since 1997, I can't help but feel the complete opposite. Opening day is it! It is the time for prayer and possibility and hope. It is a time when everyone starts off on equal footing. It is a time when one fools oneself into thinking - maybe Garrett Atkins will have his best season ever, thus making him a cost-saving acquisition in the offseason (This incidentally was the delusion of grandeur that stormed my fancy last year. Atkins was a bust. I don't even thinking he's playing anymore).

The opening day lineup for the O's last year also featured such winners as Cesar Izturis and an aging Miguel Tejada, not to mention our "ace" - Kevin (keep your hat on to cover your comb-over) Millwood. The 2010 opening week also featured three blown saves from another "new" acquisition Michael Gonzalez.

This year was a different story. Thanks to Buck, a reenergized franchise took the field yesterday in front of a sold-out stadium. The game featured a three-run homer from Brian Roberts and another solid pitching performance from a young Orioles starter - this time Jake Arrieta. Also, in a week of cold temperatures and rainy, overcast afternoons - the gametime temp. was 85 degrees with sunny skies - Is there anything Buck can't control? Okay, it's April 5th, and yet maybe J.J. Hardy will avoid the Garrett Atkins curse. You know things are bad when I'd settle for .500 season, but there it is.