Saturday, October 15, 2005

ALCS Game 3, Part 1

Well, it's either baseball or "I, Robot" on HBO Latino (it has to be better in Spanish than it is in English). The big question, of course, is whether I can survive the pregame show. Having grown used to the brilliance of Kenny, Ernie and Charles, Kevin Kennedy and the fake Kyra Sedgwick are hard to deal with. Another ten or so rows of scrolling graphics would blank them out completely, which wouldn't be a bad idea. Of course it would obscure the omnipresent Chevrolet logos, God forbid. But seriously, these are the best people they could find for the pregame show before the League Championship Serieses? What. does ESPN already have everyone else in the universe under contract? It's insulting, really. They have absolutely no chemistry at all, maybe less.

Wow, tomorrow's games are at 4 and 7:30 Eastern? Way to keep the early games going, MLB.

When they show the "get ready" promos, I don't know who half the players are. I'm not alone in this, right? I may be a lapsed baseball fan, but even if I weren't, would I know the players on the White Sox and Angels by face alone? I highly doubt it.

I'm doing everything short of sticking my fingers in my ears and chanting "la la la la la la" to ignore the pregame show. Even Shoeless Joe's bat looked embarassed. Although wow, that "Trading Spaces" psycho makes them look downright awesome. Good thing I don't usually watch network television.

(Fill in useless blather here from McCarver, Buck and Piniella.)

A Bruce Willis guest appearance on "That '70s Show"? Jesus. I can only assume that when Demi and Ashton inevitably split up, it'll be Ashton and Bruce, right?

Lackey, the Angels best pitcher, just gave up a leadoff hit. Good times. Nice hair, too. Barry Melrose would be proud. Iguchi with the hara-kiri bunt to move the runner. Ha ha, Lackey sucks tonight. Nothing like three runs in a third of an inning to get things going. I guess there isn't much comparable in other sports to a hanging curve. Maybe a pass that floats in football, but nothing in basketball at least. There's also not much better than being a starting pitcher whose staked to a lead before even taking his jacket off. It ain't good for Fox, though—a 3-0 first-inning lead with some fairly uninteresting (to the casual fan) teams? "I, Robot" en Espanol is sounding better and better.

Did I just hear that a SLEEPING pill has a side effect of DROWSINESS?? NO WAY!!!! That was a joke just to make sure people were paying attention, right?

Piniella: "Clearly a good-looking young pitcher, though." Whoa, Lou, take care of that stuff on your own time. John Garland (I wanted to call him Winston—God, I'm old) is mad tall, though. Nice touch for a big man. AND HE WALKS CHONE FIGGINS!!!!! Sorry, but I just love that name. I can't get over how much Vladimir Guerrero (I absolutely refuse to call him "Vladi") looks like Darius Miles. Sort of.

If Lackey gets tagged any harder, Jessica is leaving him for sure. And with Joe Crede up, it's mullet vs. mullet. Hard to believe that kids aren't as into baseball as they are into basketball or football. It's Pearl Jam pitching to Alice In Chains. Or Creed, I guess.

The Catching Molina Brothers are back in action, of course. Well, Bengie is. What are the chances that a family has THREE children who grow up to be major-league catchers? Are the parents proud? Ashamed? Confused? And hold on, they're all named Benjamin (Bengamin)? That's just silly.

Re, Jose Uribe: Players in other sports need to keep huge clumps of tobacco in their mouths, too. Would Spike Lee have taken that many verbal shots at Reggie Miller if he thought he'd get spanged with a load of chaw every time Reggie ran by? I doubt it. Sunflower seeds would, of course, be a healthy alternative.

I really can't take the Fox sound effects anymore. They're downright unspeakable.

Not sure what's worse, Joe Buck's saying "All about the Benjamins" (and it being sorta funny), or the horrific cover of "We're Not Gonna Take It" in a Wendy's commercial. Hmm. Sorry Joe, Wendy's takes it. They just haven't been the same since Dave Thomas died.

Oh my God! Marlon Brando is alive and sitting behind the White Sox's on-deck circle!

You can't not love Carl Everett.

I know it's the wrong Simpson, but I just thought I'd mention that Lackey looks out of synch tonight. Sorry.

I've learned more about Lou Piniella tonight than I have about anyone on either team and no, ladies and gentlemen, that's not a good thing. P.S. Shattered bats are awesome. Not enough things break in other sports. (Backboards are too infrequent and limbs are too sickening.)

Have these games in particular been boring or is it baseball on TV in general? I can't decide. Maybe they should go to a five-inning, six-out-per format to cut down on the commercials? I also like the idea of alternate telecasts on Cinemax with rampant cursing and plenty of gratuitous nudity.

It's Juan Uribe? My bad. I should be probably making time notifications with these notes, but that's too hard.

You know, it's not helping that the commercials themselves completely suck. I don't think there's been a good one tonight yet. I know it's not the Super Bowl, but come on, people! Sell me something! (Besides "The Simpsons," I'm already sold on that.)

Either Mike Scioscia's hat or his head is too small.

Lackey continues to get hammered. If he's the Angels best pitcher, I hope they enjoy their time in the ALCS, because they're not going to the World Series unless they buy tickets. And, um, Piniella: "What a positive impact these Japanese players have made on Major League baseball." Yeah, Lou. Just like those blacks, right?

Still lots of red in those stands. If the Angels somehow wind up playing the Cardinals, either someone will have to adopt a different color or no one will know who the hell they're rooting for (or which stadium they're in). Also, the Bloods would be psyched.

Incidentally, the little pop-out timer in Lackey popped around the first inning. The Sox seem to be enjoying BP, though, so why take him out now? Hell it's only a five-run lead.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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