Please Make Baseball Better

Last night in the World Series game, there was a close play at first base and the runner was called out. The announcer, professional buffoon Tim McCarver, insisted the umpire got the call right...until a slow-motion replay showed that the first baseman's foot had been off the base, and the runner should have been safe. "Still sure he was out?" asked the other announcer, Joe Buck. "Noooo..." McCarver moaned limply.

I am a massive baseball fan. I love the game about as much as I love anything, and that includes bacon. But in this day and age, to not utilize instant replay to get important calls right is nothing short of absurd. It isn't as if these types of blown calls are a rarity. In the ALCS, a Yankee hitter was hit by a pitch, but the umpire ruled it was a wild pitch, allowing a run to score when the play should have been dead. Towards the end of the season, a Giant hit a ball down the line that hit the chalk and should have gone for a double, but was called foul. I could go on and on. This happens all the time.

These are big calls in big games. Potentially game-changing calls. Series-changing calls. Season-changing calls. Life-changing calls. How about the pitcher who lost a perfect game earlier this year because of an umpire's stupidity? That's life-changing right there. Why should everyone in the world be able to see, through the magic of replay, what the correct call should be, except for the person actually in charge of making the call?

The arguments against replay are, for lack of a better word, dumb. It will slow the game down? Not really. We're not talking about reviewing every ball and strike. Just allow a couple possible reviews for each team on crucial calls, like they do in football. Has anyone complained about the advent of instant replay in the NFL de-proving that sport? Besides, I have news for you: people don't exactly watch baseball because it moves at light speed. It's already pretty slow.

Another argument is that replay will diminish the sentimental, human element charm of the game that makes baseball so unique. To that I say: fuck off. There is nothing nostalgic or charming about getting important calls blatantly wrong. Besides, it's not like other improvements haven't been made over the evolution of the sport. In the 1800's, a player on the bench jumped out of the dugout to catch a popup, so they made a rule that only players on the field, in the game, can catch a ball. Makes sense, right? Later, in 1951, they made a rule outlawing midgets after the St. Louis Browns put one in the lineup, and he walked on four pitches, because he was so small he had virtually no strike zone. Where were the purists hollering about the sanctity of the game when these rules were introduced? (Although I'm not sure I wouldn't like seeing that last one overturned.)

I know it's a lengthy kvetch, and one that has been written about endlessly, especially this past season, as umpires appear to be developing more and more cataracts. But as a baseball expert and enthusiast, I had to say my piece on it. Come on, Bud Selig: give my baseball-mocking friends one less round of ammunition in their arsenals. Give us instant replay.

PS - separate kvetch on how much I hate Tim McCarver coming soon.

Siriusly?

So there I am, in my rental car, listening to my favorite Sirius satellite radio channel, 90's on 9, which features exclusively music from the 1990's (which musicologists* commonly reference as the best decade of music ever) - and in between hearing Van Halen's "Right Now" ('92) and Lou Bega's "Mambo #5" ('99), they play the B-52's "Roam" ('89).

'89??? What the fuck?!?

I'm no historian, but since when the fuck is 1989 a year in the 1990's? I know it's close, but if I wanted to hear a goddamn song from 1989, I would listen to 80's on 8! Which I often do! But in this particular instance, I was listening to 90's on 9!!!

This is like when I order angel hair pasta, and a piece of fusilli gets mixed in there. I didn't order this!

You have a whole decade's worth of music to pick from, Sirius. You have 6000 channels. If I choose to listen exclusively to 90's music, then don't kick me in the balls with a song from 1980-fucking-9!

And while we're at it, why does "Roam" not have the gay guy from the B-52's on it who everyone knows and loves? Why is it just the chicks? Without wings, without wheels indeed. Harumph.

*Me

That's Enough, Brett Favre

You know who cries all the time and says things like "I need you to carry me"? Little spoiled three year-olds, to their mommies, when they don't feel like walking back from the grocery store to the car.

I'm sure your teammates are super excited to "carry you" in the game tonight. Even though you're their unquestioned leader, of course. It's the least they can do for you, after you jerked them around all preseason by pretending you might not be coming back. Again.

After all, it's not your fault you sent inappropriate text messages to a woman who wasn't your wife, and now the NFL is investigating you. How dare they hold you, an American hero and the inventor of football, to the ethical standards of a mere mortal!

Please do us all a favor and just go away already.

And while we're on the subject of spoiled football players: Really, Terrell Owens? You said your $2 million contract is like you're "playing for free this season"? Do you sit around trying to think of the most alienating comments possible? I've always been a big fan of yours, but give me a break. You know how many people get multiple millions of dollars to play a sport they love? Not too many. But I'm sure you'll learn that next season, when there are zero teams who will pay you for your services - or exactly one less than there was this year.

Nerd Herd

My friend James made a comment on my last kvetch, saying he went to a Belle & Sebastian concert where they didn't play an encore. Coincidentally enough, I was invited to go see Belle & Sebastian last night, again at the Hollywood Palladium.

With all due respect to James, this was by far the biggest collection of nerds I have ever seen. I thought I was at Comic-Con. It was like an army of black horn-rimmed glasses. The guys either had massive Jew-fros or their hair was plastered down to the sides of their heads in an awkward Justin Bieber imitation. The girls all looked like Peggy from Mad Men. The guy standing next to me was reading a book while waiting for the band to come on.

That's right. Reading a book. At a rock concert.

At one point during the show, I tried communicating with a nerdette standing next to me. I don't know anything about the band, so I pointed to the singer and asked, "Is that Sebastian?"

She looked at me like I was from another planet. "Uhhhhhhhhh...NO."

"Which one is Sebastian?" I asked.

"There is no Sebastian," she said, seemingly offended.

"There's no Sebastian? What about Belle?"

"No."

"No one in this band is named Belle or Sebastian?"

"No."

"Why are they called that then?" I thought it was a fair question.

"I don't know. That's just their name."

That was clearly the end of what was obviously a very fruitful conversation. Clearly, I wasn't fitting in here. It's not often that I think of myself as a "cool guy," but it was pretty hard not to relative to that bunch.

And oh by the way - they did play an encore, but at least they got it right. They left the stage, waited for the audience to start chanting for them, came back and played one final song, then took a collective bow. Kudos, whatever your names are.

Encore Values

I went to a concert last night - Spoon, at the Hollywood Palladium. The show was good and all that, but then, after a little over an hour, the lead singer said "This is our last song." The band played a song, the singer said "Thank you Los Angeles," and the band left the stage to raucous applause.

Then, predictably, Spoon returned not more than two minutes later and started playing again.

Does anyone else think this charade is a little played out? We all get it: every band plays an encore. But nobody even tries to make you believe the show is over anymore. The art of the encore has deteriorated into nothing more than a very brief intermission, accompanied by this half-hearted lie that "this is our last song." No it isn't. Everyone in the building knows it isn't. Why even say that it is? Just say "We'll be right back."

The purpose of an encore is that you, the band, were so good, the audience simply has to hear one more song. They should be cheering, begging, praying you come back out, the deafening noise of the crowd refusing to let the band leave. Let it build for a few minutes. Don't just walk offstage, then stroll back on immediately, practically uninvited. Hell, if I had gone to take a piss, I wouldn't even have known you were gone.

And one other thing: an encore shouldn't consist of another seven songs. It's a sendoff, not a sequel. The longer you go on and on when I thought you were close to being finished, the more I wish the show would just end already. Kind of like the third LORD OF THE RINGS movie.

Jesus Christ, I should've been a rock star. I'd be so perfect at it.