Thursday, July 29, 2010

Fun with Horticulture!

You’re looking at sampling of nature’s bounty, freshly harvested from Rickey’s garden. A veritable cornucopia of organic goodness. The size of the eggplant and cucumber are fairly staggering. Unnerving even. Has Rickey mentioned that his house is within ten miles of a nuclear power plant? Sure, there’s a risk of “The China Syndrome” going down in Rickey’s backyard, but would you look at that magnificent bastard of an eggplant! Totally worth it.
You’re probably wondering what’s the deal with that black junk on Rickey’s roma tomatoes. We researched it and apparently they’ve contracted a vicious plant eating disease known as BLIGHT (which we’re pretty certain is the same affliction currently plaguing Rickey’s level 52 dark-elf in World of Warcraft). No cure is known for THE BLIGHT, so it looks like the tomatoes this season are a lost cause. Such is the dilemna of the organic gardner--you forsake the wonders of Dow Chemical knowing full well that something like this can happen.

While the woodchuck continues to devour Rickey’s crops unabated, we’ve come to somewhat accept the situation. Rickey’s approach to the matter mellowed out a bit once he learned that introducing a honey badger into the backyard was not a viable possibility. Life goes on, we suppose. The woodchuck takes what he needs to feed his family and leaves the rest for Rickey. It’s the very definition of a community garden.

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Monday, July 26, 2010

Dog Day Afternoon in the Bronx: In Which Rickey Ventures Into the Bowels of Hell

Hey kids, what do you do when your baseball team of favor vehemently shits the bed? You hop a train down to your cross-town rivals’ stadium and root against them like your very sanity depends on it (because in actuality, it does). And that is precisely what Rickey did this past weekend. Like a pilgrim venturing into an unholy land, Rickey made plans with a friend to attend his first Yankees game in their snazzy new stadium.

Hearing that the Kansas City Royals were the opposing team, Rickey quickly procured himself a KC baseball cap and deeply immersed himself in Royals knowledge the night before the game. For a team that we weren’t aware was still officially recognized by MLB up until a few nights ago, the Royals certainly have some interesting things going for them. For example, did you know that Brian Bannister is not only alive and well, but actually occupying a starting pitching role for KC? No really, it’s true! Or that Wilson Betemit’s last name is in fact pronounced “Bay-tah-mee”? Crazy!

But probably the most striking thing about the Royals is how astonishingly bad a baseball team they are. Their heyday seems to have been in the 1980's when they were led by George Brett, a terrifying ogre of a man occupying third base who appears to have achieved Paul Bunyan like status amongst the Kansas City fan base. Things have deteriorated greatly for the Royals since then. In 2007 their team motto was “True. Blue. Tradition.” which inspired them to a 69-93 record. 2008 saw marked improvement as they changed their slogan to “New. Blue. Tradition.” and surged forward to a 75-87 record, marking the first time in five years they Royals didn’t finish last in their division. And then they finished dead last again in 2009. The 2010 season looks to be a turbulent one as KC has replaced their manager with baseball prodigy Ned Yost, whose previous credentials include the roles of obscure backup catcher on assorted 1980’s teams and part time taxidermist in Mississippi. Needless to say, much lamentation is transpiring in the Royals blogosphere.

And it was into this pit of despair that Rickey happily stepped as he headed off to the Bronx!
Yankee Stadium’s exterior fa├žade is predictably grandiose. Walking in, one isn’t sure whether to expect to witness a baseball game or Yogi Berra locked in gladiatorial combat with a tiger.

And look, they even have a flutist to march you in! Apparently he’s there each and every game. Ladies, and gentlemen, the pied piper of the Bronx!
One of the more amusing sights was the fan tribute to recently deceased Yankee public address announcer Bob Sheppard, the so called “Voice of the Yankees” (the Mouth of Sauron, if you will). Here's his memorial!What a delightfully shitty memorial! When Rickey croaks, he totally wants to be commemorated like this: some soiled clothes strewn about, a bunch of dime store candles, and a few half empty bottles of beer. All that's missing from this picture is a forlorn three legged dog wandering around in the background. Shit, we think there may even be a few half eaten chicken wings in there. A true testament to the proud Yankees tradition!

After entering the stadium and enjoying two delicious Philly cheesesteaks grilled to perfection courtesy of Carl’s, Rickey and his buddy found their seats, and took in the view. It is begrudgingly impressive. The national anthem was played, and an image of the U.S. flag appeared on the Yanks’ jumbo screen with, we kid you not, the text “The Star Spangled Banner, as written by Francis Scott Key” above it. Well who the fuck else would’ve written it? Is there some Jethro Tull version of the song that we’re all totally unaware of? Mind numbing redundancy aside, the game finally commenced.

And then the effects of the midday heat sunk in. First off, you need to understand that it was 97 degrees and unbearably humid that day and that Rickey’s seats were in DIRECT sunlight. It might not seem hot in these pictures, but trust us, it was bad.

Enduring the Yankees’ unbearably loud PA system is bad enough, but when you’ve to put up with it in addition to Ra the ever living sun-god shining his magnifying glass of unrelenting vengeance upon you, things get a bit dicey. 75 SPF sun screen might as well have been Crisco. Unscrupulous vendors sold pocket fans for $20 a pop. Sweat poured from parts of people’s bodies in a manner previously deemed impossible by most medical professionals. Ice suddenly became currency. People were slumped against the stadium rotunda walls like the New Orleans Superdome circa August, 2005. And that’s precisely why, sometime during the third inning, Rickey thought it would be a good idea to power through his nagging case of heat exhaustion with a few beers. Smart, right?

Hell, Rickey was in hell. You probably can’t make it out in this image, but Rickey’s arm is like a freaking slip and slide. That grey damp mass to the left--that’s Rickey’s buddy’s shirt soaked in back sweat. Good news ladies: he's single!

The good news was that Rickey was not alone in his Royals pride. On the train ride down to the stadium, Rickey had proudly worn his KC hat and had been asked “are you really a Royals fan?” by more than one onlooker. Why yes friend, Rickey’s been a lifelong Royals fan ever since he discovered they still existed last night! But at the game, Rickey found other Royals fans just like him! People to engage with in highly informed commentary such as “this team sure is scrappy!” and “now that’s ROYALS BASEBALL!” Bottom line, this was a highly enjoyable game for a Yankee hater. The Yanks were undone by poor pitching and the Royals played small ball and capitalized. Here’s the final score Rickey savored while exiting the stadium: For Rickey, there is absolutely nothing more enjoyable than 50,000 disappointed Yanks fans walking dejectedly toward the parking lot. Look at the sad sea of tormented humanity on display in photo, it's like a Hieronymus Bosch painting! Shuffle home fools, YOUR TEARS SUSTAIN RICKEY. We have little else other than that to offer in the way of a recap. We do, however, have a video that Rickey shot of Alex Rodriguez at the plate. When a professional baseball player who commissions a portrait of himself depicted as a centaur is only one homer shy of his 600th career home run, Rickey figures it’s worth recording. And so we did. Behold, stunning video footage of the esteemed Alex Rodriguez NOT hitting his 600th home run!
The dude squawking "sitdownsitdownsitdownsitdown" is Rickey’s buddy. Funny how Yanks fans suddenly transform into Emily Post when they're at a ball game. The guy who jeers “NOT QUITE!” when Rodriguez blandly pops out? We will give you three guesses who that was… Eat a dick, A-ROD. Eat a big bag of dicks.

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Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Introducing the New Thing That We Do Now (and will promptly forget to do ever again): BLOGROULETTE!

A kindred blogger introduced Rickey to the concept of the “next blog” button on the top of the website and recommended he click it. Apparently by doing so, you’re taken to a blog with similar interests as yours. Click a few more times and you’re taken further down the rabbit hole of randomness. It’s good wholesome fun that provides Rickey the opportunity to do what makes the internet such a special place: ridicule others. So we’re totally making a recurring practice out of this. The concept is similar to Chatroulette, but featuring even more self-aggrandizing pathos! The rules to this game are simple, you click on the “next blog” button thrice, see what comes up, and steep yourself in the awful blandness of it all. We kick off our inaugural installment with…
At first, we thought that with a name like this, the blog would written by bank robbers from East Baltimore cataloging their hilarious yet socioeconomically tragic hiijinks, but sadly we were wrong. So very wrong.

It’s a blog about two kids playing baseball (the sports element is what linked Rickey’s site to this one). For bonus internet awkwardness, the blog is written entirely by the DARRINGTON BOYZ’ proud mother and discussing their exploits on and off the baseball field. We’re pretty sure that the milk in Rickey’s coffee curdled while he was perusing this blog. Thank god Rickey’s exploits are a constant source of disappointment and embarrassment for his mother, otherwise he’d probably have to put up with a website very similar to this one…. But enough exposition, here’s what the bright future of America looks like! There are words to describe this photo. Rickey, however, is at a complete loss for them. You can practically see the one on the right just working things out in his head--figuring out the best place to open up a quiet little hotel with some nice stuffed animals on the walls and maybe moving his mom in there to live with him. Oh, and we’re pretty certain that the one on the left is Cthulhu hiding in corporeal form.

The best part is that the mother is completely oblivious to the bottomless pits of terrifying nothingness dwelling in the eyes of her sons. Naturally, in the face of such alarming vapidity, she’s turned to Jesus. For those sorely in need of a deeply motivational quote to put up next to your “hang in there kitty!” poster, you’ll find the following pearls of wisdom on the blog:

Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Leave the rest to God.

Well that’s all very touching and whatnot, but Rickey’s would prefer to file his own tax return next year rather than entrust it to the J-Man if that's copacetic with you, honey. It’s a little unsettling how much overt religiosity you’ll find on these family blogs. Rickey’s buddy similarly lamented that his site always leads directly to a never ending supply of Mormon blogs, (presumably because like most other Jews, he uses the phrase "Jesus Christ" a heckuva lot). But Rickey digresses... There are yet more inspirational quotes from Mater Darrington to guide you through your hectic modern life!

Work as if it was your first day.
Forgive as soon as possible.
Love without boundaries.
Laugh without control and never stop smiling.

First off, if Rickey “worked as if it was his first day” he’d be queued up on a breadline by now. After seven years on the job, you think Rickey’s superiors would respond well to him suddenly asking where the bathroom was and what kind of 401K plan they offered? And “laugh without control”? Isn’t that what the Joker did to the fair citizens of Gotham? People died from that shit, lady. Not cool.

But then Rickey saw a blog post entitled “First Snow and Cougar Hunting” we got much more excited. What sort of lurid mischief could the Darrington Boyz be getting up to, we wondered?

Ah crap, she meant "cougar hunting" literally. Well that’s just not right at all. Apparently that whole “love without boundaries” thing stops short at large mountain cats whose natural habitats encroach upon the Darlington Boyz’ hunting grounds. We guess Rickey missed the section in the new testament in which Woodland Hunter Jesus lectures his apostles (his BOYZ, if you will) on the merits of snuffing out majestic felines for recreational fun. It’s probably hidden somewhere in the back.

You know what, we’d love to see the Darrington Boyz go toe to toe with a more challenging critter. Rickey recommends THE HONEY BADGER, probably the most fearsome land mammal ever to roam the earth. Take a gander at nature’s version of Winnie the Pooh on crack cocaine:

[h/t to “Badass of the Week." for making Rickey aware of this relentless beast. The video is all Rickey's doing--enjoy it before Jay-Z shuts us down]

Honey badger don’t give a fuck. Honey badger will mess your shit up. Honey badger is all teeth, fur, and balls. Ain't no love in the heart of the jungle, baby. Now THAT’S your motivational quote of the day.

Anyhow, we’d go on to post more about this blog , but it’s pretty much an amalgam of religious poems, insipid birthday parties at P.F. Changs, and the Boyz standing over various carcasses of recently slain wildlife. As for their baseball careers, it’s pretty much a lock that you’ll be seeing them on the Colorado Rockies in the not too distant future. Tune in next week to see what fresh hell Rickey stumbles upon in Blogroulette!

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Monday, July 19, 2010

Hyperbole Ahoy! Rickey Reviews "Inception"

"Inception" is at once the best movie you'll see all summer, yet the most flawed as well. The movie boasts a wildly imaginative concept that's executed to near perfection from a storytelling point of view. However, the visual tableau in which the plot moves forward falls flat in a few places. The movie's ideas are intensely cerebral, but it lacks much of the necessary presentation to compliment it. At the very least however, this is a thought provoking and fast moving flick that is definitely guaranteed to kick your brain into overdrive for two and half hours. If "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" can claim the same, we'd be more than a little shocked.

The basic overarching plot is deceptively simple: it's a heist movie. Leonardo DiCaprio and a gang of thieves dive into the mind of a powerful industrialist in order to dissolve his energy company and thereby better the welfare of his competitors and humanity as a whole (hey, why can't we do this with BP?) But the way Leo accomplishes it and the manner in which it is explained and performed cinematically is what catapults this movie on to another level entirely. The movie unfolds on a level that we, as moviegoers, haven't had the pleasure of experiencing until now.

In order to pull off the heist, DiCaprio's character Cobb recruits various specialists and then plunges head first into the dream. The underlying science behind is left intentionally unexplained, which is OK with us--this is more of a fantasy movie than a sci-fi one. Cobb's plan is to plant the suggestion to dissolve his empire in the billionaire's head by plummeting into three consecutively deeper planes of his dream state and using the target's deep rooted father issues as leverage. Things go wrong when the team arrives in the dream to discover that the target has prepared for this mental invasion by "militarizing his subconscious" (best. line. ever.) and then the rest of the flick becomes a frantic scramble spanning around multiple layers of consciousness, some scenes constrained by gravity, some not. "We have to go deep" is a common refrain throughout the film, as Cobb's tenuous grip on reality grows shakier the deeper he travels.

Three nested levels of dreaming, unfold simultaneously at different paces, with characters running around about on each level. Each level's time progresses at a different speed. Absolutely nothing like this has been put on film before. Watching it all intricately unfold, crumble, and finally synchronize up again, we can't help but assume that Nolan played his fair share of three-dimensional chess in his younger days. The heist is absolutely brilliant, it occupies two thirds of the film, and the idea alone is well worth the $10 ticket price for this movie. Words simply can't do justice to the complexity that unfolds before your eyes. The movie is a testament to what cinema can convey.

The big problem is the visual execution. The gritty urban realism that director Chris Nolan perfected in his Batman movies doesn't serve him as well in a surreal movie about dreams. More than anything else, this is a movie about big crazy ideas, and either you're willing to forego normal cinematic conventions in order to get your brain tickled for two and a half hours or you're not. Rickey was cool with it, but some of you might not be. Don't get Rickey wrong, this is a terrific movie--easily the best of the summer, but it could've been even better if it took a bit more of an artistic leap.

At one point, Rickey said to himself, "hey, this is a dream, so why don't they just grow wings and fly around?" Sure, it sounds silly at first, but think about it. We're in the dream world here, so why not venture into the realm of the fantastic? When we dream, can't most of us do a little better than dreary Chicago in the rain? Isn't there more most of us could dream up than characters chasing each other around a dimly lit hotel? To it's credit, the movie pays scattered homage to other great dreamers such as Escher and Kubrick in many shots but when it comes to the third level of the mark's subconscious, a wintry snow scene, Nolan completely dodges the obvious shout out: Hitchcock and Salvador Dali's collaboration on the ski run scene in "Spellbound." Instead, we are bombarded with a James Bond style shoot out featuring fireballs and snowmobiles. Not quite as profound...

The obvious explanation for this restrained (and arguably unimaginative) take on dreams is that asking the audience to delve even deeper into the realm of the imaginary when they're already tracking three concurrent dreamlines is pretty demanding. Warner Brothers didn't spend $200 million to completely alienate their viewership and create more of an art house flick than a summer tent pole movie. We get that. Still, Rickey was ready to make the leap with them on this one and was left wanting when the visuals didn't match the trippy ideas the film traffics in.


But these are minor issues given the overall wonderment and awe this movie provides. And then there's the film's ending, which will probably go down in history as one of the most polarizing to date. "Inception" is very much a movie that asks you to make a decision about what you've just seen. Rickey's leaving this review purposfully light on spoilers, but for people who saw it, we'd love to discuss what you thought of the film's final shot in the comments section.

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Friday, July 16, 2010

Probably the most comedically rewarding thing Rickey's ever done was create a faux email address and toss it up on this blog for random passers by to send him messages. And woo boy, do those messages deliver. They're an electronic smorgasbord of human confusion, angst, and gleeful perversity. Frankly, we're amazed to think that so many people think the actual Rickey Henderson not only had the wherewithal to kick start a blog, but then proceeded to use the word "loquacious" in five separate occasions in 2009.


As you'd suspect, Rickey gets a lot of requests to sign autographs, tell tall tales, and make speaking appearances at local Elks lodges. But far more entertaining are the profoundly unsettling emails. You know, the good and pervy kind. Why thank you kind sir, but Rickey being, a bit of a prude, is entirely unfamiliar with your notion of performing a "rusty trombone" on a "grizzly" and must therefore decline your kind invitation to rendezvous in the parking lot of the local Red Lobster this weekend. A good morrow to you, sir!

And finally, there are the emails threatening severe legal action. We like those the best. They make this whole blogging thing seem dangerous, kind of like zipping up one's fly too quickly! Rickey's living on the edge!

See, a while back, Rickey was scanning Fark.com and noticed a delightful post about a Red Sox scout being accused of indecent exposure. So Rickey crafted a delightful bit of satire about it involving Chris Hansen and some high stakes baseball trivia. Before posting it, Rickey sent it to his brother for his input, whose two word rapid response was "too far." So we knew we totally had to post it. And we did.

Flash forward two years. Rickey gets this mass email sent to him as well as a few other noted media outlets now informing everyone that the alleged sex offender has been cleared of all charges and that they damned well better take down the posts saying otherwise. It's not every day that your email address shows up next to the names of the editors from Pravda and the Boston Herald. So we're making the most of the experience.

Since the humorless prick who sent the email (presumably Jesse Levis, the alleged offender himself) seems hellbent on shutting down anyone who ever used his name and the phrase "sixteen year old girls" together in a single sentence, we're sad to report that this is your last chance to enjoy the blog post before we delete it forever. This Monday morning, Rickey will cast this delightful abomination into the ether. Wiped clean from the face of the earth as if it never existed. Casting aside a piece of writing like this.... It's as if Rickey's losing a piece of himself... Daisy, daisy... give me your answer do....

Ahem, anyway, this weekend, we give this post the proud viking funeral it deserves. Farewell brave little blog post. If you find yourself alone, riding in the green fields with the sun in your face, do not be troubled! For you are in Elysium, and you are already dead! Enjoy, folks. Because hyperlinks befuddle some of you, here's the full-fledged link:

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Wednesday, July 14, 2010

This is where Rickey posts recommendations of noteworthy consumables, practices, and pastimes that have been deemed invaluable for the reader’s betterment. All products and pieces of advice listed herein have been Rickey tested and approved. Again, this is in no way shape or form a complete rip off of McSweeney’s (fa-la-la-la-la, lawyers, Rickey can’t hear you). Enjoy our latest installment of....

RICKEY RECOMMENDS

Bombadil. Come now, a quirky indie band named after a minor Tolkien character? How could we not recommend this? For those pressed for time, two of their better songs are “Matthew” and “Honeymoon,” and pretty much anything off their third album “A Buzz, A Buzz” is pure gold.

Getting your adult ADD under control.
We don’t know about you, but modern technology is wreaking havoc on Rickey’s ability to function as a normal member of society. The smart phone, multiple email accounts, rss feeds, DVR schedule, Netflix queue, and online video gaming have taken a bit of a toll on Rickey's mental state over the years. But most alarming is what technology has done to Rickey’s porn viewing habits. Multiple tabbed browsing is the main culprit here. One window is never enough. No, Rickey needs sixteen Google Chrome windows simultaneously streaming the complete Sasha Grey oeuvre on his iMac like it’s like the goddamn control screen at CENTCOM. Yeah, that can’t be good… WHY HAS TECHNOLOGY RENDERED RICKEY SO UNABLE TO FOCUS IN THIS CRITICAL MATTER?!

“The Passage” by Justin Cronin. Hey, here’s a nifty change: an extremely well written piece of pop fiction about vampires! This first installment in an epic trilogy kicks off with mankind unwittingly unleashing a virus upon the population which turns anyone infected into crazy snarling vampires (although the book goes to great pains not to use the V-word, that’s pretty much what they are). Then, like in all great literature, the vampire apocalypse occurs. That’s the first 100 pages. Think of this book as an amalgam of Cormack McCarthy’s “The Road” and King’s “The Stand” and you’re on the right track. Extremely well written and entertaining, the book is a delight to read. We’re told that movie rights have already been snatched up by Ridley Scott. As you know, vampire stuff is insufferably popular right now, so if you’re dying to be trendy like all the other cool kids, but don’t want to rot your brain by reading Stephenie Meyer, this is definitely the way to go.

Kale Chips. Ever obsessed with maintaining regular bowel movements, Rickey is a big proponent of the dark leafy greens. Enter stage right: KALE. Despite being one of the most nutritious vegetables on the planet, kale also has the dubious distinction of tasting like broiled donkey grundle. Bummer, right? Here’s how to turn the tables back in your favor:

-Wash & dry kale leaves and lay them on a baking sheet
-Lightly brush leaves with oil of your choosing (vegetable or olive)
-Sprinkle sparingly with salt
-Bake kale for 10 minutes on each side at 350 degrees

Fairly easy no? The results are most excellent. Crispy and tasty like a potato chip yet healthy like a high colonic! And with this dish comes the assurance that your next bowel movement will be a wholly enjoyable one. One wipe and Rickey’s finished! Hey, look gang, here’s a picture:“Louie” on FX. Where in the blue blazes did this guy come from? From Rickey's id, that's where. Much like “Seinfeld,” his new show is a mix of standup and scripted comedy, yet delightfully profane. We assure you, this is a sure lock for your best new comedy of the season.

Arming yourself against the gathering Woodchuck menace. Rickey finally spotted him the other day. The little furry bastard that is devouring his garden. Last week he actually took one bite from three of Rickey’s eggplants. Taking a bite out of one wasn’t enough, no, that fuck needed to go from one eggplant to the next, chomping down then walking away, as if to say “nah, this large ripe black vegetable definitely isn’t for me, but I’m going to make goddamn certain that YOU don’t get to enjoy it!” And that’s why Rickey has become militant. There’s a BB gun in his parents’ house that will make short work of this foul beast. A soda can duct taped to the end of the barrel should do a decent job of suppressing the muzzle report and not alarming the neighbors. This is happening. We’ll toss up an image of Rickey standing over the vanquished beast in the coming days.

Not getting too nutty crunchy. While Rickey may proclaim to be eco-friendly with his organic garden and compost pile, there’s a point where everyone must draw the line. For Rickey, that point was when he was offered a book about picking and preserving produce, entitled “Putting Things Away.” They might as well have called it “Canning Your Dignity for the Winter!” Sure, we suppose that Rickey could spend hours sterilizing jars, concocting the proper solution, and pickling his cucumbers only to offer them to his guests a few weeks later and hear them say “hey, this tastes just like a Vlassic…” and revel in the awkward knowledge that Rickey just spent 140 man-hours replicating something readily available for $3.68. We’re sorry, but that’s time better spent on loftier pursuits. Like romancing oneself to a NORAD screen of Jenna Haze!

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George Steinbrenner:
1930 – It’s About Goddamned Time

You can tell a lot about the life a man lived by those who come forward to eulogize him. In the past 12 hours, Rickey has born witness to Bobby Knight, Donald Trump, Rudy Giuliani, Jerry Jones, and other self-proclaimed pillars of STRENGTH and CAPITALISM sing the praise of the late Yankees owner. If possible, Nixon himself would've scurried out from under the woodshack to laud this man for those thoughtful campaign donations. Politics aside, the fact of the matter is that the imprint George Steinbrenner left on baseball has forever changed the game for the worse.

Steinbrenner’s defenders argue that his relentless acquisition of superstar players didn’t violate MLB’s free agency regulations and we should therefore just clamor down, because, hey, he’s allowed to do it. Well guess what? It also doesn’t say that you can’t grab 57 pieces of spicy yellowtail when you’re at the sushi buffet, but that still doesn’t make it an OK thing to do. Where’s the regard for the greater good? Now look what happens: Rickey’s stuck eating those disgusting salmon & cream cheese pieces of sushi because that’s all that’s left. Seriously: who puts cream cheese in sushi? What the fuck? (In this analogy, the salmon cream cheese sushi represents Oliver Perez).

Leveraging free agency for all it’s worth has cheapened baseball and undermined the balance of the game. Those who would proudly defend an unrepentant asshole like Steinbrenner’s right to act like an unrepentant asshole are also themselves… wait for it… Yep! Unrepentant assholes! They’re the same sort of people who cry foul when Con Ed remotely regulates air conditioners in times of peak energy demand because dwindling wattage be damned, Benny in the Bronx needs his basement masturbatorium humming at 57 degrees year round! They’re the people who demand the right to carry guns into places of worship for no ostensible reason other than they kind of liked that shoot out scene in the church in that John Woo movie with doves flying everywhere.

In short, we’re a greedy and belligerent country and for Rickey, George Steinbrenner is the embodiment of a lot of that ugliness. He won’t be missed.

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