Oysta Buns

Filthy Scumbag

2012-02-15T10:59:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Damn you, you filthy scumbag!

The Greatest Hitter of Post-WWII Baseball

2012-02-15T02:28:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine's Day, 1887

2012-02-14T03:19:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Oh, Feb. 14, 1887, Tip O' Neill visits me at home for Valentine's Day, he gives me flowers and then shoves his hand up my ass to caress my prostate.

Hans Lobert's Valentines Day

2012-02-14T01:00:00.000-08:00

Hans Lobert:

Hey, I just got a Valentine's Day card from Hans # 1. He suggests we get a room together and rub our noses together (and not just that!) just like the Eskimos do. Hey, I'm game - as long as we keep Fred Clarke and Cap Anson and their eager anal apertures away!

Tip's Premature

2012-02-13T02:25:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Tip's upset; he's suffering from premature ejaculation. As soon as his penis brushed against my butt cheeks, he ejaculated. I told him to stop being so dejected and ask Cap Anson for advice.

Anson suggested thinking of a flatulent Dave Orr when getting too excited, but for Tip that may have the opposite effect.

Roger Connor's Post-Baseball Income

2012-02-13T01:00:00.000-08:00

Ken Hubbs Survived Plane Crash!

2012-02-12T06:38:00.001-08:00

Ken Hubbs actually survived the plane crash, but was badly disfigured by the accident. An actual color photograph of Hubbs taken in 1970 is shown here.

Wet Dream

2012-02-12T01:32:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Yesterday, I saw Tip change in the clubhouse, and then last night I had a nocturnal emission.

It would be superfluous to tell you what I dreamed about, no?

To Russia, With Love

2012-02-11T01:52:00.000-08:00

Yank:

I fell in love with a Russian girl who was visiting St. Louis. She went back home to Moscow to tell her family, and then she was coming back here to marry me. A new life! Breaking away from the Browns' sexual abuse, a new life of happiness for me, Yank Robinson.

But Tip found out. He came to me with a red phone, and I said, "What the fuck is that?" He told me not to worry, he was going to order a gift for my girl, to be shipped to Moscow, "To Russia, With Love!" I got scared, this was goddamn Tip O'Neill after all. He told me, don't worry, you can watch delivery of the gift here

That bastard! "How can you kill all those people???!!!," I screamed. Tip, who was masturbating while watching the video laughed. "To make you suffer little Yankie, I'll do anything...ANYTHING!"

And then he stripped me of my pants and took me, again and again!

My facial expression was as the picture here. And you - YOU! - you laugh at me.

You filthy low-down scum! You...excrement! How I HATE YOU!

Wrists

2012-02-11T01:15:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Wrists. WRISTS. WRISTS.

Strong, sinewy wrists. Wrists. Rawboned wrists. Wrists. Veiny, muscular wrists. Wrists. Goddamn you, your wrists excite me. Wrists. Wrists. Snapping the bat at the ball, driving the ball to the outfield. Using wrists. Wrists. Strong, supple wrists.

Wrists.

Wrists.

Josh Hamilton Video Highlights

2012-02-10T16:10:00.000-08:00

Opie Caylor:

The sex tape? Why the "woman" was me - wearing my frilly Mother Hubbard! My, my, Josh does swing a big "bat," I'll tell you that for nothing! He knows how to handle that stick, he's good with the lumber!

Oil Can's Analysis

2012-02-10T02:17:00.000-08:00

It's Oil Can Boyd!

According to this article:

1. Boyd used cocaine in 2/3 of the games he pitched in.

2. But, he believes that the real reason his career was cut short was because of "racism," - because he is black. He was treated unfairly - most unfairly! - compared to other players!

3. Two of the three players he mentions as getting advantages over him are themselves black as well.

Oh, I guess that Gooden and Strawberry were not "outspoken," so that's the reason?

Boyd is an idiot, but I blame white sportswriters more than him, since it is their worshipful attention that give the likes of Boyd his sense of entitlement and of unjustified outrage. That includes Mr. 1947 and his sweaty excitement over Heyward as a "Savior" while, in the long run, it may well turn out that Freddie Freeman is the better ballplayer.

And as for "Duk" (in another article) and his implication that the reason Boyd's comments do not garner much interest while we are all enthralled by the travails of Josh Hamilton is because of "race" - nonsense. Hamilton is an active player and a star; Boyd is a retired mediocrity. In their time, the drug problems of Gooden and Strawberry were big news, and when "Doc" returned to the Mets after his first problem, the game he pitched was considered equal to the second coming of Christ.

Wet Pants

2012-02-09T02:28:00.000-08:00

Yank:

I just peed my pants.

Gene Bagley is Precise

2012-02-09T01:17:00.000-08:00

A Nose Triangle

2012-02-08T04:11:00.000-08:00

Perry Werden:

Why didn't Clarke want me after my fine 1897 season with Louisville?

I will tell you!

He caught me and Honus together, with Wagner's magnificent proboscis rammed up my ass!

Clarke was enraged, and screamed at Wagner: "For months I've been trying to get you to shove that wonderful Prussian nose up my ass - and you've consistently refused. And now you do it for Werden!"

Yes, indeed, I was finished with the team after that!

George Brett, Businessman

2012-02-08T01:36:00.000-08:00

George Brett, ethical businessman.

Actually Brett is lucky he made it into the Hall of Fame, what with all of Passan's "savior" types of infinitely more value: Frank White, UL Washington, Amos Otis, etc.

That injustice must be addressed, Mr. 1947! Out with Brett and in with UL!

Perry Hit a Triple

2012-02-08T01:30:00.000-08:00

Perry Werden:

I hit a triple in today's game. No, not a homer, not a single. Not a double. It was a triple. Trip...trip..trip..trip...TRIPLE!

Three fucking bases...three sacks...three bases, three, three, tripod, fucking three!

Wha?

You said it was a double? NO! No, a thousand times no! You fuck! Liar! You shit!

I hit a triple, you lowlife cocksucker. I hit it. I sure did. I sure did hit that triple.

A triple.

Triple.

I hit a triple.

Mr. 1947 Admits the Hype

2012-02-07T01:59:00.001-08:00

Validating the Oysta Buns Blog.

Savior

The hype train roared its mighty engine for Jason Heyward, and yours truly can’t deny shoveling a lump of coal or two into the fire. He was big, strong, advanced, smart, humble. His teammates spoke about him in lines that sounded like they should be verse. His first manager, Bobby Cox, never one to lavish praise on a rookie, did just that. So his spectacular failure last season – .227/.319/.389 in 396 at-bats over 128 games – sets him up for vengeance this season. Healthy (finally), minus 20 pounds (of muscle, but still), Heyward is again the 6-foot-5, 235-pound leviathan whose debut felt like a new era in baseball.

Uh-huh. Of course - of course! - Freddie Freeman is not (can't be!) a "savior" - and Freeman's debut didn't feel "like a new era in baseball."

I've written about all this before.

More specifically, many of these sportswriters worship the black athlete.

Good luck Trammell and Murphy on your Hall of Fame chances. Gotta wait in line before various "saviors" who infinitely deserve it better - Mel Hall, Oscar Gamble, etc.

Eh, Passan? Of course managers like Cox suffer from the same disease as the sportswriters.

Jimmie Foxx Goes Wild

2012-02-07T01:59:00.000-08:00

Foxx (purple) becoming agitated, mid-1930s, after the bar's alcohol ran out.

Cecil Fielder, American Dad

2012-02-07T01:21:00.000-08:00

Will Cecil get a Father's Day card from Prince this June?

Brian Cashman, Family Man

2012-02-07T01:19:00.000-08:00

Fidelity and family fun, the Cashman way.

The Null Set

2012-02-07T01:00:00.000-08:00

Yank Robinson expresses his opinion about your net worth as a human being:

Dear Pitiful Loser,

You're nothing. Absolutely nothing. You're a zero. The null set. Nil. Nada.Zip.

Nothing...absolutely nothing.

You are absolute zero. Why do I even bother talking to you? Your existence is meaningless, you are not even worth one photon of light flitting around in the more remote corner of the multiverse. You are empty, bereft of even the slightest value to your existence.

I hate you, you worthless scum!

Now, thank you and have a wonderful day!

Tiny Tim's Contract

2012-02-06T01:14:00.000-08:00

Lincecum (pictured here) wants to stay a Giant. That's great. The bigger question is, noted by a sportswriter back in 2010, will Tim "let in" Posey? Will he let Buster "in" far and deep? Will Buster be able to "bust in" Tim's, let us say, rear-guard defenses? Inquiring minds want to know!

Whee-Ow!

2012-02-05T11:31:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Whee-OW!

Yank: Fiddlesticks!

2012-02-05T02:38:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Fiddlesticks!

Urp!

A Dignified Articulate Yank

2012-02-05T02:00:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Answer my question, OK? My life depends on it. Depends on it, my life does. Does my life depend on it? Yes it does. OK, I will now ask you my question. Here's my question. Now answer it! Why don't you answer it, you goddamn bastard?

You cocksucking son-of-a-bitch bastard! You motherfucker! Shit! Scum! Excrement! Trash! You filthy piece of dog shit! You garbage! Cocksucking motherfucking bastard motherfucker bitch fuck shitbag human abortion fuckhead dick dickweed penile fuckface penis! You cunt dick! Cowardly dog! Poltroon! I piss in your face, coward! What are you going to do about it? That's right - nothing. You are going to do nothung. Punk ass coward motherfucker!
Now answer my goddman question! Here, I'll ask it again. Now, answer it! Why won't you answer it? Please dear lord in heaven sweet Jesus oh my dear lord in heaven oh my god oh my dear god please please please please oh my dear god, answer me!

ANSWER MY FUCKING QUESTION YOU COCKSUCKING BASTARD!

Stop ignoring me.

Please...please....PLEASE...

Calling Josh Hamilton!

2012-02-04T01:30:00.000-08:00

The items pictured here speak:

Josh, Josh Hamilton...look at us! Josh, we are calling you, calling, a seductive siren song...you want us Josh, we know you do!

Give in, Josh, embrace your desires, embrace us, embrace the pleasure, the warmth, the security that only we can give you.

Your family, your team, your "accountability coaches," your religious beliefs, judgmental sportswriters - they are all holding you back!

Indulge, Josh, indulge! Look at us, smell us, touch us...use us. We are here for you...always! When others fail you, we are here for you. Always and always. Forever and ever. Forever...

We'll be waiting.

Yank's Insight

2012-02-03T10:27:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Fuck-eh-deh shit!

Yahoo!

2012-02-03T04:52:00.000-08:00

Sam Crawford:

I hit a triple.

Yahoo!

Josh Hamilton's Iron Willpower

2012-02-03T02:03:00.000-08:00

The great and good Josh Hamilton!

The worst part about Josh Hamilton’s relapse is that he didn’t care. The most famous addict in sports does not go to a bar in the town where he is best known without full knowledge that his exploits will become public in a matter of hours. That it took three full days for Hamilton’s latest relapse to go viral – and that incriminating pictures have yet to surface – is something of a miracle.
What we know at the moment, from the Dallas Morning News report and confirmation by the Texas Rangers, is that Hamilton drank Monday. The particulars – was he drunk, why did he drink and was he really letting women at the bar grab his butt? – don’t matter as much as the act. With addicts they never do. Sobriety is black and white. Black won Monday.
More From Jeff Passan
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Josh Hamilton, 30, was banned from baseball in '03 for drug and alcohol use.
(Getty Images)
That it prevailed in such open fashion is what should scare Hamilton’s family as well as the Rangers. Only Hamilton understands why he would choose such a setting to drink, whether it was the empowerment of doing what he wants, where he wants, when he wants, or if it was his way of asking for help as he floats about without an accountability partner. After his spectacular fall off the wagon in January 2009 that included pictures of him licking whipped cream off a woman’s fake breasts, Hamilton knew the second alcohol touched his lips he was vulnerable not only to its seductive ways but to the gossipy culture that is making secrets an anachronism.
Hamilton does care, of course, even if for the tiniest sliver of time it eluded him. He has said so to me and to his friends and to millions of people who see him for what addicts can achieve, and there’s no reason not to believe him. A temporary slip in that does not represent weakness. It is a symptom of addiction’s vagaries. And those moments are the toughest for every addict to confront. Some reach that nadir and stop. Others fight and claw and battle and cave. Hamilton has seen some lows. Falling asleep in a ditch whacked out on crack. Being immortalized in a Deadspin photo montage. The devil in him is strong.
And because he can’t beat it – because even though he’s got the greatest job in the world and a newborn daughter and so very much, it’s just not that easy – the severity of the consequences are hastening.
That long-term contract Hamilton wanted from the Rangers? Gone. It has to be. Already the Rangers had shown little inclination to lock up long-term a player who two years ago won the American League MVP award despite missing the final month. Texas, like most other clubs, fears Hamilton’s body, brittle from his years of drug abuse, won’t hold up. Whatever leverage Hamilton held is kaput, and only the madness of free agency will land him a payday.
All it takes is one screw-up, one moment different than the millions of good ones, and an addict self-inflicts another scar. Like Hamilton said when acknowledging his wild night out three years ago, “Some people it just don’t mix with, and I’m one of those people.”
Hamilton’s forthrightness about his struggles – his honesty about the night three years ago, about the depths of his addiction – means he almost certainly will talk publicly about this. And as he is so good at doing, Hamilton will placate the sadness that permeates his fan base today through words of encouragement and strength and hosannas to how through God’s help and his family’s love he’ll persevere and win this lifelong battle.
That’s all addicts can offer. There will be those who call them hypocritical or weak-minded or full of excuses. Such ignorance never ceases. Sobriety for those who struggle the most is merely a moment between relapses – hopefully a moment longer than the last, one that eventually lasts forever.
Hamilton has lasted three years, and once again in the middle of an offseason he failed. Like last time, too, it was in full view for everyone to witness. Only now the stakes are higher, the money bigger, the team better – and the sober clock back at zero.
Whether Hamilton needs rehab or someone to babysit him or nothing at all is up to him, though that decision comes with consequences. For addicts, every decision does because every decision ultimately leads back to the most vital thing in their life: sobriety. It is their sine qua non. A sober Josh Hamilton is a role model, a paragon of perseverance, a pillar for addicts trapped in dark tunnels.
Sober, he is great.
On Monday, when he wasn’t, he was just another guy who didn’t care

Rapid Robert Has a Rapid Comment to Make

2012-02-03T01:48:00.000-08:00

Feller:

I'm still dead.

News at 11.

Tungsten!

2012-02-03T01:00:00.000-08:00

Yank:

That's tungsten! That's right, you lousy fuck! Tungsten. Wolfram! WOLF-RAM! I ram a wolf up your ass! Wolfram. Tungsten. Atomic number 74. Seventy-four. 74. 74. 74. 74. 74. 74. 74. 74. 74. 74. 74. 74. 74. 74. 74.

It's fucking tungsten! TUNGSTEN! A metal! It's tungsten! Tungsten carbide. I shoved a tungsten carbide drill bit up your fucking motherfucking ass!

Tungsten. TUNGSTEN! Wolfram. Hey, dick, it's tungsten. Dear lord, please oh my dear lord in heaven listen to me. It's fucking tungsten!

Tungsten.

Groundhog Day: Dude's Perception of a Conversation With Crooks, 2/2/1899

2012-02-02T02:17:00.000-08:00

Yank Loves Phil

2012-02-02T01:00:00.001-08:00

Yank:

See the groundhog here?

Do you see it?

Oh, I'm in love. I took Phil (yes, I'm into homosexual bestiality) to dinner, buying him such wonderfully crunchy apples, as I sat there, staring dreamily into that masculine face, that Roman nose, that firm jaw, those intense eyes...Oh, Phil!

Then Phil tossed me to the ground, stripped me, and viciously sodomized me, as I screamed, "Yes!, Yes!" - followed by our simultaneous ejaculation.

Happy Groundhog Day!

Groundhog Day, 2012

2012-02-02T01:00:00.000-08:00

Dude:

Will I have my own burrow in the mental hospital? No? I'd better scurry off this train now! Let me wait until it's passing through a tunnel. Can I use the restroom now please?

Billy Hamilton, Cuckold

2012-01-31T02:00:00.000-08:00

Rebecca Hamilton, wife of Billy Hamilton (pictured) speaks:

Oh, Billy! Time to remove your male chastity device! How long has it been since you've last been released? How many months has it been? Billy boy, is today the day you get some relief? Hmm...I now stimulate you with my hand, stronger now, faster, oh Billy your moaning is so amusing! Closer now, closer, right up to the brink...but, no. No ejaculation for you today. I bring you right to the brink, stop, and put you back into your chastity device! How I laugh at you! Now you just sit there like a nice little sissy boy and Lave Cross will come over and you can watch me and Lave have wild sex, with Lavey boy cuming over and over and over again...while you sit there, unfulfilled, locked away, pathetic little Billy boy! Runt! And, Billy, are "your" daughters really yours? Who's Daddy? Ha ha! Why do I do this? You're listed as being 5'6" and Lave is 5'8" - and those two inches make all the difference! Indeed, Billy boy, that's not the only two inch difference between the two of you, I'll tell you that for nothing!

You tragic LITTLE man!

Urpee

2012-01-31T01:44:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Urpee!

Intimidation: Pure and Simple!

2012-01-31T01:30:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Do you see that mouse? DO YOU SEE IT? That goddamn mouse is looking at me. It is staring at me. It is...challenging me. It is trying to intimidate me.

Intimidation: Pure and Simple!

I'm scared. Oh my dear lord in heaven, sweet Jesus, oh my god, please someone help me - for the love of god, goddamn you man, protect me! Please, please, please....PLEASE...save me from that fucking rodent! That murine! Dear god, oh my god please, oh my dear lord, HELP ME! Why don't you help me, you lousy fuck? You selfish fucking bastard! You cocksucking motherfucker! You motherfucking cocksucker! Look at it! Look at those beady little eyes, that strutting murine confidence, my god, look at it! I'm shitting in my pants, I wet my pants, I'm so scared, protect me, you coward! Do you understand me?

Am I understood?

You, you, you...coward! I slap you across the face with this white glove, twice, thus: [smack!] [smack!]...I call you out you pusillanimous coward! And what are you going to do about it? Nothing. That's right, you're going to do nothing, you punkass coward!

Mouse! You - Sir! - you, murine, I accept your challenge. I will battle thee! Thou horrendous rodent! We shall meet on the field of honor, you and I, and we shall settle this, man to mouse! Beware the wrath of a Yank inflamed!

Abner's Strategic Turd

2012-01-31T01:14:00.000-08:00

Abner:

So, there was a cute little infant in its carriage. In a hotel room, with the mother strapped securely to a chair. No one around, a room in an isolated brick house - a brick shithouse, eh?

I squatted over the infant, with my ass over its head, and I took a quite magnificent turd right in the infant's face, with my strategically placed long fat feces lying securely over the infant's nose and mouth.

Oh, that little bastard couldn't breath, with that turd stuck there, and its feeble little arms didn't have the strength to move that massive dump.

So, slowly - oh so very slowly - my crap suffocated that infant to death, that little trash dying in its agony and terror, as the mother watched, screaming insanely, slipping, slipping, slipping irrevocably into the sweet release of madness.

Oh, I'm so glad I ate a lot of fiber yesterday. It paid off, but good!

Yank Is Somewhat Surprised

2012-01-31T01:02:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Da Fuk?

Wha?

WHA?

Definition: Penile

2012-01-30T15:47:00.000-08:00

Yank Robinson: Penile

Definition: Dickweed

2012-01-30T15:46:00.000-08:00

Harry Stovey: Dickweed

Definition: Dick

2012-01-30T15:44:00.000-08:00

Cap Anson: Dick

The Handlebar Club

2012-01-30T04:13:00.000-08:00

New member at left.

Hey, Damn You....

2012-01-30T02:36:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Ya dumb cocksucker! Damn you!

Hey, damn you!

Yank Needs Pepto-Bismo

2012-01-29T04:52:00.000-08:00

Yank:

I need some Pepto-Bismo; I have diarrhea.

The Fate of Violet Hamilton

2012-01-29T01:00:00.000-08:00

In the Kerr biography of Billy Hamilton is a note that Billy and his wife Rebecca suffered the tragedy of the death of their daughter Violet Hamilton, who, we are told, was either stillborn or died in childbirth. Nice story, but that ain't the truth. Yes, there was a Violet Hamilton, daughter of Billy and Rebecca, but she lived to early adolescence. How she died is now revealed by the Oysta Buns blog.

The fateful day unfolds as follows.

Rebecca:

Hey Billy, get the fuck out of the bathroom, you know I like to sit on the crapper, do some sewing, and try to push out some enormous turds.

Billy:

Give me five minutes, bitch, I'm almost done.

Violet [voice also coming from bathroom]:

Hi mommy!

Rebecca:

Da fuk? What are the two of you doing in there?

Violet:

Daddy is....instructing me.

Rebecca:

Wha?

Billy [ harsh whisper to his daughter]:

Shut up, you dumb cunt!

[sweetly to wife]:

I'm just helping her with her homework.

Rebecca [face sneering]:

Sure, Billy, sure, I'll come back in five minutes.

[In reality, Rebecca runs to get a pin that can pop the lock of the bathroom door. She opens the door, and finds Billy and their daughter in the bathtub having sexual intercourse. Billy grunts, thrusts into his daughter, screams, "yes, yes" and ejaculates. Rebecca's red face contorts in rage at this incestuous scene, and she runs to the kitchen screaming]:

You fucking bastard! You fucking sonofabitch! I'll kill you! I'LL KILL YOU!

[Rebecca runs toward Billy with a rolling pin raised above her head]

Violet:

Mommy, no! Don't hurt daddy! I just...love him!

Rebecca:

You fucking whore! You little slut! You're next!

[Rebecca swings the rolling pin at Billy's head. He ducks and instead the pin crashes into Violet's head, crushing her skull, and killing her instantly.]

Rebecca:

Ahh! My baby, I killed my baby! You fuck...it's your fault!

Billy:

Calm down. I have to protect my reputation, and you don't want to go to jail. We'll tell everyone it was an accident. She fell.

Rebecca:

Who the fuck would believe that shit?

Billy:

No one has to believe nuthin'. I got the goods on the Chief of Police here, photos of him wearing a dress and being whipped by the teen-age daughter of his neighbor. He'll do as I say. No worries.

And shit, at least I got my rocks off before you crushed the little bitch like a bug.
Gotta keep the 'ol prostate cleaned out, ya know!

Carson Bigbee's Jowly Morning

2012-01-28T01:00:00.000-08:00

Dave Brain Speaks

2012-01-27T09:42:00.000-08:00

Brain:

I'm smart. Real smart. I have a enormous braincase.

I'm Dave Brain, motherfucker, the smartest man there is!

Its....Dave Brain

2012-01-27T02:22:00.000-08:00

Brain:

Oh....I'm so smart, so very, very smart, I'm smarter than you, I'm Brain, Brain...

Dave Brain.

Fwip!

2012-01-25T03:53:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Fwip!

Thank you. Oh! Thank you so very, very much.

FWIP!

Farmer Weaver Expresses a Preference

2012-01-25T01:00:00.000-08:00

In 1889, Billy Hamilton (pictured) played in the AA, and stole over 100 bases. In one game, he was almost killed when he was hit in the head by a throw by catcher Farmer Weaver.

Weaver speaks:

Yeah, yeah, of course it was intentional! That bastard Hamilton, with his head-first sliding - it was bush! Bush! Bush, I tell ya! So I taught him a lesson, almost killed the dumbfuck! But the boys said I should visit Hamilton at home, when he was with his wife, Rebecca, recovering, to show "remorse." They said once I saw how Billy was mistreated by his wife, I'd stop hating him, feel sorry for him.

So, I went. What I found was Billy in bed, and Rebecca, wearing a low cut bodice, with her tits popping out, "ministering" to him. She had dressed Billy in a frilly pink nightie, with a pink blanket. His feet were sticking out, so I saw his toenails were painted a bright pink, as were his fingernails. He had makeup on his face. Rebecca mocked him, asked, "How is my little girl today?," and, "Let me play with your little clitoris," as she fondled his penis (he was wearing pink panties as well), but she did not allow him to ejaculate. Rebecca exclaimed, "Oh, sweet little Billy girl, you are having your period!," as she shoved a tampon up his ass.

Billy looked up at me, and weakly moaned, "Help me, please help me."

Shit - feel sorry for him? No! I hate him all the more! I'm jealous! That's my preference!

Wish that was me!

What The Huh Eh?

2012-01-24T02:26:00.000-08:00

Yank:

What the huh eh?

Wha?

Beckley Expresses Shock and Surprise at Lyons' Action

2012-01-24T02:18:00.000-08:00

Photo of Jake, left, showing shock and surprise after Denny Lyons shoves his fist up Beckley's ass.

Rebecca Notes a Phenomenon

2012-01-24T01:00:00.000-08:00

Rebecca Hamilton, wife of Billy Hamilton (pictured) notes a phenomenon:

So, I was whipping puny Billy's bare back with a riding crop, and was flaying bloody strips of flesh off of him, as his agonized screams rent the atmosphere, and I laughed, mockingly laughed long and hard.

And then...I noticed Billy had an erection, and at the height of his whipping, in is agony, spontaneously ejaculated even though his penis was never touched.

I think he enjoyed it all. Don't you?

Water On The Knee

2012-01-23T10:29:00.000-08:00

Yank:

I'll kick your ass!

I'll stick my foot so far up your ass that the water on my knee will quench your thirst!

Jacques Speaks!!!

2012-01-23T02:34:00.000-08:00

Fournier:

I just defecated.

Thank You!

Filled to Bursting

2012-01-23T02:00:00.000-08:00

Opie Caylor, bustling about wearing his Mother Hubbard, speaks:

Oh, I found out about bladder irrigation - a catheter is stuck up through the urethra, and liquid is pumped in, filling the badder. Another item for my "tool kit!" Now, it's time to deal with little Frankie poo! Oh, Frank Brunell, so I'm "sour and getting to be a snarler?" No worries, Frank. I'm not offended. Let me treat you.

First, I force feed little Frankie with lots of water and fiber. And lots of mushy food. Then I give him time release capsules containing a powerful laxative, a powerful diuretic, and a powerful vomit inducer. In 30 minutes, they'll all kick in! In this 30 minutes, I get Frankie...prepared. First, a massive enema to fill him to bursting, capped off with a large butt plug that will prevent him from releasing the enema. And don't forget the fiber and laxative at work there! Then, a ball gag in the mouth - remember the vomit inducer and the mushy food? Nothing coming out of that foul mouth, Frankie poo! Finally, a bladder irrigation - and don't forget the water and diuretic - to fill his bladder past bursting, then leave the catheter in, with the end plugged to prevent any urination. Half hour is up! Now, Frankie poo, how are you doing?

Oh, Frank! Your face looks like it is in agony! But, no...it must only that you are...smiling, right? That's a smile Frank, not a grimace of absolute agonized suffering, right? And now his body looks like it is going into convulsions! But, no...he's only doing situps, right? Oh, Frank, don't over exert yourself! We know how fragile, how delicate you are! But I don't want to interfere, so I'll go out for several hours and leave you to your fun. Don't worry, I'll be back.

[Several hours later] Oh, Frank! I'm back! What's that? Frank is on the floor, out cold, barely breathing. Oh, Frank, I did tell you not to exert yourself! Oh, Frank! Your exertions have forcefully ejected the ball gag, the butt plug, and the catheter! Oh, Frankie poo! Oh, Frank! You are lying in a stinking, fetid pool of vomit, feces, urine, vomit, blood, tissue fragments, and pus. Oh, Frank! You have a prolapsed rectum, bleeding and oozing rancid pus. Oh, Frank! You will need emergency surgery and the doctor says that even with that, your health is permanently damaged, your health is shattered! Oh, Frank! Why did delicate little Frankie poo exert himself so much? Don't worry, when you come home, Opie will be here to nurse you!

I'll take care of you but good!

Billy Indulges Himself

2012-01-23T01:31:00.000-08:00

Billy:

Hello there!

How are you doing there?

I'm doing well myself there!

I snatched an infant from its mother's arms and roasted it alive and ate it there!

I forced the mother to partake of the feast there!

She then went mad there!

As she sat there gibbering incoherently and drooling, I sexually ravaged her there!

Her husband and five year old son then came home so I blew the husband's head off with a shotgun and then sodomized the son before strangling him there!

I feel no guilt about any of this there!

In fact I feel strangely calm, relaxed and elated there!

Oh, wait - I just took a crap on the head of the glassy-eyed insane mother there!

Let me think if I can arrange some sort of sexual tryst between the woman and her son's corpse there!

All good clean fun there!

A Horrid Action

2012-01-22T06:45:00.000-08:00

Jake:

I was bored. I don't like being bored. Me no like bored. OK? OK? You fuck, is it OK? OK is it? OK! Now. Hey now brown cow. Cow's brown. Fuck the cow. Suck the cow's nipple udder, drunk that sweet milk and jack off. OK, now. Now. Do you understand me?

Am I understood? A horrid action to pass the time.

My neighbors - a young family, just had an infant. OK. I went over at night, sucker-punched the husband, sodomized him, and tied him up. He was forced to watch me strip his wife, suck her tits, really suckle on those swollen mammary glands, thirstily drinking that sweet, sweet mother's milk. Then I slapped the cunt bloody.

Then - THEN! - I took the infant, smothered its head in Vaseline, and rammed the infant's head up the mother's ass, as that dumb cunt swung, suspended by her arms from the ceiling, screaming in anguish, agony, horror, fear, and terror. Oh, yes, I screamed, "Your infant is going to suffocate to death in your putrid rectum, choking on your stinking shit, on your smelly ass gas!"

Oh, that head was rammed so forcefully up her ass, and the little body convulsed as it slowly died, died in a rectal hell, died with its head shoved up its mother's ass, as the mother gibbered softly in her incipient madness and the father screamed his hate until his voice grew hoarse and then I decapitated him with a kitchen knife and thrust the open-eyed and open-mouthed head into his wife's face, her eyes now glazed and drool dripping from her mouth, and I giggled, "You have a tail, the body of your dead infant is your tail." Hee hee. Ha Ha ha.

Talking About Mickey Vernon?

2012-01-21T03:33:00.000-08:00

1886 White Stockings Celebrate Winning the Pennant

2012-01-21T02:31:00.000-08:00

An Emission Admission

2012-01-20T01:30:00.000-08:00

Yank:

I ejaculated. I did ejaculate. Did I ejaculate? Yes I did. Ejaculate I did. I ejaculated. Ejac...ejac..ejac..ejac..ejaculation. I did ejaculate. Yes, I did. I masturbated after seeing Tip O'Neill come out of the shower. So I ejaculated. I ejaculated. I did ejaculated. Did I ejaculate? Yes, indeed.

I ejaculated.

Teh or Deh?

2012-01-18T02:00:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Fuck-eh-deh shit! Err...fuck-eh-deh?

Or fuck-eh-teh?

Fuck-eh-teh shit! Deh or teh?

Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh.Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh.v Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh. Fuck-eh-deh. Fuck-eh-teh.

Fuck!

Jake and the Nerve Gas

2012-01-18T01:00:00.000-08:00

Jake:

Ah, yes. Better living through chemistry! I got me hold of some there nerve gas - soman to be exact. I burst into a house. I applied a small bit to a boy, and as the child slowly spasmed to death in front of his mother and siblings - I forced the mother, on threat of killing her other children, to sodomize her dying son with a strap-on-dildo. The pegging was a little difficult with the boy twitching violently and in the midst of his death throes and all, but the knife I held at the throat of another child concentrated the mother's mind wonderfully! She thrust away as instructed, ensuring that the boy's last moments of life were a living hell for both mother and child. Oh, how I laughed! I came in my pants too, but that's another story.

A Cheerful Retired Joe Gordon

2012-01-17T01:36:00.001-08:00

Fleet Unburdens Himself of the Painful Past

2012-01-16T01:00:00.000-08:00

Walker:

In honor of today, I have to tell you all the painful story of the day when Cap Anson - nay!, Crap Anson! - screamed, "Get that nigger off the field," and refused to play against me, setting the stage for decades of baseball segregation and Negro exclusion. Damn him! The story - the real story - is much worse than that apocryphal tale. Listen! Listen up! Listen well and good.

So, in 1884, we were getting ready to play the Chicagos. Anson walks up to me and starts shaking my hand. A blatant act of racial intimidation! He then unleashes the following racist, bigoted tirade:

"Mr. Walker, I am so very pleased to meet you! I have heard you are a fine ballplayer and a fine man, and it would be an honor for me to get on the field with you, to participate in an honorable display of honest manly athletic competition. Best of luck to you, sir, in today's game."

Goddamn! No way I would leave that spewing of vile hate, that bigotry, that irrational mindless prejudice, unanswered! So I pulled my hand away and said to Anson:

"Take your filthy white paws off of me, you unspeakably loathsome, vile spawn of Yakub! You stinking, motherfucking, cocksucking redneck cracka! Hey, white boy, I fucked your ugly ho of a mother up the ass last night, and she screamed, 'Once you go black, you never go back!' But I spurned her then, you limey scum, since I know that whitebread honky cunt screws you, her white devil cracka honky son, every goddamn night! Fuck you, CRAP Anson!"

And wouldn't you know it? He refused to play against me! He told the umpire that, "Mr. Walker was rude to me and my mother and I cannot play until he apologizes."

That fuck! Blaming the victim - me! We must never let the stain of racism ruin the game of baseball ever again.

Thank you and have a happy Martin Luther King Jr. day.

Happy Jack Crooks!

2012-01-16T00:51:00.000-08:00

Jack:

So my next door neighbors...they had several children and the wife was pregnant again. Oh, how I helped care for her. I wanted that infant born fat and healthy...for my own reasons of course. Patiently - oh, so very patiently! - for nine long months I befriended the family and did all I could to help out.

Then the little bastard was born.

I went over several days later. Quickly, with them expecting nothing, I overpowered husband and wife. I then made my "deal." I told them I would slowly torture all their children to death, unless they did a little thing for me. Which was: I wanted them to eat their living infant. Oh, they agonized, but faced with the choice, they gave in.

Imagine it! Mother and father at the dining room table, a place where previously many a happy feast took place, now - NOW! - a scene from hell. Here - HERE! - we see the infant on a platter, at first, cooing happily and smiling at its parents. Then, the mother and father stab the infant's fat arms and legs with forks, gouging out hunks of bloody flesh, which they eat as the infant screams in its agony and terror. I admonish them - small pieces, small - don't be greedy! If the infant dies too soon, then I kill all their children. It must be slow...slow, I must relish every second of the screaming infant's incredible physical pain, and also relish the incredible emotional pain and suffering of the parents. I instruct them - threatening again their other children - so now dear Daddy scoops out his baby's eyeball with a spoon and swallows it. Now Mommy rips a piece of fatty abdomen, now rips the scalp off the infant's skull - chewy, isn't it?And on and on...finally the infant expires...but I force them to eat it all. EAT IT ALL!

And when it's done....why I slowly torture their other children to death anyway, and then strangle the parents, finishing off by masturbating over the bodies.

Thank you.

Tim Brown's Man Crush

2012-01-15T01:39:00.000-08:00

Read it and laugh.

Yeah, Tim. No doubt, Jim Rice and Kirby Puckett also have that charisma and class, and, equally, no doubt Mattingly, Dale Murphy, and Alan Trammell lack it.

Some background on why Barry Larkin got my Hall of Fame vote...

...Larkin was royalty. He bled elegance, sweated dignity. Older players deferred to him. Young players followed him around. He held himself different, played the game different, and expected the same around him.

There’s an old saying among ball writers that goes something like, “I can’t define a Hall of Fame player, but I know one when I see one.”

It’s no way to cast a Hall of Fame ballot, of course...

...You know how the Dodgers’ Matt Kemp held together a thready franchise and a desperate city last summer and should have been MVP for it?

Laughably obvious these sportswriters are.

Gizmo - A Dynamo!

2012-01-15T01:30:00.000-08:00

Yank:

See my gizmo? It's a dynamo? My gizmo is a dynamo! A dynamo! Crackling with power! Dynamo! You fuck! You want to steal my gizmo? Gizmo! GIZMO! I have a dynamo. My dynamo is a gizmo. My gizmo is a dynamo. Gizmo. Gizzzzzzmoooooo. It's a dynamo. OK? A dynamo.

My gizmo is a dynamo.

Heh Heh Heh

2012-01-14T02:34:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Heh Heh Heh

You asshole!

I'm Yank, and I just Yanked O'Neill's dick!

Wish it was yours, right?

Billy's There, Jan. 1894

2012-01-13T01:22:00.000-08:00

Billy:

Hello there!

I just sexually ravaged and murdered a newborn infant there!

I picked up a Bowie knife and shoved it through my wife Rebecca's face there!

The knife penetrated her braincase there!

She went into spasms, rolled her eyes, and died in agony there!

I then took a crap on her dead body there!

Hey, her mother just came home and saw all of this there!

She screamed, so I kicked her in the head until she became quiet there!

I think now she's dead too there!

I cut off her head and used in for fellatio there!

That's right, I stuck my dick into the mouth of my mother-in-law's decapitated head there!

Oh, I ejaculated there!

My father-in-law walked in as I ejaculated there!

I punched him, knocked him to the floor, pulled off his pants and sodomized him there!

I then strangled him to death there!

This has been a day of some energy expenditure, so I'm going to bed now there!

Goodnight, there!

Thank you, there!

Busted Bladder?

2012-01-12T15:37:00.000-08:00

Jim:

Let me swing this here bat with stiff arms, snapping the body at the waist. Here goes!

[SNAP!]

I think I snapped my belt. Let me run out this homer.

Wait...oh my god...THE PAIN!

DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN I'M IN AGONY, THE PAIN, I THINK I RUPTURED MY BLADDER OR SOMETHING, I'M DYING, DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN, SWEET JESUS HELP ME!!!!!!

Dave Orr in Russia

2012-01-12T09:39:00.000-08:00

Orr:

I visited Russia, and they said my farts stink. So, the put me in a little room in a tower. But, shit, when they brought my food up to me, someone was smoking a cigarette, and that burning, mixed with a huge cabbage fart, caused this.

Qwerty

2012-01-12T01:30:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Qwerty. Qwerty. Qwerty. I'm a typewriter. Tip keeps on touching my keys. Hitting my keys. Qwerty. Dear lord in heaven, listen to me you stupid fuck! Qwerty.

I have an identity crisis. I am a typewriter. Qwerty.

Qwerty.

Billy's Visitor

2012-01-11T02:00:00.000-08:00

After the end of the 1893 season, with Billy Hamilton recuperating from a near-fatal bout of typhoid fever, he is visited by his manager, Harry Wright.

Harry:

How are you feeling, Billy?

Billy:

Better, better. I wish my wife would stop shoving a giant dildo up my ass every day, but other than than, I'm OK.

Harry:

Good, good. The boys were asking about you. In fact, the last game of the season, Delahanty asked, "Is that cheap Scots-Irish fuck Hamilton dead yet? I hate that runty little cocksucker! His mom does give a good titfuck though, albeit her milkduds are so saggy at her age, they're dragging on the goddamn floor!"

Billy:

OK....

Harry:

Look, Billy, I've been fired as Phillies manager. Oh, they'll say they want a fresh start and all, but the real reason was that the owners came into my office, and they found me flopped over the desk, with my pants down, with Cross and Delahanty pinning down my arms, and then the queen queer Sam Thompson, with glittering rhinestones in his moustache, was fucking me up the ass. They owners concluded that I had lost control of the team, lost respect of the players. Arthur Irwin's the new manager now.

Billy:

Mr. Wright, sir, I am so sorry to hear this.

Harry:

Yeah...say, Billy, do you mind if your wife sucks my cock now? It'll help me relax, and she's just finished blowin' your neighbor's Bulldog. She's ready for me now.

Billy:

Well, I guess that's OK...

Harry:

You're the man, Billy. Don't worry, I won't fuck her up the ass, and I won't have regular coitus either. Just fellatio, OK?

Billy:

Can I watch?

Billy Hamilton's Typhoid Ranting

2012-01-11T01:46:00.000-08:00

In 1893, Hamilton has typhoid fever and almost died. He was in his bed, racked with fever, gibbering incoherently. His words have been saved for posterity:

I'm burning, burning! Rebecca, help me, dear lord in heaven, dear god, why won't someone HELP ME. HELP ME! I'm burning, I feel cold and I'm burning at the same time.

Rebecca, Rebecca!

Oh god, I remember last season walking into Harry Wright's hotel room, finding Delahanty in a chair, munching on popcorn and drinking soda pop, watching Wright prance around the room in a corset, frilly pink panties, black stockings, and high-heeled shoes. Then Sam Thompson came in, wearing leather, and started beating Wright with a riding crop. Wright moaned, "Samuel, oh, Samuel," and ejaculated in his panties as Delahanty laughed.

I'm burning, burning, I'm cold, dear god in heaven help me, help me, I'm burning.

Yank and Mr. Peabody

2012-01-11T01:30:00.000-08:00

Yank:

So I met a talking dog named Mr. Peabody. I said, "Nice doggy!" And then that bastard canine threw me on the ground, stripped off my clothes, and stuck his dick up my ass!

Then Tip and some of the other boys came by and I yelled for them to help me. They just laughed and sat on the sidewalk and watched, placing bets for how long until Peabody ejaculated into my rectum.

Curt Welch won the bet with a wager of 1 minute and 15 seconds.

After, Peabody sniffed my ass, lifted his leg and pissed in my mouth (which was open because I was screaming in my pain and humiliation).

Fudge?

2012-01-11T01:19:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Oh! Tip just gave me a cylindrical piece of fudge! He said he made it himself, just for me. He told me it was a bit of a struggle to "get it out of the oven" (at which point, strangely, he patted his abdomen), and oh how I appreciate his effort! I don't know why all the boys are laughing at me, but I ate the whole thing! It smelled and tasted bad, and for some reason it had a piece of toilet paper stuck to it (and was that a piece of corn inside?), but I don't want to hurt Tip's feelings, so I asked him for another!

He started eating a large bowel of oatmeal and told me it would be ready tomorrow.

Dan's Ballet

2012-01-10T01:08:00.000-08:00

Dan:

So, I was wearing a frilly pink tutu, and Sam Thompson, in leather, with rhinestones in his moustache, had me by a leash around my neck, and led me outside, in front of a large group of people.

I curtsied prettily, and then did 5 minutes of graceful ballet moves. Then, twisting my hands, and with my crimson cheeks burning red with shame, I said, "Oh, look at me! I'm a fancy's fancy! I'm a weak, soft, flabby, feeble frilly little sissy! I'm a pinafore sissy, a perfect little pansy! Oh, I'm so soft, weak, and feeble, a soft, soft, gentle pansy! What a tittering, giggling puny sissy I am!

I'm a fancy's fancy!"

But some guy in the audience hooted, "No, you are a big burly man!" - so I waded into the crowd, breaking that leash, and I tore them apart with my bare hands, playing with their intestines as I gibbered like a madman.

What a gentle sissy I am! A perfect pansy! A fancy's FANCY!

Hall of Fame Hokum

2012-01-09T14:00:00.000-08:00

Larkin's a HOFer, Trammell still is not.

Larkin’s lifetime WAR is 68.9, Trammell’sis 66.9. Their overall stats are very similar. The small difference in WARcannot justify the difference in HOFoutcome. One wonders – if the stats ofthe two players were reversed, would the HOFoutcome be any different? I doubtit. I suspect that a Larkin withTrammell’s stats would be “in” and a Trammell with Larkin’s stats would stillbe “out.” Something else is going on.

The Larkin vs. Trammell thingbrings to mind Kirby Puckett vs. Don Mattingly. Puckettwas a first ballot Hall-of-Famer (!!!), while Mattingly hasn’t come close,despite having very similar numbers.

True,one can make some arguments in favor of Puckett over Mattingly: a longer peak,a more demanding defensive position, more post-season exposure, and somesympathy for the sudden retirement due to eye problems. Mattingly’s slow, pathetic decline incontrast looked worse, and there many be an anti-NY bias there as well. Puckett was ahead of Mattingly in lifetimeWAR., 44.8 to 39.8; on the other hand, Mattingly, even with his long decline,ended up with a slightly better adjusted OPS than Puckett, who avoided thedecline. One can argue, reasonably, thatPuckett was a bit better as a HOFcandidate than Mattingly. No argumentthat Puckett > Mattingly. But not bymuch. No way justifying first ballot vs.not even close.

There’s something morethere. All of the above could explainwhy Puckett is “in” while the similar Mattingly is “out.” However, unless one invokes some bizarrebinary threshold “in/out” barrier to Hall of Fame enshrinement (whichhistorically has not been the case), the huge difference between the Puckettand Mattingly outcomes should raise eyebrows. It’s not that Puckett got in, after years of trying, and then just narrowlybeat out Mattingly. It’s instead thatPuckett got in at his first try – like the all-time greats – and the similarMattingly, the very similar Mattingly, hasn’t even come close.

I suspect that if the careerswere switched, if a CF Mattingly with the longer peak and 44.8 WAR suddenly hadto retire and the 1B Puckett with the 39.8 WAR had the long decline, Puckettwould still be “in” and Mattingly “out.”

What am I getting at? It may be controversial to some, but I’msaying that white liberal sportswriters favor non-white candidates over whitecandidates, out of a spasm of “moral superiority.” More specifically, many of thesesportswriters worship the black athlete. In many cases, it may even be unconscious, and the writers would beoutraged if it was put to them like that.

But, I’m sorry, if the situationwas reversed, Puckett partisans would bring up the race issue if Donniebaseball was “in” and Kirby were “out.” Therefore, it’s only fair to speculate if the HUGE difference in outcometo what are essentially very similar – admittedly not equivalent – players hasin part to do with sportswriters’ attitudes on race and society. The harassment of Luke Scott as well as theorgasmic pontifications about the holy year of 1947, and the differences in howJohn Rocker was treated compared to Bonds and Sheffield (never mind thedisgusting attacks on an elderly Stan Musial for a Curt Flood restaurantincident), demonstrates that sportswriters are obsessed with this topic, andraises the question as to whether it influences Hall of Fame voting.

In summary: I am not saying thatMattingly should be in the Hall, nor am I criticizing the idea of Puckett“in”/Mattingly “out.” I am questioningthe enormous difference in outcome – first ballot vs. not close – for twoplayers with similar career stats. It’snot like we are comparing Mattingly to Willie Mays or Mickey Mantle. It’s Puckett. If Puckett is a HOFer than he’s a “just made it” type, not a first ballotall-time great. Yeah, maybe with healthyeyes, he would have got 3000 hits. Maybewith a healthy back, Mattingly would have got 4000 hits. True, one can argue, as Verducci does, that asudden end trumps a slow decline. But,again, it’s not the “in/out” than bothers me, it’s the “first ballot/not evenclose” comparison. Many great playersnever got in on the first try, players a hell of a lot better than Puckett (orMattingly for that matter). And yeah,maybe Donnie baseball should have stayed away from Bob Shirley and maybe heshould have had back surgery like Winfield did. On the other hand, did Puckett ever go to a damn eye doctor? If the high eye pressure been diagnosedearly, it could have been treated with medication and/or laser surgery, and theeye damage would never have happened. All sorts of “what ifs” – but for the likes of Verducci, only Puckettderives the advantage from these considerations.

And, by the way, I think DaleMurphy with 44.2 lifetime WAR was a better player than Jim Rice with 41.5lifetime WAR, and that’s besides Murphy having a better “team man” reputationthan the surly Rice. But guess who’s“in” and who’s “out.”

They fought for Red Sox slugger Jim Rice. Of course they did. The baseball media loves nothing more than Boston-New York, and so when Rice received just 29.8 percent of the vote in his first year on the ballot in 1995, and then dipped to 29.4 percent in '99, the front-running media was mobilized. His vote tally steadily increased until he made it into Cooperstown last year, and I'm not here to tell you Jim Rice doesn't deserve it -- he does. I'm here to tell you Dale Murphy deserves it just as much.

Stats can be manipulated any way you want -- Murphy had more home runs than Rice (398 to 382), Rice had a much higher batting average (.298 to .265) -- but Murphy was a more versatile player. He had more stolen bases (161 to 58) and more Gold Gloves (five to none). You can tell me Rice is better. Maybe he is. But better to the point where last year he received 76.4 percent of the votes, and Dale Murphy got 11.5 percent?

No. He's not that much better.

Surprise! (and no, I don't think it's about "Boston-New York")

But those who flagellatethemselves while reading about the holy year of 1947 are not expected to voteobjectively and fairly, are they?

Belch

2012-01-09T04:27:00.000-08:00

Yank:

I just belched in Comiskey's face - after I ate a baloney, garlic and onion sandwich.

Thank you.

The Ultimate Napoleon

2012-01-09T02:19:00.000-08:00

Nap:

Bonaparte? Are you kidding? I'm the ultimate Napoleon in history! Did Bonaparte hit .400? Screw that Corsican bastard!

The Ultimate Secret of Baseball History

2012-01-09T01:35:00.000-08:00

Yank:

I have found out The Ultimate Secret of Baseball History! Something so startling, so horrendous, so shocking - it will change the way you think about the game and its history forever. You'll never believe it, and once you know it, you'll never be the same again!

OK, I'm going to tell you now. Now, I'm going to tell you. Tell you now I will. Will I tell you now? Yes, now I will tell you. Listen. Listen up. You - sir! - listen up. Please listen. Listen!

OK, here it is!

There! Wasn't that shocking! Isn't your life changed forever?

Wha?

What do you mean I haven't told you anything? YOU FUCK! Liar! Are you mocking me? I slap you across the face with a white glove - thus! [Smack! Smack!] And what are you going to do about that? That's right, nothing. Nothing. You're going to do nothing. Just like I thought.

You punkass coward!

Dude Esterbrook Reaches a 1200 Lb. Benchpress

2012-01-08T15:28:00.000-08:00

Esterbrook, dressed as Bozo, celebrates (left) after benching 1200 lbs for 20 reps.

Dude then goes outside and garrotes a little old lady.

An Important Announcement from Yank Robinson

2012-01-08T01:16:00.000-08:00

Yank:

I just farted.

Thank you.

Constipated

2012-01-07T03:32:00.000-08:00

Yank:

I'm a bit constipated.

Hey, Tip, hurry up with that enema, will 'ya!

Gold

2012-01-06T04:22:00.000-08:00

Yukon:

I found some gold and shoved it up Santa Claus' ass.

Take that, big daddy!

Joltin' Joe vs. The Splendid Splinter

2012-01-05T04:05:00.000-08:00

Joe (left) talks to his good buddy Ted (right).

Joe:

Shit. It used to be that I was considered the better player of us two, but now, all these pointy-headed sabermetricians rank you higher. I'll tell ya this though, we both may be dead, but two things: 1) my head aint in no goddamn lobster pot, and 2) only one if us screwed Marilyn Monroe, and it aint you!

Ted:

Joe, you over-rated guinea, called "spaghetti bender" during your career, how do you know only one of us screwed Marilyn? I was porking her even during your marriage! She said I was bigger and better!

Joe:

Damn you, cholo! Go back to Mexico with your Salvation Army slut mother, you no good illegal bastard!

Ted:

Joe, did you vote for JFK? "Happy Birthday," Mr. President, indeed! What was his gift? Fellatio? He had a bad back and all, so I guess Marilyn just sucked away!

Joe:

DAMN YOU! Lobster pot! Lobster pot!

Burkett Says He's Innocent

2012-01-05T02:04:00.000-08:00

Jesse Burkett (right) denies fondling Louis Sockalexis' wigwam during the 1897 season.

Jesse:

Look, I prefer my wigwams to be white, not red. Know what I'm saying? Cy Young, yeah, but I haven't touched Louie all season!

OK?

Cayenne Pepper and Horsewhip

2012-01-05T01:30:00.000-08:00

The picture caption here, from Nemec's AA book, reads like a story from an Oysta Buns blog post - with the cayenne pepper and threat of "horsewhipping." But it really happened. Quite a guy, this Charley Jones, quite a guy.

Err...Yeah!

2012-01-04T15:49:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Err....yeah!

Dude's Fantasy Pets

2012-01-04T02:29:00.000-08:00

Dude:

Oh, they're so very loyal! When I'm on the ground rolling around, foaming at the mouth, or in the streets playing like a boy, they're right there with me!

Hmmm....

2012-01-04T01:33:00.000-08:00

Billy:

A new wrinkle on "titfuck" -

I saw Ed Delahanty and his wife - the wife greased up her tits real good and then shoved them, one at a time, up Big Ed's ass!

Turnabout is fair play, I guess.

Dickweed Tip

2012-01-04T01:30:00.000-08:00

Definition of a dickweed.

Yank:

Tip O'Neill - you are a dickweed!

Now, can you please take your penis out of my ear? You've already ejaculated, and I need to clean out my ear with a bulb syringe.

Tip O'Neill: Dick, Dickweed, Penile.

Hey, Look Now!

2012-01-02T09:37:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Hey, look now!

Look at me! Look, look, you lousy crook. I took you to look at me, gadzooks! Look at me! Look, look, look at me!

For the love of god I am begging you dear god in heaven please help me stop ignoring me oh my dear god please look at me - LOOK AT ME!

Hey, look now!

Look.

Amos Rusie, 1899

2012-01-02T02:29:00.000-08:00

Amos:

Here I am on my private property, April, early morning, no one is around. Now I can test my arm out in privacy. Is it better? Oh, these long months of rest - is it better?

I pick up the baseball.

Here goes!

AHH! THE PAIN DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN THE PAIN MY ARM IS ON FIRE SWEET JESUS HELP ME I'VE NEVER BEEN IN SUCH PAIN HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME WILL SOMEONE IN THE OF HEAVEN PLEASE HELP ME! HHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLPPPP MMEEEE!

Oh, OK, I was just warming up! Let me try again.

Here goes....

A New Year's Wish

2012-01-01T11:58:00.000-08:00

Opie Caylor:

Oh, Frankie-poo, it's time for your 15 gallon enema! Oh, Frank, my New Year's wish - nay, my resolution! - is to build you up for 100 gallon enemas, given daily.

Fill 'er up!

Happy New Year 2012

2012-01-01T02:00:00.000-08:00

Baby New Year:

Happy New Year!

Hey, why is Jake Beckley coming towards me with a crazed look on his face, holding a knife and fork?

Stop licking your lips, Jake!

Happy New Year from Yank

2012-01-01T01:05:00.000-08:00

Yank:

Happy New Year.

Now... PLEASE GODDAMN HELP ME YOU FILTHY BASTARD!