Giants World Series Riot Videos

This party was everywhere, people. Market Street:



The Embarcadero:



The Lower Haight:



The Inner Sunset - my hood (I was actually walking around here, briefly):



Even the fire trucks were partying:



Well, they probably weren't partying for long:

Take That, Olivia Newton-John!

The Giants Win The Pennant! The Giants Win The Pennant!

Yes, a baseball post. Although I would like to point out that for the last couple years or so, I've successfully refrained from writing long and involved posts about baseball - and lord knows I've been tempted. But allow me this one indulgence. Actually, this post isn't really going to be very long. Mainly I just wanted to say:

THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT!

If you honestly care to read more, I would recommend a terrific Giants blog called McCovey Chronicles. Their main writer, a fellow named Grant, has produced some of the sharpest, funniest writing I've seen anywhere on the internet, sports or otherwise. The fans who post comments all share the same goofy, sarcastic attitude, and I must have spent at least several eons of my life simply reading those long, crazy threads and smiling (their skill with Photoshop alone never ceases to amaze me). It also helps when your local baseball team features players with nicknames such as The Freak, B-Wheezy, Kung-Fu Panda, Huff Daddy, Jazz Hands, and Dirty Sanchez. And no Barry Bonds. I didn't think I could like a team more than I liked the 2008 Milwaukee Brewers. I was wrong.

Rangers in 4.

Forget A-Rod; Here's A Real Baseball Scandal

From FOX Sports:

Former MLB star Roberto Alomar had unprotected sex with his ex-girlfriend while he had full blown AIDS, a sensational lawsuit charges.

In the $15 million action filed in Brooklyn Federal court, Ilya Dall, of Queens, said the ballplayer tested positive for HIV in 2006 and a doctor later told him he had AIDS.

Dall said she tested negative for the disease — but is claiming punitive damages for emotional distress. She also claims her children were exposed to the virus.

Also in 2005, Alomar told Dall that when he once was raped by two Mexican men after playing a ballgame in New Mexico, according to the suit.

Well, hey, at least he wasn't juicing!

There Is A God aka Brewers Make The Playoffs

Lord, I am not a religious man. I don't ask for much in this life. I try to eke out a humble, simple existence for myself. But now I know you're out there, watching me, watching Ryan Braun hit a walk-off grand slam last Thursday, watching the New York Mets collapse on the last day of the season for the second year in a row, watching CC Sabathia pitch a complete game victory to clinch the National League Wild Card for the Brew Crew. I know you care.

Granted, you had them blow a 5 1/2 game lead at the start of September, and had them fire Ned Yost with only twelve games to play, which was kind of torturous in that "chop off your fingers one by one" sort of way, but who am I to judge? You work in mysterious ways.

I will ask for nothing more. Except, just, could the Dodgers be eliminated in the first round? No, you know what, I don't really care about that. I am satisfied. I can only ask for so much. My three biggest wishes at the mid-point of the season? 1) Brewers make the playoffs; 2) Yankees miss the playoffs; 3) Tampa Bay Rays make the playoffs. Well guess what? You are the genie, I rubbed the lamp, and I'm all out.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. And yes, for the first time since Reagan was president, the Milwaukee Brewers are advancing to the playoffs. Where they will promptly lose in three games to the Phillies, but it doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter.

Oh, and God? A word of warning: if you happen to be out driving around on any roads in the entire state of Wisconsin the next few days, you might want to keep an eye out. Hell hath no fury like a celebratory Brewers fan.

My Team: The Milwaukee Brewers

Everybody has their favorite baseball team. Well, not everybody, but any self-respecting fan of the game. Usually it's the local team. Now, I like the Giants well enough, but I can't say they are necessarily the team whose box scores I immediately rush to read whenever I get home. No, ladies and gentlemen. The team whose every loss and win means life or death to me:

The Milwaukee Brewers.

The Milwaukee Brewers. Just the sound of it can send my fluttering soul into melodious rapture. The sheer sight of a Ryan Braun home run clearing the outfield wall of Miller Park can brighten the drearest of my foggy evenings. The thrill of grumpy Ned Yost sauntering out to the mound to pull a flustered Eric Gagne can warm my cold, lifeless blood. Thoughts of the 6th inning sausage race, or of Bernie Brewer waving his flag and sliding onto his podium after every home run, haunt my dreams.

Then there are the players. Their names almost represent some Midwest, freckle-faced boy's adolescent fantasy of baseball player names: Ryan Braun. Prince Fielder. Corey Hart. J.J. Hardy. Rickie Weeks. Ben Sheets. Russell Branyan. Gabe Kapler. You couldn't make these up if you tried. Their manager's first name is Ned, for crying out loud.

Why the Brewers? Why the Brewers? Because, in a sea of underdogs, they are the underdogs of the underdogs. They are the nothings who have waited for twenty years to finally be somethings. They are the forgotten men, the unsung heroes, the last icons of all that is noble and true. Their dramas are my dramas, their victories, my victories.

For years the Brewers were a joke. Who remembered that Milwaukee even had a baseball franchise? Surely not me. Until last season, that is, when the Brew Crew came storming out of the gate and took an impressive lead in the National League Central. All of a sudden it was like they had a whole slew of young players who'd seemingly come out of nowhere to rescue the team from irrelevance. Of course, with some exceptions, you can't just turn your team around in one season flat, and naturally the Brewers choked it pretty good down the stretch, ultimately finishing second place in the division to the Cubs.

The Cubs. The Cubs. Is there a more pathetic sports franchise in the entire universe than the Chicago Cubs? Oh, how they'd like to think that they are the true underdogs of the NL Central, that they are the most deserving recipients of your undying sympathy in this situation. But the Cubs will only toss your hopes and dreams into the toilet, leaving you soggy and crusty as you sink your way to the bottom of the bowl like so many used tampons. Yes, it's hard to root against the Cubs. But I do.

You see, the Cubs frittered away that playoff berth to the Arizona Diamondbacks in three quick, easy games. They did not deserve that playoff spot last year. They do not deserve it this year.

The Brewers, on the other hand, have gone twenty-six years without even making a playoff appearance (as "Harvey's Wallbangers," they reached the 1982 World Series, but lost in seven games). Cubs fans have no sympathy from me. Brewers fans are the ones who could truly savor a division title or a wild card berth. If the Cubs could win the World Series? Then fine. But otherwise it's a waste. A bloody waste.

Most of all, the Cubs have no personality. As far as I'm concerned, they're a collection of empty rent-a-players. The Brewers are like the gang of eager little youngsters with a serious inferiority complex. They'll go on a five-game winning streak, only to slide right into a five-game losing streak. They'll jump up and down when they're winning, and then pout and sulk when they're losing. They are the very personification of every man who ever wanted to turn his life around but feared he could not.

Even though the Schlubs took the division last year, The Brew Crew did manage (by four games) to claim their first winning season since 1992. No, it wasn't the World Series, but after eons of mediocrity, it was...progress. It was progress, God damn it. You see, in Major League Baseball, a fan does not expect his or her team to win the World Series or even necessarily make the playoffs. What he or she simply asks is that the team, until the end of the season, at the very least, stays in it. And for the first time in years, the Brewers stayed in it.

Now it is 2008, and not only are the Brewers still in it, they're lodging themselves up other teams' asses. They're eating National League squads for breakfast. They're making the other clubs wish they'd never even heard of Ned Yost. Forget the question of a "winning record"; the question now is "by how much?" Oh, they could still blow it, all right. But the point is...they're freaking in it. They swept the Cardinals on the road (incredible) only to be swept by the Cubs at home (embarrassing). Apparently Cubs fans call Miller Park "Wrigley North." Sick. Truly sick. As for the Cardinals, well, as one FoxSports message board poster once put it, "The only thing Tony LaRussa knows how to manage is the clubhouse bar."

Besides, it's not whether or not you win, but how you play. The player who provides at least half the entertainment, as far as I'm concerned, is 24-year-old first baseman Prince Fielder (pictured above). Prince Fielder is...fat. I mean fat. It's amazing the guy can even get out of his car, let alone run to first base. Kirby Puckett could fit inside him.

Fielder's weight has become a favorite source of humor for the Onion, which, having formerly been based in Wisconsin, must hold a special affection for the Brewers. When Fielder hit an inside-the-park home run in Minnesota last year (footage that must be seen to be believed), the Onion published the headline "Prince Fielder dies of inside-the-park home run."

Although one might assume that Fielder pounds it down like a hippopotamus, apparently he is shying away from the steaks these days; he shocked the entire baseball world when he announced at the beginning of the 2008 season that he was becoming a vegetarian. Now, I am no expert in the category, but Prince Fielder has to be the fattest vegetarian I have ever seen. I mean lay off the tofu burgers buddy.

His father, Cecil Fielder, also a rather portly slugger, once hit 51 home runs in a season for the Tigers, and then proceeded to squander all his earnings and accrue massive gambling debts. Prince and Cecil are no longer on speaking terms. When Prince hit his 50th home run last season (becoming the youngest player in Major League Baseball history to ever do so), a reporter asked him if he was pleased. He replied that he'd have been more pleased if he'd hit 52 home runs in a season - one more than his father ever did. Easy there, doughboy!

Fielder's temper once again revealed itself last Monday, when pitcher Manny Parra, after imploding on the mound after six perfect innings, decided to walk into the clubhouse instead of back into the dugout to sit and sulk with the rest of the team. When Parra finally did come back into the dugout, Fielder busted a gasket and flew at him in a rage, eventually having to be restrained by about twelve other players (here's the video). I mean, that's a lot of Brewer coming at you right there. The fans on the FoxSports message boards got quite creative with this one. Some favorites:

That will teach Parra not to eat the last Hostess cake in the dugout.

Yep, too many fresh veggies. Flavinoid rage.

He was just pizzed off cause he lost his bet on the Brat winning the race... it cost him his 7th inning lunch break.

Anger does NOT = passion and intesity. Eat a burger and calm down chubs.

Who knew veggie heads got into fights?Speaking of heads,look at the size of ol prince's noggin. The skull to ear ratio is way outta wack.

Someone said Fielder is a vegetarian, that can't be possible, you don't get that FAT eating carrots, that s got to be a joke. He looks like he puts away a dozen Hot dogs between innings.

Fielder is just Pissed off because the Brewers didn't give him a fat contract in the spring which is what he thought he deserved for playing a couple descent years, He needs more money for food, he probably spends most of his salary on it.

the brewers should go to the doctor. i think they have a yost infection. thank you. i'll be here all week.

sounds like they have the experience it takes to blow another season

Maybe if the fat ---- Fielder dropped 30 pounds he could actually reach a grounder that was more than six inches away. Maybe the pitchers could sprinkle some chocolate chips closer to the second baseman as incentive.

You see, this is why I love this team.

The incredible thing is, though, that as of July, Fielder is possibly no longer the heaviest member of the Brewers; that honor might now go to starting pitcher CC Sabathia. Sabathia, the reigning Cy Young Award winner (read: best pitcher in one of the two leagues), pitched the Cleveland Indians into the playoffs last year, but once the Indians began tanking early in 2008, the club decided to trade CC mid-season while they could still receive some players in return (otherwise he would have left at the end of the year as a free agent). Baseball reporters were gearing up for at least a week's worth of trade rumor banter: will it be the Yankees? Red Sox? Dodgers? Within about a day it was announced that CC had been traded to...the Brewers. The Brewers? Cha-ching! Why? Because the Brewers had the prospects in their farm system and the other teams had squat. Sabathia has now proceeded to post five wins and three complete games. He's like an automatic break for the bullpen. Quite why he is so good, I have no idea. But who cares? There's no way in hell he'll be coming back next year (the Brewers won't be able to afford to sign him), but hey, let's enjoy it while it lasts. And how much do you want to bet that as soon as he's on the Yankees or Red Sox he'll choke under the weight of his own monstrous salary?

At any rate, Fielder and Sabathia have become fast buddies. "I'm like his mini-me," Fielder commented three days ago after another complete game from CC. "When he's out there, I just get excited." The Onion has promptly issued another piece entitled, "CC Sabathia, Prince Fielder Keep Imagining Each Other As Giant Talking Hot Dog, Hamburger." Some choice excerpts:

Team insiders say the problem has become a serious disruption, with numerous incidences of each player tying a bib around his neck, holding a knife and fork in their outstretched hands, and chasing the other around the ballpark.

"I was using the hot tub to ease some soreness the other day with Prince, who had nodded off, when C.C. came in carrying these grocery bags," said third baseman Bill Hall. "I had just noticed that something smelled really good when I realized that C.C. was cutting up vegetables and throwing them in the hot tub with Prince, alongside plenty of noodles and spices, to make some sort of hamburger casserole." Luckily, Fielder woke up before the mixture thickened and retaliated by attempting to trap Sabathia in the steam room along with a bag of mesquite-flavored grilling charcoal.

Oh, but this is more than a two-man team, my friends. You've also got reigning NL Rookie of the Year winner and 2008 All-Star Ryan Braun (a.k.a. the Hebrew Hammer), who hit 34 homers in his rookie season - and he hadn't even started playing until late May! He also has weird creepy bug eyes (and he's currently out with back spasms). Then there's (soon-to-be teen heartthrob) shortstop J.J. Hardy, sporting the classic square-jawed look we haven't seen the likes of since Giants legend Will Clark. He can hit home runs too - and he's a shortstop! You've got Corey Hart in right field, who probably should be playing in an Orange County ska-punk band but is instead batting .284 with 17 home runs and 69 RBIs (and is actually from Kentucky). Journeyman catcher Jason Kendall, surprise closer Salomon Torres, perennially disgruntled veteran Bill Hall...the list goes on.

Oh, and you like home runs? The Brewers can hit some home runs. Already they have eight players who've hit more than 10. To put that in perspective, the Giants currently have...no players who've hit more than 10. The Brew Crew can't field so well, but any runs they give up on errors they gain back just as quickly on offense. In essence.

Maybe they'll come up short. Maybe they'll implode. But God damn it, win or lose, they are my team. Every pudgy pound.

Bonus: A charmingly goofy interview with Sabathia, in which the interviewer brings up the Onion story and asks a nearby J.J. Hardy what the deal is with everybody's abbreviated first names. (Q: When you look at Ryan Braun, what food comes to mind? CC: Food-wise [laughs]. Gosh. Braun, probably, a steak. He's got a lot of ribbies — ribeyes, RBIs [178 in his first 217 career games] — so, I guess, a medium-rare steak.)

Baseball Card Bust aka You Don't Know What You Got Till Thirty Years Later

Buddhism speaks of the difficulty, in meditation, of controlling one's own thought processes. If I were to say to myself, for example, "Don't think of an elephant," what am I doing at that moment but thinking of an elephant? And so it is with the folly-filled world of sports memorabilia, as this article in Slate (regarding the coveted 1989 Ken Griffey, Jr. Upper Deck rookie card) so vividly reminded me.

Many were the nights my father beguiled my brother and I with the (possibly apocryphal) tale of how his mother threw out all his baseball cards in a pique of the housecleaning spirit. "God, can you imagine how much those cards would be worth today?" my father griped. "I can't believe she just...threw them away." But of course, who at the time could have anticipated that those cards would ever be worth more than the gum with which they came? And who at MGM in 1939 would have even bothered saving any outtakes from that lousy Wizard of Oz movie? Now we're treated to deleted scenes from What Happens In Vegas and You Don't Mess With The Zohan on needless "special edition" DVDs, and all those cards my brother and I saved are hardly worth anything at all because every other early '90s baseball card collector was thinking the same exact thing we were. As Darren Rovell writes, "Collectors' hands would shake when they saw Griffey's face in their pack, confident that this card would be the key to financing a college education." Now the card is only worth about $275 max. Hey, community college can be a very rewarding educational experience.

Back before the days of fantasy baseball, card collecting was the ultimate marriage of athletic achievement and naked capitalism. Oh what fools we were, fondling our Topps Jose Cansecos and Donruss Nolan Ryans like they were stocks and bonds. "When Griffey welcomed collectors to the very first Upper Deck set, investment was just about to trump fun in the card world. Kids had started putting their collections in plastic sheets and hard cases rather than bicycle spokes and shoe boxes, and investors would cross-check every card picked from a pack against the latest issue of Beckett's price guide." Ah yes, Beckett's price guide. I'll never forget the day I touched a tender nerve in Jack - owner of Jack's Cards in Strawflower Center. Jack was like a stoner Dennis Eckersley: long black hair, '70s 'stache, thin and wiry. On the whole he knew his stuff, but after a couple of months I couldn't help but notice that, say, a Darryl Strawberry listed in Beckett's at 50 cents was being sold at Jack's for $1. With the wisdom of age I have learned to keep such observations to myself. However, at the age of ten I was known to speak my mind, and after coming across another particularly glaring price discrepancy, I muttered under my breath, "This place is a rip-off." Jack seized the Beckett's from my hand. "Let me tell you something, kid! Beckett's is not the only authority on baseball cards, all right?" I backed away. "Beckett's...is not God!" He chucked it across the room. "And I do everything I can...to make sure you guys get the best cards at the best prices and...you know what? If you think I'm a rip-off, then you can go to some other card shop and buy your cards there, all right?" Tactfully, I kept my mouth shut and wandered to the other side of the store. My father came by and apologized.

Years later, after Beatles books had dethroned card collecting as my diversion of choice, I brought a Beckett's guide home with me, just to see how many millions my 11-year-old self had had the foresight to generate. Not only had the value of most of my cards remained the same, but some had even gone down. And so, like those miners in the Gold Rush who came just a little too late, and had to sweat and scrape just to mine enough gold to pay the bills, it dawned on me that I might as well not have bothered at all.

Satire Is Just As Good (Or Bad) As It's Always Been

In his Slate piece "The Satire Recession: How Political Satire Got So Flabby," Troy Patterson seems to suggest that at one point or another there existed a "golden age" of political satire. But I would wager that 90% of political humor over the course of the eons has largely been disposable, and only the cream of the crop lingers in the memory. So most political jokes "rarely transcend the level of pure ad hominem mockery"? Welcome to the story of the human race. That being said, I like the distinction he draws between the intellectually lazier late night humor of Leno, Letterman, and Conan and the sharper barbs of Stewart and Colbert:

"Senator John Kerry is in trouble for making a joke about soldiers being uneducated," said Conan. "As a result, Kerry promised to stop making jokes and stick to boring people." Peterson would class that harmless jape—John Kerry? Dull? No?!—as "pseudo-satire," which is cynical and shallow and treats politics "like an infection" and stands in contrast to the real satire that, for instance, Jon Stewart offered on the subject of the botched joke and the way it was spun: "After an election in which the GOP has been beaten up by, let's say, reality, the party has rediscovered a winning issue: the has-been's faux pas." Where O'Brien's pseudo-satrical joke trivializes the political process, Stewart's engages it by laughing at that very trivialization. The distinction isn't simply a matter of what's funny; well-constructed pseudo-satire often deserves more laughs than preachy satirical jokes. It's about the fact that comedy can perform a watchdog role and seems more ready to shirk it than Judith Miller. "By avoiding issues in favor of personalities," writes Peterson, "and by 'balancing' these shallow criticisms between conservatives and liberals, late-night comics are playing it safe but endangering democracy."

Also, Conan's joke is mostly just mean. It's like, "Wow, John Kerry is so boring. God, aren't you glad you're not as boring as John Kerry?" There's not really anything of value to take away from that. Stewart's joke is more valuable because when you hear it you laugh in mutual recognition along with Stewart on the timeless nature of political desperation. The joke is like a weapon against manipulation (and what's more valuable than that?).

Speaking of humor as a weapon used to alleviate emotional pain, Bruce Reed's rant on the nearly 15-year futility of the Pittsburgh Pirates fulfills that function admirably:

Seven years ago, in a desperate bid to revive the Pirates' fortunes, the city built PNC Park, a gorgeous field with the most spectacular view in baseball. From behind home plate, you can look out on the entire expanse of American economic history—from the Allegheny River to 1920s-era steel suspension bridges to gleaming glass skyscrapers. The result? As Pittsburgh writer Don Spagnolo noted last year in "79 Reasons Why It's Hard To Be a Pirates Fan," Pittsburgh now has "the best stadium in the country, soiled by the worst team." (The Onion once suggested, "PNC Park Threatens To Leave Pittsburgh Unless Better Team Is Built.") Spagnolo notes that the city already set some kind of record by hosting baseball's All-Star game in 1994 and 2006 without a single winning season in between.

Let The Games Begin

Don't tell me I'm the only one excited about the official start of the baseball season (if by "official," of course, we mean "random game in Japan while the real season actually starts next week"). Before the rosters have even been finalized I'm going to go out on a limb and call the entire season right now.

Little Earl's baseball power rankings:

1. Red Sox (terrific young players, veterans who are still productive, "curse" long gone - the team to beat?)
2. Tigers (really underperformed last year, best offense in the game, pitching might let them down though)
3. Indians (playoff experience should help them out, haven't lost too many players to big money)
4. Mariners (improved starting pitching, if Vidro/Ibanez/Sexson live up to their slugging potential, look out)
5. Mets (With Santana and solid offense, will dominate in a weak league)
6. Angels (Guerrero and Anderson getting old, pitching will be inconsistent)
7. Diamondbacks (guys are young, Webb and Haren best one-two punch in NL)
8. Blue Jays (they always seem to have promise but AL East is tough)
9. Rockies (great hitters, pretty good pitching staff but they probably got lucky last year)
10. Yankees (still a good team but 12-year run over)
11. Phillies (Will hit like beasts but no pitching)
12. Padres (didn't find any better hitters, pitching amazing, should combine with Phillies and together they'd be unstoppable)
13. Braves (still trying to rebuild, Smoltz, Glavine getting old)
14. Reds (new manager Dusty will give them shot at Central)
15. White Sox (won't be as bad as they were last year)
16. Brewers (need better pitching but hitters will rake)
17. Cubs (no real team identity)
18. Dodgers (Torre on board but otherwise bleh)
19. Royals (turning things around a bit)
20. Nationals (same here)
21. Giants (this is probably optimistic but hey)
22. Cardinals (lost in a sea of fog)
23. A's (will be as bad as they always seem like they should be)
24. Rays (won't be the worst team in Florida)
25. Orioles (check back in three years)
26. Twins (worst season in a long time)
27. Astros (ouch)
28. Rangers (yikes)
29. Marlins (why bother?)
30. Pirates (ladies and gentlemen, the toilet)

AL East: Red Sox
AL Central: Tigers
AL West: Mariners
AL Wild Card: Indians

NL East: Mets
NL Central: Reds
NL West: Diamondbacks
NL Wild Card: Rockies

NLCS: Mets over Rockies
ALCS: Tigers over Red Sox

World Series: Tigers over Mets

Now. I dare you to prove me wrong, Major League Baseball. I dare you!

Yankees Lose

Oh baby. Feel the Schadenfreude. Feel it.

Roger Clemens back in May: "I'm going to sign with the team that's got the best chance of winning a championship."

Ouch!

Yankees front office: "Hey, yeah, let's sign Clemens for $28 million to bail us out of all our pitching problems, sure, no sweat."

Sunday night's game: Clemens pitches 2 1/3 innings, pulls hamstring, gives Yankees a 3-0 deficit.

Oh yeah.

"Yankees choke in the first round three years in a row."

Can you feel it? Can you feeeeeeel it?

Hmmm. Taste that chokage. Taste it nice and sweet. Yeah, that's it. Oh baby. Harder. Mmmm.

"Yankees in shambles." "Firing this guy." "Firing that guy." Yes. Collapse. Crumble. Crack into a thousand crumbs under the weight of your unbearable shame.

Here's the coffin. Here's the nail. Oh - it's going - going in - into the coffin - oh god - piercing - its rusty way - into the heart - of Derek Jeter - oh please no - it's - Over.

Let's give it up to the Indians. My pop's home town. Cleveland in the hoooouuuuuse. "Yankees won all six games against the Indians in the regular season." Yeah, uh, too bad the regular season ain't the playoffs.

Indians vs. Red Sox. This one should be good. Hey, does anybody see the Yankees anywhere? Where'd they go? Weren't they just right over there? I swear I could have seen them a minute ago. Oh wait.

Hope they've got a TV.

Taste The Glory, Tampa Bay

Ladies and gentlemen, today is a day for rejoicing. For today is the day the Tampa Bay Devil Rays have finally ended an 11-game losing streak by beating...the Kansas City Royals. Nevermind that the Royals currenly have a 36-50 losing record. Nevermind that the Devil Rays had a five-run lead coming into the 8th inning and promptly gave up four runs, barely winning the game by one run in the bottom of the ninth. It was a win.

I think their manager's got the right attitude: "We're hot."

Damn right, buddy. Damn right.

The Baseball Mascot

Now think. Think for a moment. Try to think of something more inherently amusing than the baseball mascot. Guess what, you lose, because there is nothing. Nothing that can match the awkward combination of childish enthusiasm, grown-up skepticism, and misguided marketing that the baseball mascot engenders. The problem is that it's not exactly clear what role the baseball mascot serves. It is for the kids? Often, but not always. It is for the adults? Adult baseball fans are mostly males who treat their sport with relative solemnity. The mascot is baseball's lone intersection with out-and-out fantasy. As such, it must achieve a delicate balance. Done right, it can serve as a further bonding mechanism between the fan and the team. Done wrong, it can serve as an object of relentless fan scorn. Sometimes it is both. The mixture of the mascot's surface optimism and the fans' deep-rooted pessimism can make the mascot ripe for parody (see the Capital City Goofball). You just know, for example, that the guy underneath the giant Mr. Met baseball head beats his wife mercilessly every night when he gets back from the game. Let us now, if we may, explore the world of the major league baseball mascot.

At the top of the heap, according to those in the know, is Phillie Phanatic (pictured above with our president). He is a "phanatic," so they say, because Phillies fans are known for being particularly aggressive and confrontational. Hey, I wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of Phillie Phanatic's nose, if you know what I mean; it resembles the top of a water faucet missing its turning mechanism. It looks like he and Tommy Lasorda had a bit of a fued going on back in the day. He also continues the trend of children's characters who don't seem to worry about underpants. Phillie Phanatic is the ultimate representation of one of the major subsets of the baseball mascot: the Sesame Street reject. For further examples, just look at Wally the Green Monster, who apparently lived inside Fenway Park's famous outfield wall until popping out of hiding for its 50th anniversary, and Youppi, formerly of the Expos, who holds the dubious distinction of being the only mascot to have ever been ejected from a game.

Moving on to the animal kingdom, we get the Washington Nationals' Screech, who is apparently supposed to be an eagle but more closely resembles a chicken. According to his website, his favorite movie is The Aviator, his favorite band is Wings, and his favorite song is Steve Miller's "Fly Like an Eagle." One animal mascot that I find particularly disturbing is the Mariner Moose, who just doesn't seem right standing on two legs (he does do birthday parties and bar mitzvahs, however). Also creepy is Pirate Parrot, who's even creepier given that he's also been a drug dealer.

Most disturbing of all, though, is Mr. Met, who comes off like somebody's freaky McDonald's-esque bad dream. He's an anthropomorphic... baseball. I associate baseballs with many things, but "cute" and "cuddly" are not among them. He even haunts fans at road games!

Some mascots don't even need to be guys in costumes. For about twenty years, the mascot of the Kansas City/Oakland Athletics was apparently a real live mule named Charlie-O. Sometimes the mascot doesn't even need to show up in person, as with the Angels' infamous Rally Monkey.

Then there are those mascots who, when mistreated, bring down the scorn of ancient civilizations. It was said that when the stadium workers disturbed the teepee of the Braves' Chief Noc-A-Homa, the team would automatically slide into a losing streak. When he was put back where he belonged, the team would win the pennant. The moral: Don't mess with the mascot.

Finally, we come to the failed mascots. There's the White Sox's Ribbie and Roobarb (who actually suffered physical abuse), the Yankees' Dandy (who I suppose wasn't so dandy), and my personal favorite, the Giants' post-modern Crazy Crab (the self-described "anti-mascot"), who, for reasons that are obvious, only lasted a year, although some lone fans are pushing for a revival. Perhaps they can count me among them.

When Good Promotional Ideas Go Bad

Ten Cent Beer Night - Wikipedia

Disco Demolition Night - Wikipedia

Sometimes, you know, hindsight is 20/20. Other times, you really have to ask yourself, "What were they thinking?"