Wednesday, March 01, 2006

 

Conspiracy? Media? Barry? Tinfoil Hat for You!


So I picked up the Street & Smith's baseball preview specrackular, 'cos that's the type of tosspot I am, and it's basically a glossy, 200-page mash note to Barry Bonds haters.

The publisher, one Mike Kallay, kicks things off by hatin' on the man for a solid 700 words, talking about how Bonds better not get elected to the Hall of Fame 'cos while he hasn't ever been caught 'roiding, he sure has a big head, and, you know, Ty Cobb was a racist cracker who nearly beat a man to death, but Barry sure is cranky around the press sometimes and he's "brought shame on himself and the game, and made a mockery of some of its most cherished records."

Because the records set during Jim Crow baseball are the ones we ought to put on a pedestal, not to mention all those hits guys collected back when infielders wrapped a piece of shoe leather around their hand for a glove and the triple alleys ended in a different zip code.

The centerpiece in the Street & Smith's, after some jazz about up-and-comers and some Baseball World Series flagporn (they actually crop Mike Piazza in the shape of Italy), is another Bonds finger-wagger. This time with fake statistics. Basically, in a hit piece called "Power Supply", the mag rigs some numbers, called "steroid-era-adjusted", to make it out so Babe Ruth gets 1,132 homers and Bonds drops from third all-time and six behind the Babe to seventh and 373 behind Ruth. (The funny thing is Bonds actually gains with the dead-white-guys-are-falling-behind-era-adjusted number-crunching, going from 708 HRs to 759.)

This is such a load of crap it isn't even funny, except that it is, in much the same way a Doughy Pantload column is "funny" in that "ha-ha, look at the dumbass keyboard kommando trying to be all, 'I'm a deadly serious hardliner on Iran but with a silly side that involves Alec Baldwin jokes and Star Trek' ... hey, wait a minute, we just bombed where?" kind of way.

Whatever. I'll leave it to Rob Neyer and John J. Perricone to destroy the pseudo-science behind "Power Supply" and try not to act too surprised when the greatest, most fear-inspiring hitter I've ever seen gets blackballed out of the Hall of Fame.

Shit, he's even willing to put on a dress for our amusement ... how can you not love him?





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