Cal Ripken’s finest moment came on the heels of his sport’s worst, as the victory lap of 2,131 “saved baseball” from the canceled World Series of 1994. Today, he enters Cooperstown, and, however briefly, delivers us from the muck and the mire of a week of dog fighting, referee scandal and 755 falling in shame.
There’s no doubting he’ll rise to the occasion, he always does, to share a positive and memorable message before a devoted crowd and adoring nation. It helps that he’s joined by Tony Gwynn, a fellow class act, easy HOFer and one-team baller.
I’ll let San Diego speak for Gwynn, but the B’more-DC area is forever thankful for Cal, and it’s good to see him on the grand stage once again, especially during a time of need. The legend grows, as it should.
I must say, it does have a ring to it. I wish I could claim that the idea of Cal replacing Bud as commish was my own, but it comes from a brain far more advanced than mine. Ozzie Guillen laid this bit of brilliance on us a couple days ago:
“He knows the rules of the game.” That’s great, but so do I. I think there are more qualifications involved in being commissioner, although I have no idea what they are. Therefore, sure, Cal would be great, but if he’s going to be involved in MLB again, I’d much rather have him doing something (anything!) with the O’s. At the very least, I know he cares about bringing them back from the depths of shittiness, unlike Angelos.
The men of Mottram made it to Camden Tuesday night as Charm City said, “Way to go for making the Hall of Fame and stuff” to the baller still looming large over their once-proud franchise: Calvin Edwin Ripken Jr.
We hadn’t been to an O’s game yet this year, but they were giving away Cal 2131 bobbleheads so we had no choice but to make like Baltimorons and get our ass to the Yard. Thankfully, Daniel Cabrera threw seven scoreless and the Birds beat Tampa Bay.
Pretty pictures from the evening that was …
Just so you know what time it is as you exit off of I-95.
Continue reading Photo Essay: Camden Yards Salutes Cal
If I met some sort of effed up, crackhead genie who was only capable of granting me the wish to be any famous Canadian, I’d want to be J.E. Skeets. But if because said genie was an effing crackhead and wasn’t capable of giving me my first choice, I’d have to go with Emmanuelle Chriqui so that I could see myself naked. But alas, if that didn’t work out either — what with the whole sex change and all — then my first choice would definitely be O’s pitcher Erik Bedard.
Bedard the Crazy Retard (Note: This is not meant to insult the mentally handicapped, Erik Bedard, nor Mike Golic, it’s just that we can’t think of anything else that rhymes with “Bedard”) is quite possibly the best pitcher in the American League right now.
Sure, he only has 10 wins (I use “only” loosely, seeing as 10 wins is good), but if you’re the kind of person who basis a pitcher’s worth on their number of wins, then I’d have to assume you’re the kind of person who watches a lot of “1st and 10” on ESPN and participates in discourse with your friends over “who’s most now” (what I’m trying to say is that you’re not smart, see, not sure if I made that clear).
Bedard leads the league in K’s with 175, 31 more than Santana, and could reach the 300 strikeout mark this year. He also has a 1.08 WHIP, a 3.12 ERA, and a community college education. In his last four starts, he’s allowed two runs while striking out 36 batters over 29 innings. On the season, he has eight quality starts with either a no decision or a loss. That shows you how valuable wins is as a statistic.
Not that any of this matters, or anyone cares about Bedard, because we are, afterall, talking about the Orioles here. They haven’t been relevant in a decade, thus making them “irrelevant.” Get it, get it?! I apologize.