Fare thee well, Mr. Capps

Yesterday Mike Rizzo traded away Matt Capps and $500K to Minnesota for catcher Wilson Ramos and LHP Joe Testa. Now, who Joe Testa is doesn't really matter (cough:24 years old in high A ball:cough), but who Wilson Ramos is does. He was ranked the 42nd prospect in all of baseball coming into this year by Keith Law. That link may be for ESPN Insiders only, so here's a snippet of what Law said.

...when he plays he hits, and he plays a premium position at which bats like his are hard to find. ... he throws extremely well (he's nailed 43 percent of would-be base stealers in the past two years) and his receiving is adequate. ... At the plate, he has strong hands and very good hand-eye coordination, with a hard, line-drive-oriented swing

Now, Derek Norris came into this year ranked ahead of Ramos at #31, but his season so far has been nothing short of disappointing. Derek's power has vanished, but he's still getting on base at an incredible clip (.408). That really doesn't do too much to make his other numbers look good, though (.231 batting average and a .374 slugging percentage). The power loss can hopefully (PLEASE, JESUS PLEASE!) be attributed to the hamate bone surgery he had at the end of last year, as 99% of the players that have surgery there take a full year to regain their power. (Even the Non-Human Zim had his power drop. Those 14 HR in 2008? Yup, the year of his hamate surgery. His HR total the year before was 24, and went up to a career high 33 the year after).
So, Ramos goes to the #1 overall position in the Nats prospects list, and becomes the next catcher. Ramos is better defensively than Norris, as well, so that even frees the Nats up to move Derek if his bat demands he play in the big leagues.
And... Matty Capps? God love him. He throws strikes, and is so damn friendly. He will give the Twins a true closer (a position the Wookie - Jon Rauch - had been trying to fill) and a great shot to win their division. He was our All-Star rep, and leads the league in games finished (43) and is 4th in the league in saves (26). What does that mean? It means that he was due an extremely large raise after this season, and I'm not sure the Nats needed to pay it. He signed a 1 year $3.5MM contract to come here, and my guess is he'll see ~$6MM for next year after arbitration. Why pay Capps that much when we have Drew Storen here to take over the closer role next year? Drew had (and still has) this year to learn in a MLB bullpen, and will even get his feet wet with save opportunities now that Capps is gone. There is no doubt in my mind Storen will come into next year as the closer out of spring training.

Jesus. So sorry for the super duper long serious baseball talk. I had quite a few friends ask me how I felt about the deal and when I told them that I loved the trade, they asked why. So - I wrote this post. Now, let's bid a fond farewell to Matt Capps for his two greatest achievements here in DC - His fucking incredible entrance music (Europe's The Final Countdown) and his fucking incredibly awkward celebration photos. Ladies and Gentlemen... the least photogenic high-fiver of all time...

Mr. Matthew Capps.

Me want to punch Dibble in groin

So, I'm watching a game late last week, and Rob Dibble made a comment that finally triggered just what it is that makes me dislike his commentary style. My memory sucks, so I'm only paraphrasing here, but Bob Carpenter was recounting a home run Cristian Guzman had hit the previous night. Dibble comes back with, "Well, Bob, you can see here [on a replay] that the pitcher left the pitch hanging out over the plate and Cristian was given a gift." Really, Dibble? Instead of taking the opportunity to say, "Good on you, Goozie" you go for the "Guzzie got lucky there" route? Fuck you in the ear, pal. It's shit like that that reminds me of how damn negative you are. The Nats pitchers always suck, don't they Rob? The hitters are never doing things the correct way, are they Rob? I remember watching a game in which Strasburg was having trouble with the mound (not the Cleveland game) and the grounds crew was coming out to treat the mound. Dibble went on a 3 minute long "how to" of what - exactly - the grounds crew needed to do. "The dirt needs to be more clay than red dirt and it needs to be rolled, then tamped blah blah fucking blah." It hit me that he's never once explained how he learns the things he says. And it hit me that he's stating all his opinions as facts. Look, Rob, if you want to say, "Well, Detwiler just did right there what you can never do..." maybe you'd sound a little less like a know-it-all douche if you followed it up with something that might humble yourself a little. Maybe something like... "And you know how I know you don't do that? I got my ass handed to me once when I threw an 0-2 fastball and didn't get it up high enough." You know what would also help? If Bobby Carpenter would call you on more of your criticisms. When you start ripping on a pitcher's command Bob would make my fucking day if he came back with, "Well you know, Rob, there is video out there of you missing an entire back stop with some of your pitches." And I would give Bob a huge hug and a peck on the cheek if he ever called Rob's bluff when Rob's ripping Drew Storen about allowing inherited runners to score when Dibble allowed 37% to score in 1993 with, "Wow, Rob, that advice will likely be accepted about the same amount of times those 17 women accepted your room number last night at the bar - zero." (Longest run-on sentence ever? Perhaps. Most words used to make a point? Yup.)
So, Rob, to sum it up - I'm in huge HULK SMASH mode these days regarding your commenting styles. So much so, that I made two shirts, just for you! If you would like to buy some, Rob, you can just click the pictures for a link to the store. Heck, you can purchase them with all the cash you robbed from Cincinnati in 1993. ($2.5MM for an ERA+ of 63, Rob? And a WHIP of 1.824? You got big balls showing up there again, my friend.)

Or

And finally, I was poking around the innertubes and came upon Mr. Dibble's Zazzle store. I think I saw this stuff a couple years back, but I completely forgot about it. Until today. I see that he has a slogan that he like to use on his stuff -



Well, I found his font and threw this together for him. Maybe he can put this on one of his shirts?

Meat like a da weed.

So, Dmitri Young was recently arrested with some pot and pot paraphernalia. I didn't really read too much of the article, cause I love me some Meat Hook, and it depressed me that he was arrested. But what also depressed me was that I had someone living in my office for years that I could be using for profit in one of my many, many business ventures. You see... I'm also a drug dealer in my spare time. (Now, don't judge me, dammit, cause I'm many worse things than a drug dealer. I'm also a Ron Villone apologist. You see, Ron is great for many things - one of them being putting my 4-week-old to sleep. When she cries up a fit, I just throw in a DVD of one of Villone's Nats appearances and - BOOM - she's bored to sleep in seven minutes, which is the approximate time it takes Villone to throw one fucking pitch.*)

Anyway, I decided to try a little experiment on my Dmitri bobble head. First, I plopped him on my desk and asked him regular questions like, "Hey, Meat, how's it going?" and "How bout this weather?" His response was as expected...

"Meh"

Then, I pulled out this giant sack of weed that I have in my desk drawer, and plopped it in front of him to see his reaction.

"YOWZERS!"

Yup. Meat certainly perked up. Oh, I guess it's at this point that I should provide you with Dmiti's explanation. You see... Meat has (as we all know) the diabetes and... apparently... weed helps out with the diabetes. So, while he may be quick with the bills for some weed, it's not just for reckless recreational purposes. It's for science, dammit, and don't forget it.**

Okay, I'm done my post for the month, so I'm checking out like Pedro Cerrano at a curve ball convention. Later, taters, and if you're in Rockville tonight, hit me up and I'll let you saddle up next to me at the bar and buy me a few Yuenglings during Strasburg's start. I'll be the one bare-chested with "FEAR THE EARS!" painted on my torso. (You see... Stras has these giant satellites for ears, and "fear" rhymes with "ea"... ah fuck it.)

*Why yes, I did recycle one of my Twitter tweets. I'm getting lazy in my old age.

**I couldn't give two shits why anyone smokes, by the way. If it helps you with your pains/anxiety/sleeplessness/medical condition/stress good for you. Seriously. It ain't my cup of tea anymore, but I'd be the largest ass hat on the planet if I tried to strike down someone for smoking given my past indulgences. Oh wait... make that second biggest ass hat. Forgot about Rob Dibble.

Uh... hey, Amigo... That's not what really happened.

(Please allow me to repeat myself here, as I believe I've written this same sentiment here and here. What can I say? I like to rip on Carp.)

Dear Bob Carpenter... It's been a while since I've felt the need to call you out on something you did. Sure, I've wanted to, but didn't think I had to. But during last night's 2-1 win over the smelly Mets (and their smelly fans) you really ground my gears.

It was the bottom of the fifth inning and Ian Desmond was up. I was on the couch at the time, but didn't have my eyeballs actually pointed at the TV. I think I was making stupid goo-goo sounds at my totally awesome baby (They're just like real people, only smaller!!) ... or maybe I was solving some world renowned "unbeatable" math equation... I forget. Anyway, I'm in the middle of carrying the two to the fifth power or some shit when I hear Bob get all excited like. I hear the familiar call of his:

"See. You. Later."

"Weeeeee!" I thought to myself. "I love me some Ian Desmond." (I was also thinking, "I hope he would one day like to meet me and shake my hand cause I'm awesome, and my hands feel like silk.") And then... BOOM... right there in the middle of my day dream (the part where Ian is complimenting me on my fine choice of lunch meat (honey ham) and asking me if I would like to try on his puffy jacket (its interior is lined with the feathers of a Pegasus)) Bob blurts out (wait for it...)

"My bad. The ball is still in play."

I shit you not, folks. He actually said that! Look, here's the clip.

Bobby be dum dum. from Section 138 on Vimeo.

Can you fucking believe it? I mean... the only thing the dude has to do it call what he actually fucking sees as it actually fucking happens. His job does not require him to see into the fucking future, or to take random goddamn guesses as what's about to occur. But, what does he do? That's right... he calls the play early, and destroys my bromance with Ian.

Now, skip to bottom of the ninth. The score is tied 1-1, and Ryan Zimmerman is up with the bases loaded and one out. The pitch comes in, Ryan swings, and guess what the fuck Bob says*!!

Way to go, Bobby Carpenter. from Section 138 on Vimeo.

Argh!! Can you believe it? What a MAROON!

*Is not actually what Bob said. In reality he said... well, I don't remember what exactly he said, but I bet it was something stupid. Like... "Don't forget to buy your official Bob Carpenter score book." Goddamn shill. That guy takes, like, every opportunity he gets to try and force some crappy product on us. I don't care what t-shirts scoring accessory you have, Section 138 dude Bob, I'm not interested. Gah!