Matt. Suzuki.

Presented without comment.

Also presented without comment is a link to an internet-page-thingie that let's you know if Papa Johns pizza is half off or not. It was created by Ben Packard. Click if you are thinking about ordering Papa Johns, but only if it's 50% off because of the local sports teams here in the DC area. http://www.ispizzahalfprice.com.
Crap, I just commented about it, didn't I?
I suck at this no-comment thing. Unlike Bobby Carpenter, who (as seen above) sucks at this do-comment thing. (Zing! I've got jokes, folks.)

Well, Bob Carpenter is still Bob Carpenter.

Yesterday's game was the most Bob Carpenter game in the history of Bob Carpenter games, with the last play of the game being called in the most Bob Carpenter way possible.

Please allow me to do my best Dan Steinberg and transcribe what happened on the last play of the game. Situation: Bottom of the ninth, Nats down one. Ian Desmond on second, two outs, Danny Espinosa at the plate.

/SMACK goes the ball off Danny Espinosa's bat into CF.

Bob: "And this game will be tied..."

/A whole entire fucking play unfolds since, you know, THAT'S HOW THINGS WORK.

Bob: "... He is out! And the game is over."

GAH! Look, I've talked about this in the past. In fact, more than once. I've even made videos poking fun at him about it. But this one, I didn't make up. See for yourself:

Hella Horrible, Carpy Baby. from Section 138 on Vimeo.

Now, I know the call wasn't being piped into the dugout. And I know that Rick Eckstein and Davey aren't looking at Bob with this "Are you fucking serious?" look. But... I choose to ignore ALL OF THAT and pretend that Davey and Rick are dumbfounded at Bob Carpenter's call, not the umpire's.

So, Nats lose. But, that wasn't even the worst part about the entire game. What was? It was seeing Chorye Spoone's name pop up when he came into the game, going through the 1,000 different ways I imagened his name was pronouced, only to have it be said as "COREY SPOON." Are you kidding me? Fuck it, he'll always be "Chore-eye Spoon-eh" to me. Take that, Chore-eye's mom and dad!

Did anyone get the number of that truck?

I did! It was #33, Juan Rivera. He decided (very wisely, no matter what the outcome of the play was) to bowl over Chase Utley last night on a ground ball to second, and I love the man for that.

Chase Utley's scummieness has been well documented over at these here parts, and it brought a large smile to my face when I saw this on MLB network this morning. I was so happy, in fact, that I made a video of the glorious event and put it to music. I think Mr. Ludacris did a bang up job of summing up my thoughts. (With special emphasis put on the last line of the video.)

Ahh... all is good for now. The Section 138 lynch mob has been pleased with Juan Rivera's offering. While the hit didn't put Chase Utley out, it did garner Mr. Rivera a free beer or three from me anytime he wants, and a spot in the Section 138 HOF*.

(*There is no Section138 Hall of Fame, unfortunately, as the more I thought about it, the more I saw the possibility of several members being admitted because I was blind drunk at the time. Seriously, the Hall would have, like, 4,345 members in it. Lastings Milledge? Sure, he made that play that one time. Todd Coffey? Sure, he made me giggle with his jiggle. See where I'm going with this? I'm pretty sure at some point in his tenure, I've even agreed with Bobby Carpenter, and would've pulled the trigger on electing him in. And the only Halls that should have Bob Carpenter as a member are the Hall of Corny, and the Hall of Generic White Announcers From the Central Time Zone Who Have Covered Baseball, Pro Tennis, Pro Golf, and Have Graduated From the University of Missouri-Kansas City.)

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!

Dear Bob Carpenter.

Dear ass clown Bob,

Hi. Long time watcher, second time letter writer. Listen...about your calling of the games...I'm gonna repeat myself a little, but I have a couple new pointers as well. Allow me to proceed? (In other words, pretend I'm not Rob Dibble, who you love to constantly talk over.)

• My biggest pet peeve still exists with you, good sir. Please be aware that when you state something like, "Here's the pitch, and it's foul-tipped to the backstop" you're incorrect. For a ball to be ruled a foul-tip, it has to go sharp and direct from the batters bat to the catchers mitt, and be caught. If the catcher doesn't hang on after it hits his mitt...well...it's just a good old fashioned foul. But then again, you're not clear on the foul ball rules either, skippy.
  
• Hey, dude? You're on TV. That means that your audience actually has eyeballs, and can see the game. Please resist your urge to forecast the plays, because you're fucking killing me. If I have to hear something along the lines of..."How far is this one gonna go?" only to see it caught ten feet from the wall again, I'm going to kill your cat. Also, please refrain from calling a ball a hit until it hits the fucking ground, and calling the runner out until the throw beats him to a forced bag, or he gets fucking tagged.
• Here's a new one I caught from you last night, Carpster. (I can call you that, right? Thanks.) There was some chirping going on from the Nats dugout when a pick-off attempt at first happened. They wanted a balk called. I missed what happened initially, so I was eager to hear the announcers break it down for me. Carpy didn't disappoint with the brilliant suggestion that "maybe they're saying he didn't come to a complete pause before throwing to first." What the fuck is coming out of your mouth, sir? Jumping monkeys on a pogo stick! Seriously? Just what the hell are your qualifications? ::Checks Wikipedia:: Wow. 33 years in baseball, and you don't know what a fucking balk is?!? Then again, you questioned the ruling of a line drive last year, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised.
  

Okay, Bobby. That'll about do it for today. I appreciate you reading this letter, and sending me some good feedback. But..since you won't, I'll just imagine how it would go...

::phone rings::

Me: Hello?


Carpster: Hey hey, little buddy! How's my main man doing? Huh? All right! Hey, thanks for the feedback, tiger. I appreciate all the little people out there that enjoy my work!

::points his fingers at the speaker phone he's using on his desk and fires off two gunshots from his fingers::

Me: Yeah, hey, did you read my....

Carpinater: Can't say enough about how much I enjoy getting fan mail. Hey, do you own an official Bob Carpenter score book? Bet you'd get a thrill outta having one show up in the mail...signed by me, wouldn't ya? All right kiddo, I'll make it happen.

Me: Actually, Bob I.....

Bobby C: Okay party peoples, I gotta get moving. As always, I love my fans. You stay outta trouble you little scamp, you. OHH, gotta go, I just saw a hot little number walk by. Time to turn on the ol' Carpster magic.

::tries to hang up phone but hits the wrong button, allowing me to hear still::

Muffled Bob voice from down the hall: Hey, hey, little lady! You got it going on! Hey, I'd love to see how far this one could go, if you know what I mean...And I think you do!

::Voice trails off...

I will destroy your throat and face, Carpenter.

Hi. Ya know, I've been thinking about what to write about the last couple of days. I feel like I've been mailing it in, sorta. You know, not giving you guys my full effort. I didn't want to write crap, just because I felt like I should post something, so I thought about what I'm most passionate about at this time. My findings? I hate Mr. Robert Carpenter.

"Hey, party people, what's the haps? Right on, right on"
:::::gives the double finger gun shooting thingie complete with wink:::::::
"Okay, you take it easy, you crazy kid!"
::::: hits your shoulder with his fist while saying "Go get 'em, slugger"::::::::

Let me make it clear: I don't hate Bob Carpenter the person, I hate Bob Carpenter the personality. He may be great out of the booth, but he just seems so..... fucking cheesy in the booth, that I can't help but project that to how he would act in his everyday life. He also has the worst baseball knowledge of anyone that is even remotely associated with the game, not to mention the worst timing of any announcer in professional sports.

I've ranted about his timing before. A couple times, actually. But no post complaining about his announcing would be complete without me bringing it up. He displays no interest what-so-ever in actually letting the play end before calling the result. It's excruciatingly excruciating. He's on FUCKING TV, for Christ's sake. He doesn't have to even give the result, if he doesn't want to, because most of us watching TV have eyes in our fucking head. Let the play unfold, and call the aftermath, Bob, and we would be getting along so much better.

"How far is this one gonna go!?" Well, Bob, chances are if your saying that, it'll barely clear the wall, or be caught 10 feet short on the warning track. Since this game was in Atlanta, they don't have Carpy screaming like an idiot, but click on video, select the "Dukes' solo shot" and just know that as soon as it hit the bat, he said those familiar six words in bold above. The ball cleared by a foot, if that.

More verbiage: I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate his fucking "side-door", and "front-door" breaking ball calls on sliders. Back-door, I'm okay with, because it's been used for years, but now he's just making shit up. While we're on words he makes up, I don't really care for "jammage", either. "Jam job" is pushing it, too, Bob.

Rules of the game: You know, Bob, you've been doing this long enough you would think you would, oh, I don't know....know the fucking rules. I thought I was hearing things earlier this year when I heard you say (and I'm paraphrasing it here, because I don't have the memory skills most do), "Line drive over the bag, lands foul, but where did it cross the bag?" Who gives a shit where/if it crossed the bag, Bob, it's foul no matter what. ANY ball hit in the air that lands, untouched, in foul territory is foul. No ifs ands or buts. Don Sutton had to correct him halfway through the year. I was mind-boggled at why he cared whether a line drive flew over the bag.
Foul-tip. Bob, please understand what a foul-tip is. If I hear you say, "Here's the pitch, foul-tipped to the screen" or "there's a swing, foul-tip, and it will make it's way to the backstop" I'll fucking kill you. Also, you cannot say, "Foul tip, but the catcher can't hang on." The definition of a foul-tip is "a batted ball that goes sharp and direct from the bat to the catcher's hands and is legally caught." If any foul ball touches the ground, it is just a foul ball, not a foul-tip. It must go sharply and directly to the catcher's glove and be caught for it to be a foul-tip, slugger.

Okay, Bob, that's about it. I'll be sure to point out any of your other annoying habits (Eating cookies in bed? You bastard!) as I see fit. Feel free to point out mine, as well, dude!