Holy Crap, I'm Three!

Hey kids, guess what?!  It's the three year anniversary of the Studly Pastures!!!

I know exactly what you're thinking too.  You're thinking, wow, for something that's been around for three years it's pretty antiquated and not very popular.

And you would be right.

I tried to sell out, I really did.  I put advertisements on here that have earned me almost fifty cents.

My most-read post was about Charlie Sheen during the height of his craziness.  In fact, being a blogger for three years has pretty much taught me the ropes.  Any time I mention someone like Sheen, or LeBron James, or Justin Bieber, or Katie Holmes, or Fidel Castro, or the Beatles, or Scooby Doo, or Santa Claus, or Steve Buschemi, or McDonalds, Google will pretty much put me at the top of the list for anybody that's searching for anything remotely close to any of those people.

It's pretty interesting to know that I can write entire posts without any sort of substance in it and all I have to do is name drop a few times and then BAM I'm front page.

That's the glory of today's communication process.  People haven't gotten smarter or more profound--or hell, even literate--they're just easier to hear.

I have a very simple answer for why I operate the SP.  I'm narcissistic and love to go back and read about what I thought about certain events in life.  True story.  I really could give two craps about what you think.  I don't even know you.  To me, you're just some faceless statistic that I check every now and again to see exactly how many faceless entities are actually reading my soap box declarations.

If I want to write about how Steve Nash going to the Lakers is what makes me hate the NBA and why just about every other major sport is run better than this one and I blather on and on just like I would sitting in a room by myself, I find it really bizarre that someone from Moldova would read that and be like, "Yeah, you tell them!" (Or however that would translate in Moldovian.  I'm not even really sure if they speak Moldovian, I'm not doing any research.)  (Sorry, Moldova.)

I'm huge in Eastern Europe by the way.  I'm their David Hasselhoff.

I guess what I'm getting at is that the system is wonderfully flawed.  There is absolutely no reason why a blog based on a fictional stud farm for unicorns, run by someone who boldly refers to himself as The Creator, should have ever pandered on for three years...let alone be actually read by people.

It's ludicrous.  Shame on you.

But I love you and I try my best for you, faceless entities.  I wish I could tell you I put my blood, sweat, and tears into this thing but I have air conditioning and a fear of blood.  Plus, men don't cry.

Thanks for three great years and here's to at least fifty million more!

In Defense of Wild Thing

It's a natural fact in the world that most baseball movies are pure crap.

They are usually sensational, overblown ridiculous scenarios that will never happen in real life. (See Little Big League and Rookie of the Year)

Then there's the ones that are the feel-good, emotionally charged family pieces. (See Angels in the Outfield)

And then there's a whole new category for any baseball movie that Kevin Costner is in.

But then, something miraculous happened in 1989. A great baseball movie was made.

Tom Berenger portrayed the aging, baseball-lifer, chasing the dream one more time. Wesley Snipes played the flashy, Willie Mays-wannabe. Rene Russo looked awesome. Plus, Bob Uecker was actually playing Bob Uecker.

There was also one more piece that was integral to Major League becoming the greatest baseball movie of all-time. It had the Wild Thing, Charlie Sheen.

Sheen was only 24-years old when he portrayed Ricky "Wild Thing" Vaughn but he managed to capture our hearts.

His torn sleeves, his rebel haircut, his skull and crossbones glasses, and his deadly fastball are the glorious images and weapons of the Wild Thing.

The part where Vaughn believes himself to be cut from the squad was absolutely priceless. He launched into a verbal tirade against the manager and then turned it into a physical altercation with the player that pranked him.

In fact, the majority of the film's out-bursts and profane moments came from Vaughn. Even though it was unbeknownst to him at the time, he was involved in an affair with the wife of fellow teammate, Roger Dorn.

The carefree use of alcohol, the adulterous lifestyle and the bouts of cursing were the what made the Wild Thing.

He was indeed, a rock star from Mars. People would burst into song whenever he emerged from the bullpen! Women threw themselves at him like they were under his magic spell.

The Wild Thing wasn't bipolar, he was bi-winning. Underneath his tough "California Penal" exterior was a man who cared deeply for his teammates.

Without him, the Cleveland Indians would have lost the pennant and Major League would have sucked.

Let's hear it for the Wild Thing.