FJM's Greatest Hits: Most Definitely NOT Sac Bunts

So I know that this is like the most important week of the year for serious Rebs. And diverting attention away from the LSU game is fairly blasphemous. But its Monday, and I simply cannot let the passing of the funniest blog on the intertubes go unnoticed. I'll have plenty of LSU content up by the time this week is done, but for now I'd like to reflect on my favorite Fire Joe Morgan piece of all time.

For those of you who don't know, the site was created to militantly and hilariously ridicule all of the dunderheaded baloney that baseball writers and broadcasters get away with on a daily basis. They targeted all the morons, but in particular they hated Plaschke, Joe Morgan, Skip Bayless, Scoop Jackson, John Kruk and their ilk. They hated hot air, ambiguous words like "grit" and "heart". Hated the sac-bunt, pitchers' W-L statistics and in general just articles that were meaningless and buttarded. The articles these guys produced were cosistently inane and baseless and rhetorical. One such article that came across the desk of Ken Tremendous (aka Michael Schur, lead writer for the Office) was found on MSN's online sports page. It had all of the proto-typical dumbassery that got the guys at FJM fired up: it was based on the age-old cliche that baseball players are soft, it criticised the game as boring and long and perhaps most unforgivingly, it ridiculed those baseball fans who lean heavily on the numbers to tell them about their favorite teams and players. Big mistake, MSN. If FJM was about anything, it was about protecting baseball lovers from the constant "nerd" insults (see: Basement, Mother's) from people who didn't understand what WHIP meant.

Please find Ken's smartassed response below. MSN's quotes in bold. KT's replies in italics. And if you're a baseball fan, do yourself and favor and visit their site to go through their archives.

Statistics

If I want a lesson in mathematics, I’ll walk through the halls of MIT, not the turnstiles of Yawkey Way. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves, aren’t we?

Oh, we're enjoying ourselves, J-Mo. And here's the thing about statistics, which to me seems self-evident, but to pseudonymous blowhards might not: you don't have to use them, if you don't want to.

On-base percentages, opponent on-base plus slugging percentages, sabermetrics … Alan Greenspan might enjoy crunching the numbers, but for those of us who’d rather leave our brains at work, the cold-beverage-intake-to-bladder-outflow ratio makes a whole lot more sense.

Bra. Seriously, bra. Fuck these nerds. For serious. True story, bra -- I'm at the game yesterday. I'm wasted. Seriously, bra, I've had like eleven brews. I'm there with my boy Donnie -- awesome guy. Solid guy. The papers call him the "Laundry Room Rapist." So Donnie's like, "Bra, you want another one?" And I'm like, "Shitchyea, dude! I ain't driving!" And Donnie's all, "Bra, you are driving, remember?" And I was like, "Ohhhh shit!" And we high-five, right?
So basically everything was awesome. We were crushing it, bra. And then, this little fucking nerd in front of us is like, "Can you be careful? You're spilling beer on my daughter's head," and I'm like, "Whatever dude -- it's a ballgame. Shut up and enjoy the ride!" and he's like, "Just try to be more considerate," and then his little nerd son is like, "Daddy, look, Manny's up!" and his nerd dad is like, "Let's go Manny!" and his nerd son is like, "His batting average is down to .288" and that's when I just lost it, bra. Those fucking nerds and their numbers. So I pull my rod out -- you know, because I have to piss, right? -- and the guy is all, "Hey! You can't do that here!" and I'm like, "Sorry, nerdbra, the only statistic I care about is how many brewskis I've had and how much piss I've pissed" and the next thing you know security is dragging me out and they're all like, "You're banned for life" and I'm like, "Bra, what the hell?" and they're like "You pulled your penis out and urinated at your seat and there's vomit on your forearm, and also you can't smoke in the stadium, and your friend is wearing a shirt and shoes but no pants," and I'm like "He's Donald Ducking it, bra -- it's classic!" and they're like, "Get out of here and never come back."
And that's when I realized: nerds have ruined baseball.

Thanks for the memories FJM.