The Golden Clouds of Excellence

My Dearest Readers,

I write to you this beautiful vernal morn from high up above in what I like to refer to as the Golden Clouds of Excellence. Of course, this is merely a metaphor; physically, I am located about three minutes from a pool bar where Nick Swisher will be this afternoon, but mentally, I am soaring high above it all in my newfound state of perpetual euphoria.

I did not watch the game last night, but I don't think I need to tell you, my dearest readers, of this fact. However, it was easy to deduce the results of last night's athletic competition simply by reading the comments left by you, my dearest readers, on this blog. But it does not bother me. I have let go of what transpires on the ground between mere mortals, and instead soak up the ethereal delight that is my new resting place, the Golden Clouds of Excellence.

But dearest readers, I am somewhat troubled. I am saddened by the bickering and infighting that seems to be taking place in the comments section. You will never find Nirvana if you cannot let go of the rage that encases and controls your entire psyche. Let go, dearest readers...let go. A lesser man, which, I admit, I used to be, might have looked to find two comments written by the same user calling him a pussy and a chubby chaser and get angry. That same lesser man might have pointed out that said user was only one blog post removed from his minute by minute account of the party he attended with nothing but female sexegenarians to watch the finale of American Idol. That lesser man may have then handed that user a dictionary and told him to look up the phrase "ironically insufferable jackass." But not me. Not the new me. Not the new me, the better man who now dwells solely in the Golden Clouds of Excellence.

Dearest readers, I urge you all to become better men, like I have become. Let's put a stop to the accusations and recriminations. Let us end the fighting and travel, together, to the Golden Clouds of Excellence.

A wise sage once opined that a journey of a thousand miles begins with but a single step. But let us not be concerned with the fact that the single step of sacking Ken Macha would account for about a 687 mile bus ride, and instead be concerned with taking the step to learn what is truly important in life.

And what, you ask, my dearest readers, is truly important in life?

That question can only be answered by yourself, after you let go of your earthly possessions and desires, and come join me high up above in the Golden Clouds of Excellence.

I bid a most excellent adieu to everyone.

The Highest Highs

Greetings, friends! My self-imposed hiatus from the Athletics was initally scheduled to be a brief two or perhaps three day affair. However, I never expected that my life would change so dramatically, and for the better, with baseball no longer a part of it.

My blood pressure, conservatively estimated at 900/250, has now decreased to more normal levels. My ulcers are dissipating, and the rage that had controlled my life for the better part of twenty years is now gone. I was 25 going on 200; I am now a kid again. I am finally and once again capable of enjoying life; not just living, but LIVING! I haven't watched baseball for three days now, and I am unaware of the results of the last two. Finally, I am free, free, free at last. Thank God almighty, I am free at last.

The evening sunset is something I have never really enjoyed in my life, for I was always holed up in the solitary confinement that was watching baseball. But I have been going on nature hikes during normally scheduled baseball hours. I have brought along my vibrant, happy-go-lucky labrador retriever to the interminable mountain ranges of Walnut Creek; he has run, jumped, and pranced through the golden rolling hills. He has swam in the sparkling blue waters. He has chased squirrels and cavorted with other dogs, all the while with a smile on his face. And this, friends, brings a smile to my face.

I have enrolled in my first ever yoga class. As I stretch, I can feel myself stretching upwards to heaven; free of the shackles of baseball that had chained me to the despair ridden earth for so long. Reach, reach, reach for the sky, I am free at last!

Friends, watching the Oakland Athletics had become not a pastime, but a prison sentence. My freedom had been taken from me until I wrestled it back from the grim hands of Satan. I may never again watch another baseball game, and that thought brings me not sadness, but joy. Joy that was seemingly indescrible and unattainable a mere seven days ago, but now rests in my grip in a symbiotic partnership between myself and happiness. Dear readers, I urge you all to rid yourselves of the hold baseball has on you. Free yourself from baseball, and you, like me, will truly be free.

Gone from my life is anguishing over the dormant countenance and inexplicable employment of a certain grandfatherly individual. Gone from my life are four letter words such as RISP and GIDP. Instead, they have been replaced by an imperturbable calm, an almost halycon-like serenity.

May all of your souls one day join mine soaring throughout the shimmering expanse of the infinite. May your spirits join mine on an ascension towards the heavenly celestials. May you procure neverending peace. May you enjoy a harmonious existence in the tranquility of a baseball-free world. There is beauty everywhere. I see it now. I see what all along I have been missing.

Join me, dear readers. Join me in my new world where there exists no valleys, only peaks. No lows, only highs. Join me in my new life without the Oakland Athletics.

Join me as I reach the highest highs.

Circling the drain.....

I hate this team. The manager, the general manager, and especially the players. I can't stand them. They are stupid, useless, and I hate them. "We were aware of the bunt." Yeah, sure you were you scrotum-swallowing anusbags. That must be why Flores, Swisher AND Scutaro reacted to it like they just walked in on their fat aunt fucking a donkey. That must have been why Macha called a meeting on the mound before the at-bat (oh wait...he didn't), and why Scutaro was positioned in the left field stands.

I can't stand to watch you bat with runners on. When that happens, I go to the bathroom or head to the kitchen to fix a snack, because I know I'm not missing anything. I can't stand to watch you do anything. Letting Kendall bat last night in the 8th was the wrong move. Letting Kielty bat in the 9th against the righty Jenks was just beyond stupid. Jesus, Ken. Did Melhuse rape your son or something? What the fuck does the guy with the 3rd highest OPS on the team have to do to get some fucking at-bats? Kendall's defense is just as sad as his offense. Put Melhuse in the fucking game. What are you afraid will happen, the offense might score more than the 2 runs a game it's been averaging over the last six games?

Whatever. Fuck it. I can't watch this team anymore. It literally is too much for my blood pressure.

The Angels just got done losing 17 of 22 games. Yeah, you read that correctly. We could have BURIED them. But we didn't. Now they're showing signs of life, and I fully expect them to be back in 1st place by June 15th. We could have ended the race, but we were too busy stuffing seminal vesicles down our throats. I literally, physically, and mentally cannot watch this team anymore.

So I'm putting myself on a self-imposed hiatus from watching the team. Maybe for a couple of days. Maybe a month. Maybe forever. Or maybe until we get a regime change, because until that happens we're all just watching the same god damn movie we've seen the last 7 years. Start out slow, get hot in the middle, choke on a dick when it counts.

They've sapped my will. I'm tired, broken, and beaten. I don't want to watch them anymore. I CAN'T watch them anymore. My creativity is gone. At some point, there just aren't any more pictures you can crop Macha's head on. Whatever I have to say while I'm in this state isn't worth your time, so I'm not going to bother. It's clinical depression, and the only cure for it is strip clubs, lots of alcohol, and not watching Jason Kendall bat.

So the blog is going to go dark for a little bit. At least when it concerns entries from me. I need to get my health in order before I can go back to being a fan of this fucking team. If Macha can sleep through games, so the hell can I.

But keep checking Zach's site. It's the best site on the internet, and he does great work. And the anti-Blez always does great work. If you would like to submit a guest entry for FireMacha.com, I urge you to do so.

But I can't keep this up. Not right now. I know how the story ends. And I know that you know, too. I'm just sick of watching.

Fuck this team.

The A's season

Any questions?

Steady as she goes, Ken

Thank fucking God we've got Ken's steady hand leading our ship (that's our ship up above...the one sinking). I would hate to think what might happen if we had a Cap'n who perhaps thought about pinch running for Frank Thomas in the 8th inning of a game we trailed by 6 runs. I don't even want to know. Luckily, we've got Ken to make sure he runs the bases in a game hopelessly out of hand. And who could have ever predicted that leaving him in a game that had been long since decided could only have detrimental results, like oh, say, Frank pulling a quadriceps?

So the Macha count continues. So far this season he has cost us four games, Frank Thomas, and maybe Huston Street. And his lineups remain a confusing mystery to all but the criminally insane. That's some pretty impressive work by old Kenny. Pretty impressive indeed.

Steady as she goes, captain. Steady as she goes.

Great Solutions, by Ken Macha

The team isn't hitting. With the exception of Swisher and Chavez, everybody sucks right now. There isn't much Macha can do when everybody sucks, but that doesn't stop him from still finding ways to fuck everything up. So far this season, there has only been one thing that was working in this lineup, and that was having Swisher and Chavez in adjacent spots in the order. Of course, once Ken saw that something was working, he couldn't break up those two fast enough. Now, we're getting steady doses of Crosby or Kotsay in the three spot separating Swish and Chavy, or worse, Swisher will be dropped down to seventh. God forbid we have a puncher's chance.

Of course, when there is a problem with the team, Macha makes sure to exacerbate said problem to the best of his abilities. As if the problem itself weren't bad enough, we have to be subjected to Macha's "problem solving" skills, which he apparently honed while earning his engineering degree at Pennsylvania's equivalent of DVC.

Quimby: Keep digging.  We're bound to find something!
Quimby: I guess we're not going to find anything.
Otto: Um, how are we going to get out of here?
Homer: We'll dig our way out!
Wiggum: No, dig up, stupid!

Macha is an amalgamation of Homer and Wiggum, for those wondering. As stated before, the team isn't hitting. One such player who isn't hitting is Mark Ellis. So let's take a peek into the brainstorming capabilities of Ken Macha, shall we?

Mark Ellis, who came into the day hitting .189, picked up four hits, including a solo homer off Mark Hendrickson (2-2) in the third. With Ellis slow to get going, A's manager Ken Macha had suggested a day earlier that he might alternate Ellis and Marco Scutaro more often, as he did at the start of last year.
-SF Chronicle

That's just fucking great, Ken. Do you remember what happened last year when you alternated Ellis and Scutaro? That's exactly right, you prolonged the time it took for Ellis to come out of his slump. Just check out Ellis' splits from last year. After a poor April and a relatively pedestrian May that saw Ellis get only 121 at-bats total, he really poured it on after that, increasing his OPS in every month, and for the period of July through September, Ellis was one of the most valuable players in baseball. And the reason it took so fucking long is because you kept insisting that Marco fucking Scutaro, who barely has enough talent for a major league roster, get all sorts of playing time. Let me help you out, Ken: Scutaro sucks. He's not clutch, he can't hit, and he can't field. If Hideki Matsui didn't play defense like a braindead, headless chicken, "Clutcharo" wouldn't exist. Let Ellis play. He's your guy. Give him a day off every now and then, but when you do, play Antonio Perez, who, with his 14 whole at-bats this year, is apparently the 2006 Adam Melhuse.

Ken's "solution" of having Ellis and Scutaro alternate starts is akin to having two cancer patients split the chemotherapy regimen that one such patient will normally undergo. Not only does it not solve any problems, but it actually manages to prolong the agony for each person.

And speaking of cancer's prolonging agony, Macha is still the manager. Unfuckingbelievable.

Look, Ken: Ellis is your guy. Even when he's not hitting, Scutaro isn't hitting either (because Scutaro sucks). And since Ellis is pretty much the best defensive second baseman in the American League (Scutaro sucks at fielding, too), your solution is quite literally the dumbest thing the universe has ever known since the last time you tried your hand at "thinking" (and failed miserably, naturally). So stick with Ellis. Give him his AB's. He'll come out of the slump, and when he does, we're going to have one of baseball's more valuable players on the roster. And even if he never hits like last year again, he's always better than Scutaro. Every day, every second, every game. Scutaro should have probably gotten about 40 at-bats all season. The fact that he has 40 on May 7th is troubling, and only serves to underscore the fact that Ken is a retard.

Anyway, this team has entered its annual May stretch of futility. They had a decent record last year before embarking on an East Coast trip that basically buried them. This team isn't playing well now, and I fully expect the Blue Jays and Yankees to beat us like rented mules, and we'll fall deep into May doldrums for the 49th consecutive year, all the while Ken continues to make small problems exponentially worse by "thinking."

Go team.

Cinco de My Oh My Fucking God

Macha es estupido

Note: Picture borrowed without permission and then modified badly from PatheticsNation.


How does a team get 11 hits and 4 walks, but only one run? When Macha decided that he'd play a holiday edition of lineup construction, cleverly titled "The Cinco De Mayo fucking retard fuckup lineup from the asshole manager fun time special happy suckass manager fuck" lineup. Playing the part of the French? Logic and reason. Playing the part of the Spanish? Retarded lineups. And unfortunately, the French's impeccable battle record continued last night, as Macha set out probably the dumbest lineup he's ever made as a manager...and that's really saying something. Get a load of the crapulence that was last night's lineup:

Ellis
Kotsay
Crosby
Chavez
Thomas
Payton
Swisher
Kendall
Kielty


Yes, you're reading that correctly. The best hitter on the team, and currently one of the best hitters in baseball was batting SEVENTH last night. Apparently Ken decided that Jay Payton's lethal .450 OPS against lefties was just too important to drop down in the the order, and that Swisher needed to be sandwiched by two of the worst hitters in baseball. Of course, Ken decided to go back to his trusty old standy of Crosby batting third, when he has no business of doing so, at least right now. Look, I like Crosby more than anybody, and I think it's only a matter of time until he morphs into a championship caliber player, but he isn't one right now. So stop sticking him in the 3-hole while your best hitter languishes way down in the order.

In the first inning, we had the bases loaded and two outs. Our best hitter was on deck, watching helplessly as Jay Payton popped out to second base. Man, it sure would have been horrible if Swisher, who singled to lead off the 2nd inning, had gotten a chance to drive in some runs there, eh? I sure am glad that Payton was up there. And in the 9th inning, facing the worst closer in baseball, we had the 2-4 hitters up. Nick Swisher was unfortunately not one of them, and he never got a chance to bat before the game ended.

So yes, this is what happens when you have an idiotic lineup, Ken. The team gets 15 baserunners, and strands 14 of them. When will you ever learn? Good fucking god, Macha. Trying to find a working brain cell in your head is proving to be more difficult than tracking down Werner Von Braun in the mountains of Bavaria.

I'm placing this loss squarely at the retarded feet of Ken. I firmly believe that even a halfway decent lineup plates 4 runs last night. So this makes loss #4 that Ken is responsible for. Our record in the parallel universe (the wonderful, magical parallel universe) where Macha is not our manager is 19-10. Wow, that's a pretty good record, huh? It sure would be nice if Ken were dead. Nice work last night, dipshit.

In summation, Ken is an asshole.


Update: I was watching the game last night in between shots of tequila at a watering hole in the city (anybody ever been to that Gelato shop near Columbus? Wow that's good ice cream, or whatever the fuck Gelato is) , so my attention was not fully fixated on the action. But in the 6th inning, the camera from the FSNBA feed cut to Macha in the dugout, where I swear to god that queef was picking his nose. He may have just been scratching, I'm not sure. But if it was a pick, and somebody happened to Tivo the game or something, I would pay top dollar for a screengrab of that image. And when I say top dollar, I mean nothing. But seriously, somebody get me that image.

Street Sleeping

There's gotta be a record of you some place
You've gotta be on somebody's books
The low-down, the picture of your face
Your injured looks
-Dire Straits "On Every Street."


We were promised that Huston Street would finally return from his "minor" pectoral injury yesterday. And all throughout yesterday's game, I was stoked that we would have that guy available to protect a 1 run 9th inning lead. However, when the game returned from commercial break, I saw a silhouette that resembled Justin Duchscherer standing on the mound. "Where's Huston?" I said to myself. "Fucking goddamnit. He's still injured. The A's have been lying to us all along."

I don't know if this injury had anything to do with Macha's kickass usage of the guy early in the season, but here's what we do know: It has now been 15 days since Street suffered his injury, which means if the A's weren't so intent on lying to us all the damn time, they could have brought up another arm from Sacramento if they would have just placed Admiral Aw-Shucks on the disabled list. That extra arm might have been useful for the all the games when the starter managed to go about 3 innings before crapping out. Or, in other words, that might have been useful for all the games.

Anyway, we'll just assume that Street has some terminal chest muscle injury, and schedule his funeral for the next off day. Because clearly, he's never coming back. Ever.

And this might be Macha's fault. And if it is, Macha deserves the death penalty. By my count, this makes approximately 316 death penalties that Macha has earned in his tenure as manager.

So, thanks Macha.