The Bottom 126 Continues on HireJimEssian.com!

I think there may be a fair number of you who have “The Bottom 126″ tagged who may not have gotten the news that The Bottom 126 (along with the rest of this crazy operation) has moved to Hire Jim Essian! The content at the new domain is going to be virtually identical to the content here, so please update your bookmarks. Oh, and I also tagged this entry with every other tag, just in case you have one of those tagged. Hope to see you at the new site.

Sweet Uncle Lou’s Spring Training Diary: March 8, 2007

We won again. Yay. But our pitching sucks. Boo. But Soriano hit a leadoff homer. Yay. But he high-fives like a homo. Boo.

“Don’t you guys still do the ass-patting thing over here?”

Honestly, if the pitching is going to be this crappy, I’d rather take an extra bat north than a 12th pitcher. I don’t mean a hitter. I mean a wooden bat. And not even a game bat. The one that Trammell uses to hit grounders to Ramirez (or, as Trammell and I call him, “Dorn”).

Speaking of pitching, Miller might be my fifth starter when the dust settles. Why? Did you see Prior pitch the other day? That kid is about as tough as an $80 steak, and as Mike Krukow points out, it’s time to stop putting baby powder on his candy ass. It’s time to put up or shut up, Golden Boy.

I hate walks. Hate ‘em. It’s called “hitting,” not “walking,” dude. Nah, I’m just fucking with you. You should have seen the look on your face, though. I do hate walks, but I hate when our pitchers issue them, not when our batters take them. You know who else hates them? Zambrano. So, watch out, walks. If you see me and Big Z walking toward you on the street, you’d better just cross your ass over to the other side, put your head down, and just keep on movin’.

Mr. Fancy Pants Sissy Boy wrote an article about Miller being the 5th starter over at Desipio. If you’re not sick of all the bullshit he shovels around here, you might consider going over there to read it.

Well, I have to get going. I want to get a good seat in the dugout so I can watch Maddux picking his nose with reckless abandon throughout the whole game. Didn’t that guy ever learn there are cameras pointed at those dugouts?

-Sweet Uncle Lou

Sweet Uncle Lou’s Spring Training Diary: March 7, 2007

Yeah, I’m writing this during a game. What of it? No one’s paid a lick of attention to me since I got here, anyhow, no matter how much I scream and yell. By the way, that little speech already matched Dusty Baker’s “bitch the team out” total in the three years he was here. Wait. It was four years? Man, that guy really was a pussy. I made Prior cry during the talk, but only once. I’ll try harder next time.

Either he misplayed that ball, or that ball weighs 80 pounds.

In case you haven’t heard, Kermit and I are writing over at Desipio for a while to help that Dolan kid out. Dolan’s a good shit, even if he’s making more work for us. Kermit put up his first post today, but the idiot can’t figure out how to link it to the Desipio message board. Nice work. Real professional, Kermit. You’re making us look like a couple of chumps. Anyhow, Kermit writes about how Zambrano and Lilly are batshit crazy, yet forgets to point out that I’M THE FREAKING POWDERKEG, BITCHES!!!

Here’s a question. What am I supposed to do with the eighteen #5 starters that Hendry collected for me? Marquis is clearly a lock in the #4 spot, just because I want to see if I can give Hendry another grabber. But then I have Prior, Cotts, Miller, Marshall, Guzman, Marmol, and about 50 other guys who all keep sending me boxes of chocolate for the 5th starter spot. I’ll wait until next week, when 14 or 15 injuries thin the herd.

The Sun-Times‘ “Tribune on Trial” series gets even dumber with this interview of The Score’s Mike Murphy. I’d like to give that dude an enema with the gravy from Brown’s Chicken.

McDonough was talking shop the other day. One of the things he mentioned was that Selig bitched us out for spending too much money during the offseason. I was surprised to hear that, seeing as how I thought Selig died three years ago.

Hey, Ozzie. Thanks for the advice on how to manage a baseball team. Now here’s some advice for you: FUCK. OFF.

Prior and Wood still aren’t hurt, no matter how many banana peels and Micro Machines I leave lying around Prior’s locker.

Well, I gotta go. Zambrano is screaming about something and Prior’s curled up in the fetal position at the end of the bench.

-Sweet Uncle Lou

Sweet Uncle Lou’s Spring Training Diary: March 6, 2007

Well, laa-dee-fucking-daa, we won a game! Lots of catching up to do. Sorry I didn’t write over the weekend, but I was too busy shitting bricks about this team. Good God. When you people say “curse,” you just mean “this team sucks at everything fundamental about the game of baseball,” right?

Don’t think we’ve forgotten about Pearl Harbor, you son of a bitch.

Zambrano has already lost his fucking mind, saying that we’re going to win the World Series. This team couldn’t win the College World Series. Of course, hardly any of them went to college. Except Prior and Samardzija. And of those two, one acts like a girl, and the other one has pretty hair like a girl, so shove your schoolbooks straight up your ass. What was I saying again? Oh, yeah. Z is nuts.

To recap our pitching: Wood has an 18″ penis, Lilly looked very good, Marquis is guaranteed to suck, Zambrano is guaranteed to be awesome, and you might want to consider selling any of your autographed Prior memorabilia now before it’s too late.

Not that it’s news, but Ozzie Guillen is a complete ramrod. I’ll have more on that story later, but take it from me. I’m going to enjoy bending him over a Gatorade jug six times this year. Cover your bunghole, mang.

I hope you bastards tuned in yesterday to watch me on “Real Sports with Bryant Gumbel.” You didn’t? Yeah, I guess that Gumbel is pretty annoying. To tell you the truth, I didn’t even watch it. It was bad enough sitting through the interview.

So, the Tribune, Buster Olney, and this crappy rag ALL ran stories over the weekend about a Fire Lou Piniella site, and not ONE of them mentioned this site. Yet this site does! What the hell is a “Desipio”?! Ha ha! Fuck you, Kermit!

Felix Pie is pretty good, but I’m worried. With a name like that, it’s only a matter of time before Hendry puts a big scoop of ice cream on his head and devours him.

Did I mention I’m already sick of this shit?

Oh, and if you were wondering, former Cub Jerry Hairston Jr. had to have been using the wrong kind of performance-enhancing drug. His performance was about as enhanced as mine in bed after drinking whiskey for 10 straight hours.

Funny story. I walked into the clubhouse the other day, and Barrett was freaking beating the hell out of his junk with a baseball bat! I grabbed him, and I was like, “Barrett, what the fuck are you doing?!” He said, “I’m testing out this new cup I bought to protect my damaged balls. It doesn’t seem to work very well.” I looked down at the bench next to him, and I said, “You mean that cup?!” He looked all sick, and then he passed out. Jesus, he’s not too bright, is he?

Well, I have to run. Me and Rothschild are going to take Prior on a snipe hunt. A long, looooooooong snipe hunt.

-Sweet Uncle Lou

Sweet Uncle Lou’s Spring Training Diary: March 1, 2007

Are you idiots in panic mode yet? Ha ha ha! I know it’s only Spring Training, but good LORD did we suck today. I didn’t think it was possible to suck that much. How the hell do you give up SEVEN unearned runs? Moore? Cedeno? Can you tell me how you give up seven unearned runs? Do you remember? Scott? Two throwing errors? Ring a bell? Ronny? Your fielding error? You’re not here for your bat, son, and you’re certainly not here for your looks. In fact, you look like a turtle. You’re here to play defense. If you can’t catch the goddamn ball, you’d better start learning how to do whatever the hell they do in Iowa.

I know you’re thinking, “But, Uncle Lou! It’s just one game of Spring Training. Can’t you cut them some slack?” Just one? Just one. Next thing you know, you’re having “just one beer,” getting “just one tattoo,” and doing “just one hit of meth.” And then you’re this guy:

So pardon me for demanding perfection.

But I guess tomorrow’s another day. Isn’t that some profound shit? Who the hell do we have tomorrow, the Angels? Oh joy. I hope that roided-up freak Gary Matthews, Jr. doesn’t snap and start killing people. I only have 85 outfielders on this team (thanks, Jim) and I can’t afford to lose more than 80 of them. See you tomorrow, chumps.

-Sweet Uncle Lou

Sweet Uncle Lou’s Spring Training Diary: February 28, 2007

It’s the last day of February, and you know what that means. No more celebrating black history! Starting tomorrow, I can be as mean to Jacque Jones as I want to be! It’s going to be great! I know you panty-wearers are dying for a diary update, so I won’t keep you.

Hey, Jim, thanks for the cool shortstop action figure, but who is seriously going to play short this year?

It’s admirable that Bruce Miles is still flying the “Dempster is the closer not Wood” flag. Wood is ready to go, and I can’t imagine I’d leave Dempster in there for long if he sucks as bad as he did last year. I give it another week until even Miles gives up and realizes that Dempster is about as good at closing as Jason Marquis is at starting. Holy crap, both of those guys are on our roster, aren’t they? Muskrat screwed up another one of my interviews, suggesting that I’m “happy with Dempster.” What I said was, “I’m happy with Dempster bloated and floating face down in a hot tub.” Simple mistake.

Soriano had better hit 40 homers and swipe 40 bases. If that roided up freak show Canseco can do it, Soriano can. By the way, Canseco, how did that 1990 World Series work out for you? Hmm? How was it? Did you and your “butt bash brother” have a nice time? Hmm? Heavily favored going into that Series, weren’t you? What’s that? I couldn’t hear you? “Yes, Coach Piniella, we were heavily favored”? Is that what you said? Who won that Series, anyhow? The Reds? Really? It must have gone seven games, since you were so heavily favored, right? No? Really? Only four games? Wow.

Well, that’s all for me today, kids. You may have noticed less swearing in this installment of my diary. My wife made me give up swearing for Lent. Wait. I don’t think that means I can’t write swears. Cock balls shit. Awesome. See you soon, sluts.

-Sweet Uncle Lou

Sweet Uncle Lou’s Spring Training Diary: February 26, 2007

God damnit. I didn’t get a chance to write this weekend because Daryl Ward sat on my laptop, so now I’m all backed up. I’ll try to catch up. Here we go.

Here I am showing the guys how to swim. In the desert.

Gerry Perry already has these idiots practicing swinging more than they did under Baker. Wait. Wasn’t them swinging too much the whole problem last year? I gotta remember to go talk to Perry.

buggy-whip: (v.) to swing an object rapidly at another object so as to accelerate an second object to a ludicrous speed

Usage: A Boston Globe reporter wrote a completely pointless article, so I buggy-whipped him with my johnson.

“Prior is going to be held back,” I say, two days after tickets go on sale. “Just kidding! Prior is starting our fifth Spring Training game,” I say yesterday. You Cubs fans are too easy. Go wash out your skidmarks.

This dude invented a fridge that catapults your beer into your hand. On a related note, I finally found a use for Marquis.

Ha ha! Trammell got caught giving a shit whether someone was okay! Nerd!

You know what would be awesome? If Hendry sent Jacque Jones down to the minors during the spring to “get him some more at-bats,” and then never called him back up. That would be as hilarious as the time I pantsed Rothschild in the middle of a practice and started pointing and yelling “Eenie meenie tiny weenie!” Seriously. Tiny.

In case you woke up this morning all optimistic and bright-eyed, keep in mind that I have declared Marquis my number one starter. Ha ha! Just kidding. Only in Spring Training. Seriously, though, Marquis fucking SUCKED last year, and he’s our fifth starter. Not to mention the fact that you probably throw harder than Wade Miller. Now go find yourself a length of rope.

Bruce Miles writes a brilliant article. Why is it brilliant? Because it’s about me. All me. It’s about me kicking ass. It’s about me winning games. It’s about me cock-punching that stupid goat. Read it. Love me.

This article is ridiculous because they didn’t post any of my real answers to the reporter’s questions. The real answers are below.

1. One thing on your nightstand: A box of Big Jimmy Extra-Large Condoms. Some used. Some not.

2. One thing on a wall in your living room: Hendry’s balls.

3. One thing you have in your house from your childhood: Naked pictures of the first girl I banged. When I was 12.

4. Three condiments we would find in your refrigerator: Extra Fucking Spicy Tabasco Sauce, K-Y Jelly, Marshmallow Fluff.

5. Three things we would find in your medicine cabinet: I’ll tell you what you wouldn’t find: Viagra, deodorant, tampons (unlike Prior’s).

6. Do your dirty dishes go in the sink or dishwasher? Back in the cupboard.

7. If you had to save one thing from your home, what would it be? My gun collection <kisses biceps>

8. What is the biggest collection in your home? See #7

9. What reading material would we find in your bathroom? Porn. I like stuff with 2 or 3 chicks.

10. If we looked under your bed, what would we find? Jason Marquis. That guy is in my fucking nightmares.

Wood still looks good. Not that kind of wood, you queers.

Mike Harkey is the new AAA pitching coach. When is this Kermit asshole gonna get to that pansy on his little list?

Oh, crap. I have to get going. I’m late for a “coaches’ meeting.” Yep. I have to go meet Coach Daniels, Coach Walker, and Coach Cuervo. Talk to you soon, fools.

-Sweet Uncle Lou

Sweet Uncle Lou’s Spring Training Diary: February 22, 2007

You’re gonna have to bear with me this morning. Me and Trammell got LIT last night. It was hilarious. FYI, Trammell gets a tad queer when he’s drunk. I’m just saying, don’t room with him.

I’m just saying.

Hendry asked me the other day if I needed anything else here. I think he meant for the team, but I said, “A cup of coffee and a blow job.” Anyhow, just then, Cedeno comes running over, and Wood yells out, “Don’t forget the coffee!” That kid’s all right. Seriously, though, I like the look of the team, and I think we can put together a damn good team with the ingredients we already have. I’ll tell you one thing, though, Cedeno can NOT make a good cup of coffee.

What is with this snarky bullshit the Sun-Times is pulling? They’re putting the Tribune “on trial” for “crimes against the Cubs”?! This is like one nerd beating the hell out of another nerd to get accepted by the cool kids. Hey, nerds. We hate both of you, and we don’t care about your queer nerd fights.

I wanted to give some of you bluebloods some flashbacks to Dusty, so I said I like veterans. Now I just sit back and watch the blogosphere EXPLODE. Bet you didn’t know I knew the word “blogosphere,” did you? What do you think I am? Stupid?

Christ, the media sucks so bad that they even manage to turn a story about me into a Yankees story. Hey, arrogant New York assholes? I never wanted your job. Jesus, that job is killing Torre. And it’s hard to kill a guy whose face is a leather boot. Trust me.

That Vorva guy makes it seem like Soriano and I are B.F.F. Maybe Vorva should stick to the “A-Rod and Jeter have slumber parties” story. It’s not like I braided Soriano’s hair or dipped his hand in warm water. We just spooned a little.

The Tribune tried to make me look stupid, just because I’d never heard of this stupid Billy Goat nonsense, and I couldn’t remember that Fart kid’s name. The one who interfered with the ball. That’s because I was too busy humping the Tribune’s mom in 2003.

The rookies threw to the hitters yesterday. Good Lord, that shit is boring. I would have fallen asleep standing up if Rothschild didn’t have such raunchy gas. The guy seriously stripped the paint off one of the batting practice helmets. I thought I was going to die. I’ll tell you what, though, unlike that idiot Baker, I actually want these guys to throw the ball over the plate. That should be a nice little change, right?

Assuming that I’m a hothead makes an ass out of you and me. Muskrat cuts out the middlemen and just makes an ass of herself.

Well, I gotta get out of here before Rothschild’s fricking ass melts my laptop screen. Talk to you kiddies when there’s something worth talking about.

-Sweet Uncle Lou

Sweet Uncle Lou’s Spring Training Diary: February 21, 2007

Let’s just get this out of the way.

Yes, that’s me and Soriano. Yes, I’m fucking sexy. Yes, I stole the barrel I’m sitting on from one of those annoying fucking kids who hit them with drum sticks on the El. Yes, I’m going to kick Albert Chen in the penis for not picking us to win the World Series. Any other questions? Too bad. Q & A is over, you little bastards.

Ramirez finally decided to show up for camp. How nice of him to show up “on time.” And by “on time,” I mean “late.” What these cocksuckers in camp don’t understand is that they are now on “Piniella Time.” And Piniella Time means that whenever I have to wake up before noon to coach baseball, you’d better bet your sweet ass that there will be 25 or more guys there ready to be coached, or the Neifi is gonna hit the fan.

On a serious note, there’s a link to the right to donate to the 1st Touch Foundation, started by Derrek Lee in his search to find a cure for his daughter’s ailment. It’s a great cause, and Lee is a great man and player.

Check out what I said yesterday.

One of the things I did tell this team is that I’ve been fortunate to have some very talented teams in my career as a manager, and there’s as much talent in this clubhouse as any team I’ve ever managed. And I meant it.

News flash: I didn’t mean it. Shit, I won 116 games in Seattle. In one year. This team will be lucky to win that many by the time my contract is up, and that’s assuming we get off to a quick start. Also, Paul Sullivan, thanks for the headline, “Piniella Stresses Fun, Achievement.” Not only does that headline suck, but it is also so flambuoyantly gay that it glows in the dark.

Speaking of which, I have to go watch Prior’s next throwing session. Holy shit we’re a week into camp and the guy ain’t hurt yet. You kids knock on wood, and I’m going to go knock on Wood. Ha!

-Sweet Uncle Lou

Sweet Uncle Lou’s Spring Training Diary: February 20, 2007

I’m back. Ohman won the milk-chugging contest. It was fricking gross. He should have told someone he’s lactose-intolerant. I tell everyone I meet that I’m jackass-intolerant. This means you, Hendry. Anyhow, so much crap keeps happening, that I feel the need to keep you idiots informed. That way, when someone says, “Did you hear that so-and-so did such-and-such?” you won’t have to say, “No, I didn’t hear that, because I had my this-and-that shoved up my Now and Later.”

Guess where my right hand is.

• Did this town have such inept managers that everyone is shocked that the second baseman might not be hitting second in the lineup? I might put a right fielder in there. I might put a left fielder in there. I might put a catcher in there. I might put myself in there if these idiots can’t get the job done. It’s a new era, bitches.
• Wood is likely ditching the curveball, since he won’t need it as much as a reliever. He’s going to stick mostly with a fastball-slider combo, with the occasional changeup in there. I tried to convince Wood to ditch Marquis and Dempster, too. He just laughed. I like what I’m seeing out of that kid. Oh, and from that first article, Dempster said they can play Sinatra on the mound, for all he cares. Maybe the ball should request “Fly Me to the Moon.”
• Speaking of Dempster, I beat the holy hell out of Dibble, and I can certainly beat the tar out of that redheaded stepchild.
• I still need to find a long reliever, and Cotts may fill that role. I’ll tell you who isn’t long. Prior. Hung like a Tic-Tac. I’m just saying.
• Santo is still the little engine that could. If the Veterans Committee of the Hall of Fame doesn’t let him in this year, I will personally fly to each one of their homes and beat them senseless. Even if they voted for Santo.

Well, back to work. The Tribune asked me to make the boys run some more wind sprints so they can take ridiculous pictures like this one.

-Sweet Uncle Lou