The Rant: Mr. Lynn cashes in, my Kaya Scoledario crush, and Doug Armstrong's offseason goal

All the noise that's fit to write in my head.

The mosquitoes have returned, back in black and causing disruption. That’s what they do in a general fashion: disrupt the established harmony of everyday life. Human beings already have enough at stake in their day-to-day mannerisms. A promise to do your job, be nice to inconsiderate strangers, and not beat the living crap out of anyone.

And then those tiny, black bastards arrive at our party like blank and bland, uninvited Gary. They eat all of our green olives, pita chips, and drink half of the beer. There you are, sitting on the deck and enjoying life as it ticks away. Enter an incredibly small, need-our-blood-to-live mosquito. They can’t live without us. In addition to furthering our own life, we have to keep them alive too. As Winston would say, “such is life.”

Let’s get on with the rest of this *paid* subscriber only post. There’s a healthy part of me that would prefer to make it all free, but the other part says charge a few bucks for your words of wisdom, a peak inside no one else’s brain but my own. You can choose to not continue, because I know life is expensive and tough. Nevertheless, let’s get into it.

No topical organization will be applied to this rant. It’s just going to be an open stream of whatever comes into my head until the clock tells me to stop for more coffee and Bloody Marys.

Lance Lynn probably likes a good, spicy Bloody Mary. I’d make him three for the work done Saturday night in Los Angeles. After Miles Mikolas and Zack Thompson were punished for home runs and tons of runs, Lynn kept the mighty Dodgers more silent than deadly. Runners reached base, but nobody saw home plate with Lynn on the mound.

The first inning was three straight singles followed by three strikeouts, culminating in a fist pump and shout by the Cardinals pitcher as he departed the bump. Whether it’s Chris Carpenter or Adam Wainwright or Lynn, seeing a pitcher let it loose after fighting out of a potential big inning will never cease being cool to see. They’re not robots, but a healthy portion of who they are is pushed down during a public appearance. Lynn doesn’t shy away from emotion. That’s a better reason to acquire a guy than mere veteran presence.

Lynn still has something left in the tank, a fastball that can change speeds just enough and a breaking pitch that still startles bats. The runners reached on singles, but Lynn punished the following hitters with inside heat that prevented hard contact, or any contact at all. A sobering return to a place that turned Lynn into a home run-allowing punchline.

Where are all those Cardinals fans who said Lynn was a bad signing and gave up so many homers? That was ONE YEAR, people. Be better than a middle school baseball fan next time. The Lynn tour will continue with Skip Schumaker’s Miami Marlins this week. While the piranhas wait for his first misstep, I’ll celebrate a successful reentry for Lance into Cardinal Nation.

His postgame comments are about as rich and compelling as his arsenal of cheddar pitches. When asked by Jim Hayes about the first inning trouble, Lynn talked about wanting to know if the old dog still had it. Katie Woo asked him about his reaction to giving up three singles. Lynn’s response:

“Fuck it, let it rip.”

He’s a treasure. Embrace it, people.

What’s also a treasure? Well-made, stacked cheeseburgers. In a move that would make other cooks and chefs doubt themselves, my lovely wife turned a few frozen burger patties into smashed, classic burger delights. Who needs to go out and pay $15-20 for a plate of fries, potatoes, and mac n’ cheese when the wife can produce something better with free seconds and leftovers?

Oh behave, mac and cheese that she just threw together like a Giada stunt double. Cavatappi shells, which sound like the literature teacher who lived on the Hill and was cool in class. Thick shreds of mild white cheddar cheese, which may or may not be Lynn’s favorite, mixed into a pot with a roux cheese sauce that she already had going. Remember, she is making burgers and fries with this extra carb smoke show. It’s the kind of side dish that you taste twice just to make sure.

Here’s the secret. Sesame seed buns and a burger that’s loaded enough. We talked about it before, how a properly prepared burger doesn’t have to include the kitchen sink between the two pieces of bread. Lettuce, tomato, pickle, onion, and cheese. Only the essentials. Keep the onion rings, mac, and whatever in its own spot.

The St. Louis Blues could use a little comfort food right now. They’ve blown the chance to take a part in Lord Stanley’s playoff cup chase, preferring to rest easy in their middle ground of “we don’t suck, but also aren’t good enough” zone of competition. As Darren Pang would say, there’s no buy-in or true gumption to this team. No one has pegged them easier and more bluntly than Kelly Chase.

He was asked during his great interview on the Cam and Strick Podcast about this current team, and he said most of the players wouldn’t care if they were in St. Louis or Columbus playing hockey. He’s right that players need to take the honor of playing hockey in this town more seriously than simply putting on a jersey and cashing a paycheck. As he battles cancer (it’s in remission!), Chase is always all heart and no fuss with his comments. This team is a day trader tossing hits on the ice until the summer melts the season away.

There’s no true identity or core to a team that used to have a faithful center of team-oriented passion. They lost to the lowly San Jose Sharks twice in the past week, smothering their already slim chances of grabbing a wildcard spot. Doug Armstrong fired Craig Berube in dramatic fashion early on in the season, and Drew Bannister’s work led to some excitement but ultimately a middle ground draft slot and no real path forward.

Armstrong needs to be clear on where this team is headed. Are they a sorta playoff contender, or is it time to blow the ship up and start over? I’m leaning towards option two. This city can only have so many half-ass contenders trapped inside of it.

Here’s someone I’d like to take a big hike: Jim Edmonds with anything having to do with Bally Sports Midwest. I’m sorry, Troy Siade, may you rest in bleached jean peace, but he’s just bad. What used to be nice outfield/hitting insight has turned into an awkward worship me fest. Edmonds likes to think he’s the messiah of everything baseball, and anyone else holding a microphone around him should just kneel.

Take last night for example. The Cardinals win and Lance Lynn pitches well, and Edmonds had this to say about the starter: “We had Lance Lynn weighing in at 285 pounds out there.” There was a comment on his pitching and performance, but what’s with the out of nowhere weight comment? For the record, Lynn looks more trim than he did the past two years.

It wasn’t as bad as Edmonds making it seem last season that he taught Albert Pujols how to hit, or helped Tony La Russa become a better manager. Maybe it’s the fact that the dude flies through more marriages and women than most oil tycoons, but he needs extra love and attention in his older age. I liked him better when he was cranking batting practice pitches into the right field loge or snagging doubles in the gap.

Brad Thompson may be a talk-too-much Jimmy Fallon on steroids type at times, but his aw-shucks self-deprecation is inviting over Edmonds’ pandering. Where is silent yet deadly Rick Ankiel? Can Bally not have him do another Zoom interview where his forehead is the star? Thanks a bunch.

The luscious Kaya Scodelerio in Netflix’s The Gentlemen.

The Gentlemen is a Netflix show worth watching, just like the movie is well worth a visit. Theo James confirms his scathing hot James Bond status by playing the Duke of a large and wealthy British estate who comes into a dangerous partnership with a cannabis empire, leading him down a path of discovery and power that could be too much for him to handle. Existing in the same world as the movie without planting a clear relation, Guy Ritchie’s smooth-talking drama with action series goes down like a well mixed cocktail.

While James and Ray Winstone show off their skills, it’s the dashing and lovely Kaya Scodelario as the weed baron queen who took my breath away. Sporting outfits that would make Carrie Bradshaw blush and dishing out an accent that’s more dirty and threatening than proper, Scodelario had my attention from the jump. Long brown hair and long, devilishly cunning legs to go with an attitude that is utterly fearless turns me on, people.

A great Vinnie Jones role should also be reason enough to tune in. Jones, a former footballer and veteran actor, is in his comfort zone spitting out Ritchie pellets with the persuasive tongue of a British giant who knows the terrain he’s playing in. Jones plays the groundskeeper and general confidant of the Duke’s estate, and it’s one of the actor’s best roles in years, maybe since his one-line only performance in Gone in Sixty Seconds.

If you can’t already tell, a certain kind of woman cuts right to the gooey butter center of my soul. While I would go from six to midnight and 100% battery to zero if Christina Hendricks knocked on my door, there’s more than a curvy or chesty thing to the appeal. It’s the take charge, I got this style of leadership. Don’t call me a Jason Heyward type, but sharing my future with a strong woman in my wife is more than just wanting to kiss on her and see her naked, even if she is a milkshake that never melts in my eyes.

It’s a woman who isn’t afraid of life’s punches, saying inappropriate things if they are fitting, and the generality of being able to guard the foxhole. That’s a woman who turns me on. I work with a ton of these women at Crescent, no sleep till Brooklyn get-it-done females who take zero shit. Yes, they are all curvy and beautiful in their cunning ways, but it’s the idea that they got this that turns me into a bad check writing machine.

Strong women make me weak in the knees, and I'm proud of it.

Until next time, please drink more bourbon because it’s low card and gets you drunk faster, wear a fucking seatbelt, call your mom without asking for anything, let the person in traffic into your lane without being an asshat, and just be nice. Remember what Patrick “James Dalton” Swayze told you: Be nice… until it’s time not to be nice.

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