The above is evidence of Joe West’s sheer awesomeness. I didn’t even have to open Photoshop.
The bat boy, fearful, as you can clearly see, declined The Great Ejector’s challenge. Obviously.
Thank you, Derek T., for capturing this most brilliant of Joe West adventures. I am forever indebted to you.
Barry Zito recently spoke to the media about his physical health following a mid-week car accident.
This is exactly what he looked like.
Merci Buckets: Reader Aaron W.
Back by something bizarrely similar to popular demand, it’s Mustache Watch!
In this second (and seriously, guys, maybe last) edition of Mustache Watch, we follow multiple leads all directing us to the same notable stache — that is, the one on the upper lip of Blue Jay Travis Snider.
There are multiple names for what we’re seeing here with Mr. Snider, and you’re surely thinking them right now in your head. For my part, I can say this: Mr. Snider’s mustache prompted me immediately to call my little sister, make sure she was okay, not tied up and captive in a stranger’s basement lair — that kind of thing.
In other news, remember: Mustache Watch (which, come on, may never appear again) is a collaborative effort, depending on hot leads and hot tips and hot everything-else-there-is. Don’t hesitate to alert us to sweet face hair at: not+tips [at] fangraphs [dot] com.
Are you a male between the ages of 16 and Dead from Old Age? If so, you might be interested in this thing that’ll probably never appear in these pages again: the NotGraphs Mustache Watch.
In this inaugural (and maybe only ever) edition of Mustache Watch, we present Chris Iannetta, sporting a handlebar situation. Iannetta, as you’re well aware, is competing with new Texas Ranger Mike Napoli for the title of Most Excellent Catcher-Eligible Italian.
More on this situation as it develops. (Or, seriously, not.)
FanGraphs’ own, the very kind Erik Hahmann, is tweeting from the Tampa Bay Rays’ season opener this Friday night at Tropicana Field, and has submitted the above for our consideration, documenting with expert brevity the life choices of an opinionated Rays fan.
As a Northern-born gentleman, I’m not qualified to comment with any sort of objectivity on the “culture” of this sunwashed state. So I concede the right of value judgments to our bespectacled readership.
If the above image is slightly blurry, it’s because light is at a premium in my Upper Midwestern home at the moment: what my weatherman is calling “freezing rain” but what I’d describe more accurately as “liquid sadness” is falling all over the place as as I type these electronic words.
The good news is, thanks to the misguided kindness of Maple Street Press owner James Walsh, I now own all these frigging book things. In somewhat related news, it appears as though Walsh will appear next week on FanGraphs Audio. Join us for this landmark event.
One early and superficial observation about these assorted annuals: there’s a chance the Cardinal one will make people cry.
Regard:
I went through a boatload of photographs last night from Opening Day. The above, courtesy of the fine folks at The Associated Press, is definitely my favorite. Is there anything better than a walk-off home run on Opening Day, in front of your home crowd? No, there isn’t. I dare you to argue otherwise.
Look at the Reds’ faces. Go, look. The picture is a reminder of why I love baseball. And a reminder of how much I missed baseball over the winter. Nothing brings out the inner child in a Major League Baseball player, or a fan at the game, more than a walk-off home run, and the customary wait at home plate for the man’s man who saved the day.
I draw your attention above to #43, Miguel Cairo. The ageless Miguel Cairo, now in his sixteenth Major League season, with his tenth team. He’s not even looking at Ramon Hernandez. He’s got his eyes on the prize, home plate, for when Hernandez leaps on it. And he’s also making sure Jonny Gomes doesn’t get too close. You see, that’s why Miguel Cairo’s lasted so long in this beautiful game of baseball. He gets it. And, years under his belt, having surely gone through the drill before, the look on Cairo’s face suggests he’s enjoying the walk-off experience for only the first time.
Actually, I did not receive a tome called Diamond Dishes, but since this is The Day of the Ridiculous Person of April, I feel sanctioned in telling a humorous fib. Here’s the book:
So, “author” Julie Loria,” send me one of these, and I’ll stop talking (temporarily) about how your husband murdered Les Expos, about how his lust for the public teat knows no bounds, and about how he looks like a tanned and rested Uncle Fester. Fail to send me a copy of this cookbook, and I will continue doing these things without ceasing.
Also: Look at Joe Mauer baking and stuff!
I look forward to trying Prince Fielder’s lard wraps and Matt Stairs’s recipe for gorilla-meat tartare.
(Subtle head nod: With Leather)
Eccentricity!
It looks like Tim Byrdak is looking for entrance music when he trots out of the bullpen, and he’s willing to let readers decide for him. First, we’ll have to decide what we’re voting for, or it’s likely that TedQuarter’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” lark will win. And do we want that? Well, maybe we do.
But let’s talk it over first.
Some suggestions, for your perusal:
The LOOGY Clap by Lazy Mary
Ghetto Ways by Scissors for Lefty
I Just Can’t Live that Fast Anymore by Lefty Frizell
Half a Man, Lefty & Pancho by Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson
Sling Shot Part Two by Lefties Soul Connection
Or we could do something not-so-lefty, and just plain badass:
I Don’t Want To Be A Player No More, Big Pun
This Modern Love, Bloc Party
Mistress Mabel, The Fratellis
Hurricane, Jamie LIdell
Daft Punk Is Playing At My House, LCD Soundsystem
*The Sweat Descends, Les Savy Fav
Fire On the Bayou, The Funky Meters
Electric Feel, MGMT
Wanna Be Startin Somethin, Michael Jackson
Young Folks, Peter Bjorn and John
Coming in Hot, Peter Tosh
Simon Says, Pharoahe Monch
*Loud Pipes, Ratatat
2 More Dead, RJD2
*Hash Pipe, Weezer
*Mine if I as a player. I can’t decide.
H/T: Ted Berg
Our feast-day series continues today with:
Life: Reggie Smith is one of the better players the modern fan maybe hasn’t heard of. While possessing no standout tool, Smith hit enough and walked enough and fielded enough over the course of his 17-year career to accumulate a 71.8 WAR — i.e. more than Duke Snider, Yogi Berra, Craig Biggio, and a number of other famous and good players. Unfortunately, owing perhaps to the lack of one or two exceptional seasons, Smith received less fanfare than his body of work perhaps deserved, never finishing better than fourth in the MVP chase and surviving just one year of the BBWAA’s Hall of Fame voting. It’s possible that the presence of the considerably more famous Reggie Jackson, whose career spanned almost the same exact timeframe as Smith’s, had some influence over Smith’s relative obscurity.
Spiritual Exercise: It’s likely that Smith received little attention in awards-voting because he failed to reach notable, albeit largely meaningless, milestones with any sort of frequency, scoring 100 runs just twice in his career (109 in 1970 and 104 in 1977) and recording 100 RBIs only once (with exactly 100 in 1974). Nevertheless, he was quite productive — probably more productive than certain players who achieved these aforementioned milestones.
Ask yourself: is it better to be excellent in relative obscurity, or mediocre but considered great? (Note: while there’s no wrong answer, per se, believing the latter will make you an insufferable bridge partner.)
A Prayer for Reggie Smith
Reggie Smith!
With your given name,
it was predetermined:
you would either be
a talented athlete
or personal gentleman’s
gentleman. Congrats
on totally fulfilling
your destiny!