He’s Chip Caray, and he approves this message.

Though the consequences of it aren’t entirely agreed upon, it’s obvious enough that at least some kind of bias exists in the classification of batted-ball types that informs stats like UZR and xFIP. This is natural enough: in any case where a human element is introduced, things are bound to suffer. (Just ask FanGraphs’ Dave Allen!) Given the altitude of a press box or the angle at which said press box is situated behind home plate, the trajectory of a batted-ball might be difficult to adjudge. Also, owing to some curious hiring practices, the people who classify these things are frequently drunk or blind or both.

As in other areas of baseball-related research, FanGraphs is keenly interested in reducing the error bars on this particular type of information. Accordingly, we’re taking steps to deal with the present biases in classification — namely, by devising more (and more narrowly defined) batted-ball types. Given the relative paucity of our current classifications (just ground ball, liner, fly ball), there exist large swaths of grey area. Our hope is to reduce — if not entirely eradicate — this grey area.

Below is a working list of 10 classifications we’d like to introduce sooner than later.

• Can of Corn — A very catchable fly ball.

• Can of Organic Corn — A very catchable fly ball at San Francisco’s AT&T Park.

• Duck Snort — A batted-ball type that only occurs in Hawk Harrelson’s mind.

• Fist — Like a flare, but way more disgusting.

• Flare — A ball hit just past the infield, but neither a line drive nor a fly nor a fliner nor a flounder (i.e. what would happend if a fly and grounder had a baby).

• Frozen Rope — A very well-hit line drive.

• Klickitat — A sort of ground ball hit to the back part of the infield and which you might call a line drive if you were in a different mood. (This is in honor the Klickitat tribe — a Native American group of the Pacific Northwest who had, by some accounts, upwards of 28 different classifications for batted-balls.)

• Nubber — A weakly hit ground ball. Also, a good name for a dog.

• Partially Thawed Rope — Like a frozen rope, except less glorious.

• Squib — I think you know.

So loyal NotGraphs commenter Card Archives (more on that name in a moment), who is also a broad-shouldered captain of industry, has done a thing and that thing is amazing.

I can’t begin to fathom the Mennonite’s toil that went into cataloguing every Topps baseball card ever, but I stand agape. And then I fall down, still agape.

So lose yourselves within his pages, stick-and-ball enthusiasts, and know that here at NotGraphs a hero walks among us.

In case you missed it, Miguel Olivo hit what will surely be in the running for Funniest Homer of 2011 in yesterday’s Mariners/Tigers game. You can check the video here.

Of course, when it comes to home runs, there’s no better resource than the fantastic HitTracker Online, which charts and stores every home run dating back to 2005. Their entry* for this home run is interesting, to say the least:

(Click to embiggen)

*Slightly edited by yours truly**
**Not to scale***
***Or well done

Embiggen! Be delighted! Grab your credit card!

The legend of Billy Ripken’s F*ck Face baseball card lives on, now in t-shirt form. As it should, I say.

From the folks at No Mas, where you can order the newest addition to your wardrobe:

Oh, Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy…

In the great whodunnit debate over this most precious of error cards, we say the wound was self-inflicted. How else would he have known to hold the bat so perfectly straight for the camera. The self-degradation provided the perfect cover for what may be the ultimate baseball prank.

You can have you your Cal, and your hall of fame plaque, and your fancy consecutive game streak, and your All-Americanosity. We love us some Billy.

Preach on, No Mas. Preach on.

Not just $34 well spent, but rather $34 very well spent.

Leaping chest bump: Old Time Family Baseball.

This BBTF thread yields this stirring image plucked directly from the history books …

Indeed, on this dark day all seemed lost until Blast Furnace O’Dwyer showed up and, with a righteous Christian fury on loan from Increase Mather, cudgeled that murderous thunder lizard into a dead, bloodied pudding.

Our fair game — and our world — were saved.

Still entirely relevant.

As noted previously in these electronic pages, Sony’s PlayStation Network went silent last Wednesday.

NotGraphs readers — particularly those who access MLB.TV through their PS3s — will be displeased to learn not only that (a) the Network is still down, almost a week later but that (b) there’s evidence that the security of some personal information has been compromised.

From the Sony’s PlayStation blog:

Although we are still investigating the details of this incident, we believe that an unauthorized person has obtained the following information that you provided: name, address (city, state, zip), country, email address, birthdate, PlayStation Network/Qriocity password and login, and handle/PSN online ID. It is also possible that your profile data, including purchase history and billing address (city, state, zip), and your PlayStation Network/Qriocity password security answers may have been obtained.

The Wall Street Journal referred today to the outage as “indefinite,” while Sony’s Senior Director of Corporate Communications & Social Media Patrick Seybold has suggested (in the above-cited blog post) that Sony has “a clear path to have PlayStation Network and Qriocity systems back online, and expect to restore some services within a week.”

You ask me, I think it’s time to greenlight the Seal incursion.

Credit to my enemy’s enemy, Grant Bisbee — or “Brisbee,” as some would have us believe.

I came across an article in The New York Times yesterday, by the esteemed Tyler Kepner, about 35-year-old Chicago White Sox slugger Paul Konerko. In it, I learned that Konerko doesn’t subscribe to the “See the ball, hit the ball” mantra so many baseball players have found salvation in. Konerko, as the article points out, is more of an intellectual; a thinking man. And it was Konerko’s final quote in the piece, discussing his future as a potential hitting coach, that in turn got me thinking.

Never say never. But I’m thinking the game might only get one crack at me.

As someone who’s only ever been a recreational athlete, and having watched baseball my entire life wondering what it might be like to play the game at the elite MLB level, I was a bit taken aback by the quote. Baseball might only get one crack at Paul Konerko. Not the other way around — i.e., Paul Konerko might not get a second crack at the game.

I have to admit, I never thought of it that way. I always figured someone who plays baseball for a living — someone like Konerko, who’s made millions upon millions of dollars while doing it, and doing it well — was taking a crack at baseball.

But perhaps Konerko’s right. Baseball, after all, is a game of failure. It beats men down. And as I grow older, and I hope a very little bit wiser, I realize more and more that it’s that very aspect of baseball — failure, and overcoming it — that I love most about the game.

Paul Konerko, like so many others, chose to try and make a living playing baseball. It’s a tough road, with no guarantees. So many don’t make it. Konerko did. Baseball took its best shot, a fastball, at Konerko; it’s “crack.” Konerko recognized what was on the way, squared up, and slammed it down the left field line for a stand-up double.

Image via Curved White.

I was and am a Topps brand evangelist. Sure, as a kid I had a sherpa’s load of Fleer and Donruss cards lying around, but something about the Topps family of products inspired in me a consumerist loyalty I would not experience again until my discovery of fine Corinthian leather.

Why is this the case? It’s probably hail-fellow-well-met Manny Sanguillen. How can you see this expression of uncorrupted joy at the world about us …

… And not emerge from the experience with a love for everything everywhere? You cannot, say I.

Anyhow, I recently began purchasing Topps cards anew for my male human child, who will one day — provided he agrees not to follow his father into the absurd, toad-like existence of the liberal-arts major — inherit the full complement of my palatial holdings. And now comes this, a Topps innovation like none other …

Sure, I don’t care a whit about the confluence of lowered expectations and bet-hedging known as a “wedding,” and I don’t care about the World’s Leading Preppies and their opulent rituals. But I do care about kings. Why? Because the very mention of such an ancient and now-mythical designation makes me think a unicorn or an elf might show up.

I won’t buy this — holy crap, I will not buy this — but knowing it’s out there makes me think of dragons. So thanks again, Topps. I very much look forward to once again giving you some U.S. currency in exchange for durable goods.

Ready.

David Wright Jersey? Check.
Gotta represent for the tuffest dude on the team.

Mets hat and glasses? Check.
The sun can get in your eyes a little on the first base side, you know. Plus, makes me look like a badass.

Corncob pipe? Check.
A relaxing puff off the pipe always sets the mood right.

Carpet? Check.
Gotta keep the paws warm on a blustery spring day in New York.

Bag full of treats? Check.
I mean, I love me some Shake Shack but that line is RUFF.

Tip jar? Check.
I mean, if I’m going to sit here looking this good, might as well let people show their appreciation. Monetarily.

So the well dressed ballroom dancers over at Seamheads.com are holding a contest. What do you have to do? Come up with an awesome nickname for a current player. If you prove better at this than the competing hordes, then what do you win? A copy of MLB2K11 for the Xbox 360 machine, which I assume is a series of motorized pulleys that runs on a standard 120-volt outlet.

Once again: Come up with a compelling baseball nickname, and your precious lucre will be a board-certified copy of MLB2K11.