I’m only stating the obvious, reader, when I state that NotGraphs, despite the relative brevity of its existence, has already become an industry leader. “In what ‘industry,’ exactly?” is maybe what you’re asking when you read that. Well, that’s a tough question with a number of really technical answers. Still, it’s a true and unavoidable fact.

One quality we here at NotGraphs have demonstrated over and again is our ability to know what people are thinking and doing at any given moment. Thanks to the efforts of our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team, we recently revealed the exact thoughts certain members of the 1978 Philadelphia Phillies were thinking at the exact moment said team’s photo was snapped.

In what follows, we provide — via the most rigorous and modern techniques available — the five things Red Sox catcher Jarrod Saltalamacchia was most likely saying to pitcher Daisuke Matsuzaka on Monday night, as the latter waited to be removed from the game by manager Terry Francona following a dismal performance against the Rays.

Regard, quotes:

• Buddy is going to the farm, Dice-K. It’s just not the type of farm you can visit.

• I think we’re alone now (alone now). / There doesn’t seem to be anyone a-rou-ound.

• Just rub some olive oil on it. That’s what we Saltalamacchias have always done.

• Why’d I put all this Wite-Out on my effing fingers if you were just gonna throw the same pitch every time, dude? Seriously, look at it from my perspective: this stuff’s, like, impossible to clean off.

• That’s not the only thing that ends in a vowel, if you know what I mean.

You’re in for another treat, as the day of lists and bullet points at NotGraphs continues. You’re welcome I’m so sorry.

Last week, “in these very electronic pages,” as the ever eloquent Chairman Cistulli likes to say, I mentioned that upon watching Melky Cabrera high-five Joe West, and then pick something off his bat and eat it, I had to make some changes to My Most Favorite Baseball Players in the Whole Wide World list. Well, what kind of writer basement-dwelling blogger would I be if I didn’t share said list with you?

Now, please keep in mind, I grew up, and remain, an ardent supporter of Toronto’s Blue Jays. I was a freshly minted 10-years-old when the World Series trophy began its two-year northern vacation in 1992. In celebrating Toronto’s back-to-back championships, I was so hopped up on sugar I might as well have lined up and snorted the stuff.

Part I, players 10 through six on the list, is below, and not as Blue Jays centric as Part II will inevitably be. Shall we? We shall.

10. Melky Cabrera

He high-fived Joe West. He picked something off his bat and ate it. You’re damned right that was enough, at this moment in time in the universe, to crack my top 10 list.

9. Kirk Rueter

I was enthralled by Rueter’s 1993 debut with the Montreal Expos, Toronto’s baseball cousins, whom I always kept a close eye on. Rueter didn’t allow an earned run in his first two career starts, and finished his dream rookie season 8-0. Back then, pitcher wins weren’t everything. They were the only thing. Though he spent the majority of his career in San Francisco, Rueter, the furthest from a power pitcher, was the reason I rocked, for a short period of time, a blue Expos hat.

8. Paul O’Neill

It’s funny, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always despised the New York Yankees. It’s in my contract as a fan of another team in the AL East. But I could never find it in me to hate Paul O’Neill. He played the game — wait for it — the right way. At least that’s what it always looked like. In the late 90s, O’Neill was the consummate Yankee; America at its finest. And watching him play game four of the 1999 World Series hours after his father died was about as emotional as baseball has ever been for me. There’s a reason no Yankee wears #21. And, let’s be honest, the brilliant Seinfeld cameo helped. O’Neill hit two home runs for little Bobby!

7. Tony Fernandez

It was always the way Tony Fernandez threw the ball, from short to first, the side-armed flick, that endeared him to me, and so many others. He could field like nobody else. So smooth. Even the way he held his bat was different. An influential part of the up-and-coming Blue Jays of the late 80s, even in departure, traded to San Diego with Fred McGriff for Roberto Alomar and Joe Carter, Fernandez left his mark; the trade was the most crucial the Blue Jays have ever made. And Fernandez, for his part, always thought of himself as a Blue Jay. You could tell. It’s what made his return to Toronto in 1993 so special, as the Jays set out to repeat. In 48 games with the New York Mets to begin the season, Fernandez’s wOBA was a disappointing .293. After being reacquired by the Blue Jays, Fernandez, home again, hit .306 the rest of the way, with a .354 wOBA. Home, as they say, is where the heart is, yo. After winning the 1993 World Series, Tony was off on his way again, with stops in Cincinnati, New York, and Cleveland. Until he came home, to Toronto, again, for the 1998 and 1999 seasons. As much as Fernandez couldn’t get enough of Toronto, we couldn’t get enough of him. I’ll never forget June 1999, when, three months into the season, Fernandez flirted with .400. After a season in Japan, and a quick tour of Milwaukee in early 2001, Fernandez came back to Toronto again, a third time. It was only fitting. Fernandez had to retire a Blue Jay. Thanks for the memories, Tony.

6. Mark McGwire

The first non-Blue Jays jersey I ever purchased was a red, St. Louis Cardinals Mark McGwire one. It was the summer of 1998, when McGwire and Sammy Sosa were Chasing Maris. Like so many people, the home run brought me back to baseball, too. I ain’t mad at you, Mark.

This exercise, and the agonizing decisions that came with it, was a lot more difficult than I originally imagined. Who makes up the latter half of your top 10? Tell me in the comments below. Please? (I have to, I’m Canadian.)

And stay tuned for Part II, dropping in the coming days. And, one more thing: Follow me on Twitter. Why, you ask? I say: Why not?

Image courtesy LIFE, via — who else? — Google.

I know, I know. I too am skeptical of 11-minute YouTube videos. Such a span falls inconveniently between the 30-second yuks that MTV and Judge Learned Hand have told us we crave and the more sprawling run times necessary to enjoy hot popped maize and a tumbler of Jameson. But I urge you — with the primal, red-faced desperation that I normally reserve for trying to get retailers to honor manufacturer and store coupons — to watch this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iIe9FkZv4Uw&feature=related

Much like a color television with wheels, this is a thing that is not new but is new to me. So if you’ve already seen it, then I look forward to your telling me so in the comments section.

I have some observations about what we have just fathomed. As much as I would like to, I’ll not ape Eno Sarris and number my thoughts. Rather, I shall use bullet points, which, according to a recent internal memorandum, are preferred by the gentleman with a bright future in sales. Also, I do not have 10 things to say. Forthwith …

I imagine this is not unlike the Dodger Stadium mound of the 1960s. This is also not unlike what happens when Jon Rauch faces Dustin Pedroia.

Barry Bonds is occasionally very serious about making this happen.

In this situation, I would opt for protective headgear — most probably the “Great Gazoo” helmet favored by Francisco Cervelli. Alternatively, I would not agree to do this.

Respect to Trampo-Pitcher for ceding the platoon advantage in each plate appearance.

And Bernie Williams and his awesome Cardinal Richelieu beard agree with me about the helmet. My inner coward, for which validation is nourishment, is validated.

Perhaps the guy with the most discerning batting eye in the annals of time was not the best choice for this necessary experiment? From the darkened clubhouse tunnel, Vlad Guerrero watches on in envy, longing.

That’s clearly a balk at the 7:41 mark. Fortunately for the moundsman, he is a stranger to baserunners.

And could this end any other way? Ichiro is invoked, and said invocations lead to a righteous humbling of the big cheater and his jumping machine.

A lingering embrace — one that goes on an instant too long — for NotGraphs reader John Murn, who passed this along in exchange for nothing more than the currency of glory.

You know what? I’m rooting for Henneman.

Before watching this video, know some things:

1) Justin Kaufmann is, indeed, a real-life news reporter for WBEZ, the NPR affiliate in Chicago.

2) His beat seems to be all things Chicago, with an emphasis on snark.

3) There is no way to confirm if this Henneman figure is real, and whether or not she actually consumed enough adult sodas to put down an adult horse before the making of this video.

4) We are left hanging as to the eventual conclusion of the interaction. My guess is that an eternal life of domestic bliss ensues.

5) Harry Caray is up there, yeah.

6) It may be strange that Carson Cistulli calls his sister attractive, but once you factor genetic factors in, he’s actually calling himself attractive. Vanity!

7) Lists are fun! Maybe if we make it to ten we can post this on Bleacher Report as “Top Ten Pieces of Mindless Drivel That Occurred to Me While Watching a Crazy Youtube Video.”

8) Was that mean? Maybe it was. I take it back.

9) Watch the video now. It’s pretty funny. The language is SFW, but the content may not be depending on your work environment. Mine (pajamas on the couch) didn’t seem to mind.

10) Made it!

H/T: Bryan Melmed (pixelvisions)

Pete Rose killed a lot of things: Betting on baseball, Cincinnati pride and dinosaurs, to name three. But not everything he touched went extinct. Until today, I thought this special subset – things Rose didn’t kill – was limited to hot Asian women liking old white men with money. But no, OH NO, there’s one more entry for that category… THE PLAYER-MANAGER.

And who else to pick up where Rose left off than baseball’s other most-controversial once-superstar: Jose Canseco.

The Yuma Scorpions, an independent team with a big-league idea for a gimmick, named Canseco both manager and all-around bad ass. Their reasoning? Easy: “He’s very ready at this point in his career to smoothly transition to managing.” Yes. at THIS point.

But Canseco aside, it brings up a very important question, one that should be thought of somewhere between how to solve the national debt and how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop (it’s not three, don’t proffer up that malarkey)…That is, who would you (more importantly me, as I’m writing this) like to see as the next player managers?

So, without further ado (and a pay-per-word agreement) I’ll cut to the chase.

Top Five:

5. Kirk Gibson. If the man could hit a home run half gimp in 1988, the 53-year-old second year manager of the D-backs surely could make a contribution.

4. Texas General Manager Jon Daniels. At 33, he’s really only a few years past his prime. And with his body type, his skill set should be deteriorating slowly… right, Jon?

3. Charlie Manuel. Father Time could probably teach these whipper snappers a thing or two… Unless that thing has anything to do with using statistics in managing a team?

2. Ozzie Guillen. Rumor has it he’s three parts man and one part honey badger. If you know anything about the honey badger you know it’s not their size or their age that matters, they’ve got a fight in them measured only by the kiloton.

1. Obviously, Don Mattingly. This by no means is a criticism of James Loney. It’s not that I don’t like the guy – in fact, I think he’s a great person on tops of a being a darn good ball player. But you have to ask yourself this one question: Was he ever on the Simpsons? Has he jacked six grand slams in one year? Is his last name “Baseball”? No. Donnie Baseball is the clear choice.

Who would you like to see bring back the player manager?

Alec Baldwin and John Krasinski have at least two things in common that I can think of at the moment. One, they both star in pretty excellent examples of that most modern of art forms, the situation comedy. Two, while both are excellent comic actors, neither’s particularly funny on his own. (Note: this isn’t an indictment at all, just an observation.)

Apparently, a third thing binds Messrs. Baldwin and Krasinki — namely, the willingness to trade their likenesses and comic talents for American currency. Which, an example of that is what you see in this video here, a commercial in which the pair have starred for New Era.

The ad company of record is Brooklyn Brothers, who actually have some pretty entertaining work available at their site.

H/T: My intelligent and attractive sister.

This one comes courtesy of NotGraphs reader — and quite possibly New York Mets relief pitcher extraordinaire — Francisco Rodriguez.

When there’s an ejection in baseball, I like to think Joe West knows about it. It’s innate. The Great Ejector closes his eyes and, boom, he’s there, tossing whoever needs to be tossed.

Sunday afternoon on the South Side of Chicago, when Joe Maddon ejected the entire umpiring crew, Joe West was there, figuratively speaking.

Because an ejecting party without Joe West is hardly an ejecting party at all.

Thank you kindly, Francisco Rodriguez. Keep up the great work in New York, if you actually are K-Rod.

At a site called Nic Cage As Everyone, which I found by using Altavista and Prodigy, we have this:

And there you are.

In case you were under a rock last October and missed the San Francisco Giants’ infuriating magical run to become World Series champions, the Giants reminded everybody who the World Champions are and will be until at least next October. These gold-lettered jerseys (and gold-logo bearing caps) are pure swagger, the kind of swagger only a champion could pull off.

As cool as these jerseys are (And seriously, every champion team in every sport should do something like this. Screw patches. You won the World F*cking Championship. Go crazy, show it off.), they have nothing on the pure testicular fortitude shown by three teams from the initial third of the 20th century. The 1906 New York Giants, 1921 Cleveland Indians, and 1927 St. Louis Cardinals all wore uniforms with some form of “World Champions” emblazoned across the chest in lieu of the names of their cities or teams. And they didn’t just do it for one day like the 2011 Giants. They did it for the whole season. Just imagine the balls it would take to wear this jersey on a daily basis, and at every road park too.

Now that’s swagger.

If this image looks familiar it’s either because (a) my colleague Eno Sarris submitted it for the readership’s consideration this morning or (b) you’ve recently time-traveled here from that epoch in our history known as “The Good Times.” In either case, please keep reading: this document is important to your life.

I’m informing the reader of nothing new when I suggest that internet culture is dedicated to speed. However, there are some texts — a term (i.e. text) that I use in its broadest sense — there are some texts that are worthy of further consideration.

I’ll suggest right here that this Phillies team photo is one such text.

To that end, I’ve done some research — with no little help from our in-house Investigative Reporting Investgation Team — and managed to isolate the precise thoughts that some of this photograph’s subjects were thinking on that spring day in 1978, the accounts and descriptions of which you can find below.

The numbers you see below correspond with numbers inserted into the image above. The thoughts are rendered as authentically as possible.

Regard, truth/beauty:

1. Do I drink Jack Daniels? F*ck you, kid. I am Jack Daniels.

Read the rest of this entry »