In this space we are duty-bound to pass along great manager tirades. What follows, however, comes to us from the ivory towers of academia, where they call managers “head coaches” but still make them wear uniforms. Texas head coach Auggie Garrido has lots of success at the major-college level, and I’d like to think that’s because he has a mouth that’s dirtier than Pig Pen’s bedpan. (You have probably surmised that the following walking tour of the undesirable neighborhoods of the King’s English is not safe for work, unless your place of employment is just really great.) Behold, respectfully:

At this point we are, necessarily and in abundant awe, left to wonder: which of the following is the most rousing, most soaring, most eagle-winged speech, delivered to the college man in need of a guiding paternal hand, in the annals of time? Your candidates …

A. “Win one for the Gipper!”

B. “If it was a boxing match and each individual took the beating that we took here today, I wouldn’t have to be doing this. I’d just come and visit your ass in the hospital and say, ‘When you get the fu*king wires off of your mouth from the broken jaw, and you can see again because your eyes are swollen now, and you can walk again because the guy just punched you in the gut 55 fu*king times,’ all I’d have to say is, ‘With all that, when you get better, we’ll have a little chat about how this guy just fu*king destroyed you.’ Okay?”

C. “Totally fu*king stupid!”

D. Both B and C.

Born in a blowout.

ottoneu creator Niv Shah wasn’t always a Cleveland Indians fan. In part one of this two-part piece, we covered the beginning of that night when Niv called friend Chad Young (currently blogging about being a member of the FanGraphs Experts League) and said he had some tickets to the game that night between the Rays and Indians.

Though there might have been some resistance to the strange formatting, the die is cast. The format has been decided. Chad got Niv to the game, it turned into a blowout, and yet they stayed to appreciate the Jake. Now it’s time to bring this night to its thrilling conclusion!

Eno Sarris: Do you remember a moment when you were like, hey wait a minute, let’s sit down? A player at the bat, or some cheering or something?

Niv Shah: i honestly don’t think we did. i remember a point where we were like, wait a minute, we might come back here – i think it was fryman’s homer in the 7th… definitely a home run in the 7th that was like “Wait… we are not down that much”

yeah

david f*cking lamb too

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Other than signing Mattingly as their headcoach, doesn’t it seem like the Boys of Chavez Ravine have really opted for the hard way at every turn? I mean, it’s one thing to say “Damn the man I’m sticking to my guns,” but the squad, or should I say front office, really missed the boat Wednesday night.

Let me explain.

Wednesday night was an epic — no, make that an ever-so-mediocre — match up of Big Z Zambrano of the Chicago Cubs versus Ted Lilly of the Brooklyn Dodgers. Whaaaa? Yes, the BROOKLYN Dodgers. This was a mere novelty for everyone in attendance (I’d guesstimate all 200 of them) except for Vin Scully and Tommy Lasorda, who probably woke up at one point in the game quite confused thinking it was 1954 and they were back in Brooklyn. But to be fair, how much does Echo Park (home of the Dodgers) really differ from Brooklyn these days?

The team wore their powder blues and the music was a charming selection of era-appropriate selections, such as Eliminate the Negative (which also served as a funny double entendre for the team’s current affairs). But what it lacked and I hope they greatly consider is some old-timey announcing chock full of archaic expressions. How about …

“That Kemp, he may not be a flapper but he sure is swinging out there.”

“Zambrano is a pitching a gem, he’s the bee’s knees today on the mound.”

“This break to the bullpen is brought to you by State Farm because like a ‘Good Neighbor’ policy, protect yourself from — and by using — unilateral aggression”

…okay that’s a reach. But you get the point.  If you’re going to do an old-timey game, use old-timey expressions.

What better way to strike a blow against French colonialism and for delicious tacos than by watching Aroldis Chapman use his fastball to ritually abuse something at the bidding of science’s most adorable pink polymer?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8_1O89RxHc&feature=player_embedded

My only fear is that that was actual human gastric acid inside the piñata. Nonetheless: Feliz Cinco de Mayo!

Almost as old as literature itself is the concept of the sequel. The great commercial success of the Iliad no doubt compelled Homer to hurriedly produce his Odyssey. Certainly, there would be no New Testament were it not for the widespread popularity of its Old counterpart. Modern Times™ gives us such franchises as Lord of the Rings and Star Wars — not to mention the Bill Cosby vehicle Leonard Part 6, whose creators ingeniously skipped parts one through five to give the impression of a successful run of films.

Lest the reader think even for a moment that NotGraphs is immune to the sequel, think not that, reader. For, with the widespread excitement surrounding yesterday’s post exploring the similarities between American ubermenschen Tommy Hanson and Timothy Busfield, we’ve not been able to restrain ourselves.

Accordingly, we offer you the above, a comparative study between Met knuckleballer R.A. Dickey and a Danny Concannon-era Tim (né Timothy) Busfield.

Is it as powerful a work as our original Busfield Lookalike post? That’s not for me to say, reader. But these bills for Cristal by the case and suites presidential or otherwise — they aren’t paying themselves, is what I mean to say.

Total noogie to Joe Pawlikowski for reasons I’m not at liberty to share.

I missed Wednesday night’s festivities between the Toronto Blue Jays and Tampa Bay Rays. I was, believe it or not, playing hockey. I know: I am an actual, living, in-the-flesh Canadian stereotype.

Anyway, you can imagine my chagrin upon learning that I missed a Joe West ejection, two Chad Fairchild ejections, and all the drama that accompanied them. Life isn’t fair.

Thankfully, though, intrepid journalistic organizations — Reuters, for example — employ some of the finest sports photographers in the business, and they caught Joe West in action. It’s his form — his damn fine form — that I have become so enamored with.

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Turns out Dick Allen, your hero and mine, once cut a single with a doo-wop outfit called the Ebonistics titled, “Echoes of November.” Please enjoy:

Yes, that’s Mr. Allen stretching out the pipes. And fine pipes they are. Dick Allen can hit and is tuneful!

Also: Allen performed the song live on at least one occasion. That occasion was at a 76ers game in 1969 on “Think Mink Night,” a promotion that entailed the bestowal of a mink coat upon one of Philadelphia’s leading and lucky ladies (I’m quite sure a male was ineligible to win the mink — after all, it wasn’t yet the 70s) and the opportunity to hear Dick Allen sing! Hosannas all around!

Born in a blowout.

ottoneu creator Niv Shah wasn’t always a Cleveland Indians fan. In fact, he once cared little for baseball, instead focusing on basketball, football and video games when he had a free moment. Then one day in 1999 a friend gave him some free tickets to the game. Niv called friend Chad Young (currently blogging about being a member of the FanGraphs Experts League).

Any birth is uncomfortable at best, and this one had its ups and downs. I asked the pair about the experience so that we can learn a little more about how a fan is born. Perhaps in a bid to promote ottoneu, it looks like Mr. Shah forsook the capital letter. Poetic license!

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Dodgers closer Jonathan Broxton, who is substantially larger than Liechtenstein, is injured and is in need of an MRI. And thus our adventure begins:

Mattingly said one of the immediate issues was to find an MRI tube large enough for Broxton to get his 300-pound frame into.

This is about the only drawback to not having an NFL team in your town that I can think of: no medical equipment suitable for ogre-whoppers. Just to clarify, Mr. Broxton is not an ogre-whopper — he is a gentle giant — but NFL players are all ogre-whoppers.

European double-kiss: Aaron

Sometimes, great accomplishments are the product of ceaseless toil. Othertimes, they spring forth effortlessly and fully formed from their creator.

The image you see above is the latter kind of great accomplishment.

Here we see two men: one, Atlanta Brave starter Tommy Hanson; the other, actor Timothy Busfield of Thirtysomething and West Wing and Revenge of the Nerds and Field of Dreams fame.

Here’s the thing, though: it’s impossible to tell which is which. Is that Timothy Busfield catching a fish? Is that a headshot of Tommy Hanson? We just don’t know.

I know what you’re saying. You’re saying, “Carson, it actually isn’t that hard to tell. Sure, both of these men have red hair, but they have different enough facial structure, hairlines, etc. that I can tell pretty easily who’s who.”

Humility, reader: practice it. That’s the purpose of what I’m saying now.

H/T Me and my thoughts.