Yes, yes, I believe that’s mesh.
Anyone that is a fan of trashy cinema is familiar with the concept. Sometimes, something is so bad that it turns around and is good again. Call it the Last Action Hero law. The Snakes on a Plane law if you’re not into the Gubernator these days.
It looks like the rule applies to some baseball uniform choices as well.
Once again, reader, we find that Great Moments in Spectacles and our industry-standard Mustache Watch come together in a single shining beacon of masculine masculinity.
The gentleman you see in these (very) collectible trading cards is ex-baseball pitcher Fred Breining, notable not only for posting consecutive two-win seasons in the early 1980s but for possessing a surname that’s also a gerund.
In the left-most photo, Breining models for us the Spectacles/Mustache Package Deal that’s captured our attention of late. Of the right-most photo, reader and muscled philosopher Joe P. makes this observation:
Adding to the glory of Fred Breining’s spectacles here is the “Oh, hey, I didn’t see you there” look on his face, as if we’ve interrupted his afternoon of reading Proust at the ballpark.
If nothing else, reader, you’ll have to agree that these images of Breining represent for us that singular pleasure provided by the remembrance of things past.
As this internal office memo I’m holding suggests, today is Bat Day at NotGraphs. Already, Bradley Woodrum has introduced us to the big stick with which famous Negro Leaguer Josh Gibson walked softly, while Dayn Perry has stared at your daughter for 30 unflinching minutes skillfully embedded a video of Josh Womack performing all manner of bat-related tricks.
In an effort to distill Bat Day to its most whimsical, what I’ve endeavored to do here is collect five images from the internet of Batman the superhero engaged in bat-and-ball related activities.
If you, reader, could hold your LOLs till the end, it would be much appreciated.
1. This is Batman playing baseball with Robin and Superman:
Survey Josh Womack’s professional baseball career, and you come away impressed merely to the extent that he had a professional baseball career. That’s to say, Womack’s bestowals on the diamond are somewhat forgettable. What’s not forgettable is the abracadabra-sorcery-jinx-necromancy that Mr. Womack can perform with a maple stick …
Bewitchment! Pointy hat, gnarled oaken staff and flowing purple robe festooned with astral designs!
For those who do not know, Babe Ruth was the white Josh Gibson. It is also a widely known true fact that Gibson hit a homer in Pittsburgh, only to have it caught for an out the following day in Washington.
Observe: Gibson not only hit somewhere around 800 homers in his time in the Negro Leagues, but he also did so whilst swinging an estimably 700-pound bat. We can only imagine the two suitcases contain Gibson’s two, 10-feet-wide batting gloves, which could double for tents in a pinch.
For those who like baseball, underdogs, and legends, may I direct your attention to the Negro Leagues, where greats like Gibson, Satchel Paige, and Buck Leonard built both statistics and folklore like castles.
Via Pony Express comes to me George Vecsey’s Stan Musial: An American Life. As a Cardinals fan, I am, of course, in a perpetual state of adoration of all things Stan. After all, he was one of the greatest players in the history of ever, and, according to everyone in the world not named Murray Chass, he’s also a gem of a human being.
At present, I’m shin deep in Nixonland, which is quite good but decidedly tome-ish. So it’ll be a while before I get around to Stan. When I do, though, I’ll be sure to share my thoughts, which are as muscle-bound as they are lucid and handsome.
Digusting.
Word from the internet today suggests that Major League Baseball is “probing” (as it’s definitely characterized in at least one headline) an obscene gesture that Andre Ethier made in the direction of a photographer before Monday’s game against the Milwaukee Brewers at Dodger Stadium. While we’ll leave it to the self-starter to track down the image in question, the reader can rest assured that he’ll be morally ravaged upon seeing it.
It remains to be seen what, if any, action the league will take with Ethier. The bigger question ought to be why this particular gesture is the one getting MLB’s attention.
As the collection of images above makes perfectly clear, Ethier has a pretty well established history of obscene gesture-making — if not always in a manner familiar to North Americans.
Regard:
1. In India, to make this gesture beside a woman in tank top means something to the effect of “I want to make you pregnant with 99 children at once.”
2. For Estonians, this is not a sign of joy, but rather a suggestion of what one would like to do to another’s goat.
3. Here, Ethier indicates how many pieces the pitcher’s testicles will be in after he (i.e. Ethier) has busted the latter’s balls. [Of Italian origin.]
4. Just generally obscene.
5. This is a variation on the dance from the Spice Girls’ hit “2 Become 1” — and obscene for that reason.
In the ninth inning of a tied game on Wednesday, the Royals had two runners picked off of first base. Now it seems that night’s lineup card gives a little insight to the cause of the blunders.
Glove slap: kcemigre
Last week’s matchup was the blowout that you’d expect with a #1 seed in the first round, and we’ll have to call it: 1981 Topps Rollie Fingers has roundly defeated 1981 Topps Rich Gale despite username “Mac” and his strong support for Mr. Gale. Now it’s time to move to another conference and check out a similar blowout-ready clash.
As always, vote as you see fit. Although your biased tournament president only sees one ending to THIS matchup.
#8. 1983 Fleer Terry Felton
Did you know? I was the strikeout leader in Toledo in 1981! 99 of em! I played football in high school, too. I was the second overall pick! My eyes are clear, my heart is full, I can’t lose. Look at the hopefulness in my gaze. Look at the anticipation. Do you want to crush this? I’m on my way!
The Tampa Bay Devil Rays. I hate ‘em. All the while knowing that I shouldn’t.
I have to, though. Hate, I mean. It’s in my contract as a proud supporter of the Toronto Blue Jays. When the team you root for hasn’t qualified for the postseason in, oh, almost 20 years, eventually all you’re left with is hatred for those teams in the American League East that do play baseball in October. I hate the New York Yankees. The Boston Red Sox, too. I ignore the Baltimore Orioles, bless their hearts. I used to be able to say the same about the Rays. I miss those days.
I didn’t think it was possible, but, after reading Jonah Keri’s The Extra 2%, my dislike for the Rays has actually increased. And that’s not to say Mr. Keri’s book wasn’t a great one. It was. I found it, most of all, readable; the type of book you start and finish on a four and a half-hour cross-country flight. I mean, from Tampa’s struggle to finally land a team, to all that losing, to the vision displayed in going against the grain in assembling an unconventional front office, which led to the exorcising of so many demons, and, finally, to their rise from worst to first. What’s not to love? And I didn’t even mention Joe Maddon. The unparalleled Joe Maddon, with his glasses, his love of vino, and, of course, “The Danks Theory,” which he repeatedly put to good use against Toronto, when Shaun Marcum was still a Blue Jay.
I’ve found plenty not to like, though. Ben Zobrist, to start with. I should appreciate the likes of Zobrist, a nomad on the diamond, who’s enjoying a 2009-like renaissance at the plate. But I can’t. And, no, I can’t explain why. Hatred is illogical; there’s no rhyme or reason. Then there’s David Price, and his 8-0 record and 1.99 ERA in nine career starts against Toronto. The Blue Jays bore David Price.
After much introspection, I’ve figured it out: I hate the Rays because they’ve become everything the Blue Jays haven’t. I like to think of myself as being self-aware, so I have to admit it: I’m jealous. The Rays have conquered baseball’s toughest division in a market much smaller than Toronto’s, with far fewer resources, in an even more inferior domed ballpark.
That’s why they’ll always be the Devil Rays to me.
Image courtesy Victoria Lucas.