Chalk up the video below as another reason why the Internet is awesome:

Dan Shaughnessy — unfortunately for him, in this case — will live forever.

H/Ts: Learned scholar Kevin A., and the fine folks at Awful Announcing.

Brayan Pena expresses the gratitude of millions.

I don’t know what the coverage of baseball was like last night for those of you in the U.S. of A., but up here in the Great White North sports coverage needs a bit of help with priorities. They were talking about games in Florida, Maryland, and other sordid little burgs, but hardly mentioned the story they should have led with: Bruce Chen’s eight innings of shutout ball (somehow matched by Carl Pavano’s nine) in Minnesota on an emotional night that might have been Chen’s last game in a Royals uniform.

We are all reeling from the emotional night at Target Field, but those who may have happened upon one of my FanGraphs chats know that this is particularly difficult for me. While I celebrate the greatness that is Chen, it is time to bid the meme him farewell.

Read the rest of this entry »

It has been said by no one, so far as I know, that a man who knows his strengths will do great things, but a man who knows his limitations is probably way less of a douche.

In any case, having read zero of the other words he’s ever written in his life, I can say with some authority that, despite the other (likely many) flaws he possesses, the Daily News’s David Murphy — author of the tweet you see above — knows his place in this world.

And, when you think about it, it’s not the worst place to have. Imagine asking merely affluent or (gasp) middle-class people about their groins! “The horror! The horror!” indeed, Mr. Kurtz.

After the operatic goings-on of baseball’s Night of Long Knives, I have the feeling that all of us could use a piping-hot plate of whimsy. Fortunately, funnyman Rod Barajas is here to help.

It has long been said that nothing soothes the fussy infant quite like a Rod Barajas. This is why Rod Barajas is available at boutique toy stores and corner pharmacies everywhere. And that’s to say nothing of the 15-pack of shrink-wrapped Rod Barajases on endcap display at every Costco the world over. Why is the Rod Barajas so popular among sleep-deprived parents? We already told you: nothing soothes a fussy infant quite like a Rod Barajas. Click and be amazed:

Next time the Rod Barajas will change Dee Gordon’s poopy.

3 am breastfeeding: Mike Scioscia’s Tragic Illness)

Portrait of the artists as a middle-aged Jewish woman.

After the events of September 28th, we at NotGraphs are a little verklempt.

Please, talk amongst yourselves.

I’ll give you a topic: the parfait should change its name after yesternight in baseball.

Discuss.

If there’s one thing the good, round folks of the Upper Midwest love more than consonants and slowly dying, it’s encased meats, dontchaknow. It should come as no surprise, then, that the Twins of Minnesota have lent their corporate imprimatur to at least one package — and probably many more — of lovingly prepared offal. And this brings us to your Daguerreotype of the Evening:

Luminous food critic Gael Greene has written of the Twins Big Dog’s “mellow notes of animal pecker and delightful sodium-nitrate finish.” Nom, nom, nom!

Among the things you’ve bought in the past week, reader, one of them is decidedly not the giant, behatted frog with bloodshot eyes and purple, fire-emblazoned tank top that you see pictured in this internet post.

You’ve bought a lot of things, sure — sensual oils with which you will make love to America; the complete set of The Wire DVDs; diet juice — but not, unfortunately, this huge, irksome frog made of synthetic materials and sadness.

Don’t get me wrong, reader: you’ve pulled your weight so far as both the local and national economies are concerned. Like with your purchase of that toothpaste that’s exactly like Tom’s of Maine but, like, half as expensive, for example. And that copy of pre-Victorian British erotic novel The Lustful Turk. And a six-pack of an amber ale described as “sweet but not cloyingly so” by a shitty bartender whose face you hate. Among that list, regrettably, is not “haunting and/or haunted frog mascot.”

Let me not mince words here: you, the person reading this, have exchanged American currency for goods and services. By what other means would you have had a delicious brunch the other day while reading the Sunday edition of the New York Times? Or watched all those out-of-market NFL games on DirecTV? Or renewed your subscription to The Economist, which you’ll totally read more often, you swear. “None,” is the answer. Unfortunately, of all the transactions in which you’ve been involved, exactly zero of them have been the acquisition of this menacing and drunk-looking and likely dangerous fake frog.

Every word on the internet to the contrary, the footage you see here seems to suggest that John Lackey — who has recently not only divorced his cancer-addled wife but also called her repeatedly to ask if her refrigerator is running — is not an unfeeling monster.

In fact, Lackey was roused enough by Boston prospect Ryan Lavarnway’s first major-league home run to offer a combination high-five/Top Gun-style hug to the young catcher.

When asked about the sequence after the game, Lackey said nothing, instead taking NotGraphs into his masculine embrace.

As you may have noticed, Arizona’s license plates read, “Arizona: Home to Sadness.” This is objectively true, of course, but last night Arizona’s Major League Baseball Franchise, which is represented by poisonous snakes, provided the state’s beleaguered denizens with a board-certified base-and-ball miracle.

Prior to last night, a Law of the Universe, theretofore believed to be immutable, was that if the home team surrenders five runs in top of the 10th, then a loss is a fait accompli. Those plucky Snakes, however, declared that if coming back from five down in extra innings is a crime — much like loving you — then lock them up and place the key somewhere safely out of the prisoner’s reach. Yes, thanks mostly to a Ryan Roberts amble-off grand slam, Arizona, metaphorically, murdered the Dodgers with a sharpened cargo hook.

And that brings us to the most stirring image of any such game: the WPA chart. Behold:

In certain circles, such a rarely spotted WPA chart is known as “The Leftward-Facing Raygun,” but the learned discerner may also note a stirring resemblance to the Objective Pipe. Regardless of how this Rorschach strikes you, though, you should know that the Arizona Diamondbacks are here for those with nowhere left to turn.

(A hearty please and thank you to Hannah’s Tweet repository)

On the repository of human knowledge known as “Urban Dictionary,” the third definition of “thunder thighs” is “a pair of big ass thighs.”

Observe, Brett Wallace:

Judging purely by the definition above (i.e, “a pair of big ass thighs”), Brett Wallace has thunder thighs. But, as you will most keenly observe, MLB.com’s GameDay most certainly sells said thunder thighs short:

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), Gameday simply doesn’t have the ability to project total realism. I guess all technologies have their limitations. In Gameday’s case, it’s thunder thighs.