Some might characterize the action-video footage that follows as “brimming with boundless horrors.” Others — patriots, for instance — might characterize the action-video footage that follows as “brimming with righteous justice.” Judge for yourself, so long as you agree in advance to make the correct judgment …

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRi59dhVawo&feature=player_embedded

At this point, you might be wondering what the puckish young lad in the Yankee cap did to merit such a shuddersome fate, other than the self-evident breach of wearing a Yankee cap in the first place. And, hmmm, I might be wondering why you’re not content to leave such matters to the relevant jurisdictional authorities. Perhaps, because of your dissension, the Republic finds itself in need of even more blood-soaked redress, eh?

I’d watch what I say and think, if I were you.

We believe, and by we I mean right-thinking North Americans, that mustaches and spectacles are inherently good. Indeed, one Dayn Perry scours the Internet day and night searching for the finest in spectacle- and mustache-related content. He has made NotGraphs your one-stop shop for spectacles, mustaches, and spectacles plus mustaches. Veritably, this site is the world’s foremost authority on spectacles and mustaches.

But, alas, I am here as the cold shower to your clearly aroused state, regarding said facial accoutrements.  As my dear grandmother likes to remind me when I steal her prescription medications, too much of a good thing is bad for you. To wit, I ask…nay, demand…you behold the evolution of one Kenneth Allen Phelps:

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He was practicing for game six.

What Tony La Russa was thinking: “How the f*ck do you spell Rzepczynski?”

Image courtesy Reuters via Daylife.

Rangers manager/America’s favorite cackling bedlamite Ron Washington is, as you are probably aware, bald. But he is not bald in the sense of merely being in possession of a hairless top floor, like, say, Lex Luthor. Rather, Wash’s baldness contains multitudes. This you shall soon see …

So multitudinous is his baldness that we now have a category called “Great Moments in Baldness.” If not for Ron Washington, there would be no such thing as a Great Moment in Baldness. The inverse formulation — if not for Great Moments in Baldness, there would be no Ron Washington — is obviously not true. But still.

This has been your Daguerreotype of the Evening.

It’s his. He brought the monkey to the game. I thought it might be his son’s, or maybe his daughter’s, but it isn’t. It’s his. I’m convinced. You can tell by the way he’s holding it. And you can’t tell me otherwise. Hell, he might watch Rangers games on television at home much the same way: mouth agape, baseball glove at the ready, Texas Rangers stuffed monkey held tight to his chest.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not here to judge him. I don’t know him. Maybe he went to game(s) four and/or five of last year’s World Series in Arlington without his Rangers monkey. Maybe he thought about taking the monkey, agonized over the decision, but ended up leaving it at home. Maybe, sans monkey, he watched Texas fall to San Francisco. Read the rest of this entry »

Tony La Russa’s Monday press conference seems to have caused further confusion about his use of pitchers during Game 5 of this 2011 World Series. I thought I should try to parse La Russa’s explanation, so I used Yahoo’s Babelfish tool to translate Tony into German and then back again to English. I think this sheds more light on his true intentions. Questions are in their original tongue, punctuation was edited for clarity.

Q: Could you take us through the thought process leaving Rzepczynski to pitch to Napoli?

La Russa: Well which happened, was that twice the region didn’t hear Motte’s name. They heard Rzepczynski’s and it didn’t receive moth (as both loose received should). I looked and moth wasn’t there above going. Thus I demanded back moth and her rose Lynn. That’s why it wasn’t me today throw been supposed wasn’t in such a way, which goes letting it throw, this Schlagmann. It straight threw the preheating and went it and to moth was ready. I don’t know, if it were loud, probably material loud. It straight didn’t hear second time. They heard “Rzepczynski” and it didn’t hear “Motte” and as I back designated, said I “Moth,” they heard “Lynn.” Thus I went there, wrong chap out. He’s, which does not go throwing today. I said, “If you decrease/go back, keep ready” to moth. We’ll way the chap because I don’t wish Lynn — it is not to throw. I didn’t would like to injure it. And then moth came in. That’s why — it must be loud. I give credit note to the fans.

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 That’s right, Colby Preston Lewis, star of the hit Japanese baseball cartoon comedy/porn Who’s on First.

On to Tatts!

Here is my favorite tattoo:

It’s the famous Drunken-Double-Flamingo-In-Sunglasses-Flanking-Generic-Hawai’ian-Sunset neck tatt! It is my favorite tattoo because it is so far removed from any practical or even meaningfully expressive purposes. It was acquired in irony, almost assuredly while inebriated, and probably regretted to the point of deep depression immediately upon sobering. Then again, maybe its bearer is such a deeply ironic (or vapid) individual that he has no regrets. It is hard to tell. Perhaps he loves turtlenecks, and will relish an opportunity to wear them to all job interviews, family outings, and first dates for the rest of his days. More power to him. I mean, if a highly privileged, secular Westerner is going to get a tattoo, why should he not pile on the frivolity?

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The alert reader will suspect as much already — but I’ll state it here for posterity’s sake (and also for the sake of the less alert reader) — that internet personality and real-live baby daddy The Common Man will be contributing to these pages now.

While, for contractual reasons, we’re unable to reveal his true identity, we are allowed to say that he’s at least one of the people in this photo:

When a meme beckons, we are powerless to resist its mandate.

So Tony La Russa seizes the horn during the most fraught moments of Game 5 …

And …

As any good baseball man knows, “Motte” sounds a lot like “Lynn” to a screaming Englishman in the echo-y confines of the stink lodge.