Cognitive dissonance is a heck of a thing.

Like, I like Frank Thomas. He got a little sanctimonious at times, and his head was kind of misshapen, but he also was on the front of the first $20+ card I ever got in a pack (1990 Stadium Club, now on sale for $1), and for like seven years at the beginning of the 1990s he was like straight fire unleashed on the league. For those seven years he had a .330/.452/.604 line… 835 walks to 528 strikeouts…

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As every survivalist knows, it’s not always possible to offload your pressing emergencies onto the broad-shouldered likes of John Buck. Sometimes, one must take matters into one’s own hands. So what follows is useful for the fan of base and ball who is also concerned about the rise of a global currency, a resident of any Michigan city center, suspicious that the other shoe is about drop, of the steadfast belief that the Rubicon has been crossed, and or a damned loon:

Post-modern side table or instrument of a homesteader’s righteous and bloody justice? Yes, it would seem.

(Ham radio and canned foodstuffs: Dwell Well)

Since John Buck has the name of a Dodge City sheriff with nothing left to lose, it’s somewhat fitting that he’s a hero in real, actual life:

Buck ran to the overturned car and went to work with two other Good Samaritans.

Buck and a bus driver who stopped to give assistance were able to help the car’s driver crawl out of a window of the upside-down car. Buck and another man pulled the passenger out.

So what does one do when one has nowhere left to turn? Who can save us? To whom should all distress calls be directed? Who will stride loins first into mounting disaster? John Buck will …

John Buck can help.

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Most of us will never make it into the scrapbook stuff of a Tedd with two d’s in his name, nor dine with a woman named Smokey. Vince Naimoli did both in one fell swoop.

In an age where things are built to come and go, Vince Naimoli has come and gone — like so much jowly ephemera. Despite relinquishing ownership of the Rays less than a decade ago, and despite being one of the most inept, curmudgeonly owners of the modern era, I’m betting that many of even the most informed baseball fans (of whom the FanGraphs readership is comprised) had forgotten him until Jonah Keri’s book The Extra 2% dedicated a hundred pages (or so) to him. Or maybe not.

But would you recognize him? Could you identify him above, where he’s pictured with his Eating Club? (The horrible syntax of the primary caption might be of no help.) Read the rest of this entry »

[Read this post from yesterday if you don’t know what I’m talking about, then come back.]

1. Derek Jeter signed baseball.
2. Bottle of Driven, Derek Jeter’s personally-designed cologne, a blend of chilled grapefruit, clean oak moss, spice, pine tar, batting glove sweat, and Jeter’s own urine.
3. Gillette Venus razor, so you can groom yourself to Yankee standards. Come on, you can’t expect Derek to let you stay the night if you have stray and errant hairs.
4. Gatorade, to replenish the fluids you’ve lost.
5. Tide stain stick, to get rid of the fluids you’ve gained.
6. One month’s membership to your nearest Derek Jeter Signature 24 Hour Fitness location, so you look good enough for Derek to forget he’s had sex with you already and invite you back for a second turn.
7. A jar of Skippy peanut butter. Smooth, not chunky. Just like you.
8. Chlamydia

Benjamin Disraeli said that “Conservatism discards Prescription, shrinks from Principle, disavows Progress; having rejected all respect for antiquity, it offers no redress for the present, and makes no preparation for the future.”  Golly, he makes being conservative seem like absolutely no fun.  Wouldn’t you rather greet the future with optimism and wild-eyed hope, the better to be prepared for the non-stop techno dance party that your life is destined to become?

Take this intrepid soul, who has chosen to prepare for the inevitable rise of the Astros:

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“This was a childhood favorite of mine. Now it just really fu*king pisses me off.

If you enjoy hopelessly outdated video simulations, liberal and spirited use of the F word, pretend baseball, and a gamer’s discontent, then the following is for you:

This was once a good thing, but it is now a bad thing. Every day is better than the next.

This probably needs an introduction but I have no idea what to say other than that I believe I’ve lost touch with my demographic.

Britney Spears

Career WAR: 91.2

Comparables: Greg Maddux, Warren Spahn

Best season: 2000 (Stronger, Oops!… I Did It Again, 1.78 FIP)

Brit has managed to assemble a shockingly spectacular career with years left to go, assuming her antics off the field don’t catch up to her. No matter how you feel about her style of play, no one else who has debuted since 1998 can touch her when it comes to the raw numbers. You think she’s only “pretty good”? Look again. If we’ve learned anything from advanced metrics, it’s that the numbers aren’t the liars, our perceptions are. No matter how Britney makes you feel (and for me and for many others, the answer to that question is a jumbled and complicated tangle), she is among — if not the — greatest pop singer of my generation. Those who don’t agree do have some tools to argue with, specifically her extremely low BABIP. However, even after factoring in her extraordinary luck, Britney has still led the league overall every season that she has released a new album. Above all else, she is incredibly consistent, never having experienced a true slump in her entire career. Even 2008, the year she experienced an infamous offseason collapse, her sixth album sold half a million copies in the US in its first week, while Brit broke another record becoming the youngest player in history with five number one albums. Britney is an interesting case because to the naked eye she appears to have very little talent at all. Her voice is weak and forgettable compared to many of the other players on this list, her fastball never gets out of the very low 90s, and while she was once pretty good on the dance floor, that number has sunk as her later career has been plagued by injuries — from 2008-2011 she actually posted a negative UZR. She simply doesn’t have the natural talent to be the superstar that she is and year after year, experts predict that she will regress to her natural talent level, but somehow, some way, she remains at the top of her game.
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WELCOME TO THE WASH SHOW I AM THE MOTHER F**ING HOST.. #WashTime

— LeVon Washington (@L_wash) December 13, 2011

By day LeVon Washington is a minor league outfielder for the Cleveland Indians, but by night he is the mother f**ing (although we can’t be sure what F-word he meant to bleep out, I’m going to guess it was the normal one, despite not having enough letters) host of the Wash Show, the hottest minor league twitter in the game right now.  He’s still looking for his swag on the diamond (.218/.331/.315 split in A ball last year), but believe me, he’s dripping with it all over the internets.  It’s a legitimate crime that he has only 782 followers, so I’m passing the #FF buck to you, dear friends. 

Bill Simmons recently appointed me the ‘czar’ of MiLB twitters (much to Carson’s chagrin), so I have the power to name LeVon Washington top dog in the inaugural NotGraphs Twitter Prospect List, and also to issue this official word of warning @TheRealTPlush:  Your crown as craziest baseball twitterer is in jeopardy.  Consider yourself on mother-f**ing notice.  Batton down the hatches while you still can, because it’s bout to be #WashTime #WashTime #WashTime #WashTime #WashTime #WashTime #WashTime #WashTime #WashTime #WashTime #WashTime #WashTime

Although the convention floor, which is slimed in the residue of the basest of human urges, might lead one to think that the title of “Mayor of Babylon” hangs in the balance, it is actually the nickname “Gargoyle O’Boyle” that is at sexy stake.

The nomination process yielded many names, which have been whittled down to a tidy 10, according to the whims and impulses of the Utmost Culminating Exchequer, whose zippered latex mask is for purposes of maximum intimidation. He — is he really a he? — asks that you ponder carefully who should be known forevermore as “Gargoyle O’Boyle.” Now go and vote like everyone’s watching. Because they are …

Thank you for exercising the franchise.