Phil Mackey covers the Twins and other Minnesota sporting clubs for 1500 ESPN Twin Cities. He also — if this recent Tweet is any indication — has another, slightly more clandestine beat, as well.
The convention floor is adorned with slaughtered beasts, which is a sure sign that the nomination process, in addition to our notions of human dignity, has expired. Leather Tuscadero, our honorary Maximum Culminating Exchequer, has surveyed the pool of nominees and whittled the list down to 10 finalists, all of whom have been deemed loyal to Dear Leader. So vote, but vote as though a 1975 Chrysler Cordoba is watching you. Because a a 1975 Chrysler Cordoba is absolutely watching you …
Thank you for exercising the franchise.
I had never before in my pointless existence used the phrase “cocksure cocksman” until I laid rheumy eyes upon this image of Ricky Bottalico:
That’s Ricky Bottalico. Those are the kind of pythons you can’t buy in a pet store. And this has been your Daguerreotype of the Evening.
(Reluctant tug-job: Hitting the Cutoff Man)
Faithful reader Tim Nicodemus has brought our attention to this story about a new Skip Schumaker baseball card featuring a whole lotta squirrel, and very little of Skip Schumaker.
Truth is, the Rally Squirrel card is only the beginning. Here at Notgraphs, we have already received the following sneak preview of the next few cards in this history-making series of “NOT THE FACE”
If ever, reader, you were the sort to click on an image with a view to embiggening it, this post — and, specifically, the image embedded here to the right — represents an excellent opportunity to revisit that practice.
Never clicked and embiggened before? It’s not as difficult or dangerous as it sounds. What’s really central to it is the clicking part, as the embiggening is actually just the result of that cause.
What one will find in this photo, after the appropriate measures have been taken, is Hall of Famer George Brett and teammate Bo Jackson, circa 1989, presenting from the lush fields of Baseball City, FL what is known to aristocrats everywhere as the doigt d’honneur — presenting it both to (a) some sort of freelance photographer and (b) future Americans, like us.
This image, signed by Brett himself, appears to be available in exchange for American currency, via reputable online auction house and retailer of pornographic materials eBAY.
Finger of honor to FanGraphs editor Robert Sanchez.
What we do is assign cool nicknames to players rather than perpetuate the tired, lamewad practice of assigning cool players nicknames. Last time out, Dan Uggla was lushly rewarded with the nickname “Stainless Steel Meat Hammer.” So Mr. Uggla has been added to our Hall of Honouur, which is so stately, so regal, so much itself a celebration of the Norman Conquest, that an extra British-English unstressed “u” is required for proper spelling …
I normally make a point to avoid spiders, mostly because I have it on good authority that they want to kill me. But this spider?
This spider is different. This spider could knock on the oaken door of my boudoir, and I would open it and, while wearing something uncomplicated, invite him in to ravage me. Baseball Spider, I would say, do with me what you will. Go Twins, I would also say.
(Image and underlying genius courtesy of 365 Spider)
Matt Purke is a 21-year-old left-hander out of TCU, taken in the third round of the most recent draft by the Washington Nationals. Basically every photo of him is pretty excellent.
Today, we’re going to learn about the different emotions that Matt Purke has.
Sad:
There are a couple dynamics at play here. For one, we’re merely days from pitchers and catchers reporting; as a result, things to file a column on are bone dry. We have innings eaters swapping locales, a summary of the offseason’s best deals, wishing happy trails to an underappreciated 43-year-old, and the dispelling of various rumors, most of which are asinine and drummed up for content. See the irony?
But today, I’d like to get romantic about statistics. Ever get lost inside the stats? I do. So join me in pushing up our nerd glasses today as I take a look at some of the hitting stat lines that pique my interest when I’m checking out a hitter’s stat sheet. In the interest of full disclosure, this post was in part inspired by a NotGraphs piece penned by Patrick Newman.
The .3xx/.4xx/.5xx triple-slash.
For me, this slash is probably the most pleasing to behold. It’s not the most productive of the stat lines that we’ll examine today, but there’s something — at least to me — about the consistency. The 3-4-5 suggests first of all, pretty good contact. How many everyday — albeit, dated — adages suggest hitting .300 is pretty dang good? The .4xx suggests a few things; for one, getting on base 40 percent of the time is elite, pretty much no matter how you slice it. Secondly, it shows a discerning eye at the plate. Assuming the hitter wasn’t .380/.405/.500, he’ll have to have good discipline to go with his contact to fulfill the first pair in this triple slash.
It’s a long running fantasy of mine and of my friends to build a comprehensive, dramatic film about MLB. Often this includes spinoffs — most recently one that features Razor Shines and Rance Mulliniks as ballplayers by night, buddy cops by day/late night, complete with Derek Bell as a no-nonsense Chief of Police. (Very possibly, a outline for this “film project” will appear at NotGraphs in the near future.)
Chief Bell
