Jose Bautista puts the “Hot” in Hot GIF Action. He also gives new meaning to “Up high, down low” high five etiquette.
Poor Alvarez. The perils of being a rookie in Major League Baseball.
A handshake, and only a handshake, for my dude The Blue Jay Hunter.
A certain Philip Humber entertained 27 gentlemen on Saturday afternoon, and dismissed them all. In honor of this feat of unblemished restraint, I’d like to reacquaint you all with the very first individual to have accomplished it: the very pioneer of perfection, Mr. John Lee Richmond of the Worcester Ruby Legs. There are at least three things worth noting about Mr. Richmond and his fabled 1880 exploit.
MLB Network should have a night of sitcoms. I’ve done them a favor and come up with some ideas. Vote for your favorites and for anything that gets a substantial number of votes, I’ll write up a whole ridiculous treatment with some episode summaries and a sample scene or two. It’ll be fun. And silly. If you have better ideas than the ones in the poll below, add your own answers!
Today’s edition of The Found Poems comes from WTMJ’s April 20th broadcast of Colorado at Milwaukee. All words courtesy Mr. Bob Uecker.
Robin Yount
Great Brewers shortstop
and center fielder.
A Hall of Famer
who’s listening
to our broadcast tonight,
I know he is.
He and his little
transistor radio,
sitting in the driveway,
locked out again.
It was with a sense of both agency and sexual uplift that I recently introduced the loins-first category known as “Men Surrounded by Things.” And then it was with a sense of almost imperceptible disrupt — like a godhead, phallus tensed, vaguely and amusedly aware of a fly in another universe’s outermost unmapped regions — that Mr. Cistulli’s unfortunate, flaccid, oozing, splotchy, papule-ridden prose — prose lampreyed on to an otherwise fetching image — caught my attention. There are things in this world that I am resigned to abide, but this is not one of them. And so I shall not. I dipped into my trillions and commissioned a rejoinder, since I can scarcely be bothered to do it myself.
And so Chris Cwik, known around the NotGraphs office as “Murray St. Gorgeous,” has saved the day, perhaps a genre once adored and most assuredly the streets. All at my bidding, of course. With the pride of the proud, I present his masterwork, “Chipper Jones surrounded by Chips”:
And the saints, people and dearly departed say: amen.
It goes without saying, but should be written down as often as is reasonably possible, that the present author has no intention ever of attributing greatness either to the actions or actual person of Dayn Perry. This is a point in the defense of which I’d be willing to engage in an elaborate, choreographed knife fight.
However, I’ve also made it clear that no milk moves me so thoroughly as the milk of human kindness — and it was this sort of milk with which, thanks to reader and noted loin-girder Santos, the Team NotGraphs Inbox (email) was runnething over this morning.
With the image included here, Santos has contributed not only another installment in, but perhaps the very apotheosis of, Perry’s own series, Men Surrounded by Things.
In conclusion, the reader should not gaze up into the darkness and see himself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and his eyes should not burn with anguish and anger.
We’ve all got that one friend who goes HAM on high fives, who treats every high five like it’s their last. For members of the Toronto Blue Jays, that friend is Brett Lawrie.
Lawrie’s exuberant high five is a window into how he plays the game. Lawrie plays hard. Very hard. He sprints down the line to first base, every time. Ground balls aren’t hit to Brett Lawrie at third base; Brett Lawrie attacks ground balls. A week ago today, Lawrie tried to steal home with two outs, the bases loaded, and Jose Bautista at the plate. Lawrie was out. Ah, the folly of youth.
Speaking of Bautista, he’s learned his lesson. Want to high five Brett Lawrie? Use protection.
High five: The indispensable Toronto Blue Jays gifs.
(The curtain rises to reveal TOM MILONE, left-handed pitcher for the Oakland A’s.)
TOM MILONE: My name is Tom Milone, of the Oakland baseball club. My ambition is to become a character in a great play!
(The office of a GREAT PLAYWRIGHT. TOM MILONE enters.)
TOM MILONE: Sir, my name is Tom Milone, of the Oakland baseball club. My ambition is to become a character in a great play!
GREAT PLAYWRIGHT: A great play? I’m not aware that such a thing exists anymore.
TOM MILONE: But I thought you were a great playwright?
GREAT PLAYWRIGHT: I’m a fictional character!
(CARSON CISTULLI’s dream from last night. TOM MILONE appears suddenly.)
TOM MILONE: Carson Cistulli? Hello. I’m Tom Milone, of the Oakland baseball club.
CARSON CISTULLI: Of course.
This idea was gifted to me by none other than Mr. Bradley Woodrum. There are a lot of ways it could have gone. This is the way it went. Disclaimer: pink packing peanuts are really very bad for the environment, guys. And as ever, click to embiggen — if that’s something you’re into.
P.S. So I’m not the first person to notice this, huh?
