I don’t know. All I know is that I’m sick of the human element, the blown calls, and helmets taking bad hops and hitting umpires. There has to be another way. It’s probably not D’ump, a combination of a deer and an umpire, but I like that there are people out there — sick people, clearly — who are thinking outside the box.
H/T: Nobel Prize-winning NotGraphs reader Matt, who writes at yanksgoyard.com. You can follow him on Twitter, too: @MHunterYGY.
In my first ever post for NotGraphs, I wrote about feeling sorry for C.C. Sabathia after a bad start, even though I know that he makes millions of dollar bills. I wrote “You ever watch a kid try to do something and not be able to work it out? They just watched some other kid do the same thing, but they just can’t get their chubby, tiny hands around the pieces to do the thing themselves? Or when an older woman starts digging for change in a tiny coin purse and she just can’t pull the pennies out because her hands are shaky? That look. Helplessly watching someone struggle with something they know they should be able to do is in my all time bottom five of feelings, right next to when I make a special trip to 7-11 and the coke side of the slurpee machine is broken.”
Which is exactly how I feel watching Pujols this year. I’m not going to join in the discussion of whether he’ll turn it around, because I’m not an expert on swing mechanics or regression and aging. He’s on my home league fantasy team — I used my first draft pick on him two years ago and people made fun of me the following year when I used my one “franchise pick” on Matt Wieters instead, but obviously that doesn’t look so dumb now. Which isn’t to say that I anticipated this, not by any stretch. I put him on my bench the other day and played Todd effing Helton instead. It felt so wrong that it made me kind of nauseous.
Selfish complaints aside, I just feel sorry for the guy. Maybe other people (Angels fans? St. Louis fans?) look at Albert and see a guy who’s raking in millions and not doing shit for it. I see the same thing, except I just know it just kills him. This guy cares so much that it physically hurts me to watch him fail. He’s so stoic about everything and there’s barely ever any outward sign of his frustration — which just makes it all the more poignant to me. Now the Angels have fired his hitting coach, which will either “work” as a placebo to start to improve his season, OR make him feel even more guilty because a guy lost his job over something that we all know deep down probably wasn’t really his fault.
Dear Albert,
It gets better?
Hopefully,
Summer Anne.
The poet Phillis Wheatley believed that suffering in general and forced servitude in particular were large, good things, so long as they led to salvific awakening. Hall of Famer Mr. Bert Blyleven would seem to disagree.
Indeed, Hall of Famer Mr. Bert Blyleven has assayed this stinking life and determined that if suffering is the price of a divinely crafted world steered by something utmost and bearded, then he’ll just have the buffet, thanks …
The Twins have had a frustrating season so far. They say losing builds creator! Who the heck wants creator. Let’s win some games in Detroit!
— Bert Blyleven (@CircleMeBertHOF) May 16, 2012
Something Hall of Famer Mr. Bert Blyleven did not say but provably thought during a recent broadcast:
“If there is a God, then he lacks the power to stop what is happening to the Twins. Thus he is not omnipotent. Or perhaps he isn’t aware of what is happening to the Twins. Thus he is not omniscient. Or perhaps he chooses not to halt what is happening to the Twins — i.e, he is the absent clock-winder held up by the Founders before they became Evangelicals in the 1980s. Thus we are but handmaidens to his most baleful whims. If this — this — is my embarras de choix, then make mine darkness.”
So we shall, Hall of Famer Mr. Bert Blyleven, so we shall …
This is the fifth in a series of short excerpts from MLB Network’s entirely imaginary new fall sitcoms. More details here.
Today’s show: TWO AND A HALF NEN
From the Worldwide Leader:
I never watched Pete Rose play baseball. He was before my time. What I know about Rose comes mostly from books, most notably Joe Posnanski’s “The Machine.” Look, I don’t know much — I chose to become a journalist, after all. But I know this: Pete Rose belongs in Cooperstown.
The ESPN short makes me sad. Especially Rose’s quotes.
It is soooo HOT in AZ! How hot is it?? Just saw a woman driving her car with oven mitts on!!! #Hot
— Geoff Blum (@blummer27) May 15, 2012
Regarding the veal, try it. In terms of your waitress, consider tipping her.
Time spent watching this GIF: >Five minutes.
People in the dugout paying attention to this display: Zero, miraculously.
Number of slaps in Bautista/Lawrie’s pre-dancing handshake: Two.
Time spent trying to decide how to possibly articulate how lovable it is: Around one hour.
Time spent trying to figure out who the “better” dancer, Jose Bautista or Brett Lawrie: 20 minutes.
Answers to the questions I sought: Zero.
via Reddit, H/T Old Time Family Baseball
Some things contain multitudes. So does this:
A moment of bliss.
Close your eyes.
Imagine you are Dustin Ackley.
Read the rest of this entry »
