Today, January 23rd, we celebrate the life of Mark Wohlers as part of our on-again, but mostly off-again, feast-day series.

Life: Drafted by Atlanta in 1988 out of Holyoke (MA) High School, Wohlers developed into an excellent high-leverage pitcher, averaging just under 12 strikeouts per nine innings at the height of his career, from 1994 to -97, and posting the highest WAR among major-league relievers during that same span. In 1998, however, Wohlers developed a condition that greatly affected his command, prompting him to walk 13 of 25 batters faced during late July and early August, after which he was placed on the disabled list for “inability to pitch.” Wohlers was traded to Cincinnati the following season, disabled immediately, and treated for anxiety (while also undergoing Tommy John surgery at a later date). He finished his career throwing 139 roughly league-average innings in 2001-02, the latter just his age-32 season, although was never as dominant as in his peak.

Entirely and defeated are two words you might consider using.

Read the rest of this entry »

It won’t surprise you to learn that I’m an opinionated fellow. After all, I am on the Internet pretty much constantly, and roughly 95 percent of the Internet is powered by misguided righteous indignation. And I’m proud to say that few, if any, are more misguided than I am.

But for all of my many misguided opinions, perhaps none of them were so misguided as my belief that dynasties were typically measured in years and accomplishments. I mean, sure, we can measure them in those things. But if we do, then the winner invariably ends up being the 4th Egyptian Dynasty because “ooh, look at me, I built some pyramids.” Or the Japanese Emperors because their line dates back to at least 500 AD. How boring. We need new criteria!

But what to choose? We could measure a dynasty in seasons on television, or duck calls sold, or albums sold, or games won, or descendents who wind up ruling nation-states.

Fortunately, Internet philosopher Jose Canseco is an expert on a great many things, only some of which are related to hitting round objects with other round objects. One of those other things on which Canseco can wax poetically is the founding and maintenence of a dynasty. For Canseco was there from 1988-1990, when the Oakland A’s had an unbroken reign over the American League. He saw what it took to carve out that top spot and to hold it. And that is:

A dynasty is not measured by rings but by the amount of fear your opponent has for you and he knows you know

— Jose Canseco (@JoseCanseco) January 22, 2013

See friends? You don’t measure a dynasty in years or in accomplishments. You measure it in fear. Fear and knowing that your opponent knows you know the fear he has…or something. But mostly in fear. You don’t rule and then force your children upon your subjects because you’re inherently better than anyone else, but because the thought of the hammer you (and your spawn) might bring down on any who challenge you is debilitating.

And thus is it that I nominate Dayn Perry, drunk and naked after nine adult beverages, as the greatest dynasty there has ever been, or ever will be, as that’s the scariest thing I can think of. It’s either him or the offensive prowess of Jim Rice.

Baseball’s greatest virtue isn’t, as certain men of letters have suggested, its languid pace, nor its exploration of the dialectic between urban and rural space, nor the wealth of data (both quantitative and qualitative) it produces — although all these qualities are notable and capable of being noted.

No, baseball’s greatest virtue is that it came of age at a time in our history when men responded to death’s chilling knell not with mild platitudes, but by means of strongman’s prose, much of it likely translated from the Latin in unheated boarding-house rooms.

By way of example, let’s consider the case of Bub McAtee — who was both born and died in a city of some Classical extraction itself — and Bub McAtee’s obituary.

Read the rest of this entry »

Below are totally-altered (embiggenable) artist’s renderings of a renovated Wrigley Field:

Just wanted to follow up on Dayn’s post this morning about the Pope taking batting practice. Here is a rabbi throwing out a first pitch, to be caught by a bird that will almost certainly not be slaughtered to meet the standards of Kashrut. Highlight: the stadium organ playing Hava Nagila.

(Apologies that for the first 6 minutes this post was up, there was no video. YouTube link embedding whoops on my part.)

Last August, the author invited the readership to celebrate what one might call the “untamed beauty” of Kansas City reliever Kelvin Herrera’s changeup. In the intervening months, he (i.e. the author) has turned his attention to other matters — many of them involving variations on the theme of bed rest.

Herrera’s inclusion on the Dominican Republic’s WBC roster, however, reminds us once again both that (a) he (i.e. Kelvin Herrera) exists and that (b) like a nude woman descending a staircase, so is Kelvin Herrera’s changeup likely to become the subject of an important Cubist painting.

Here are three changeups thrown by Herrera since that last post — all three to Jarrod Saltalamacchia and all thrown, in fact, consecutively on August 25th.

For strike one:

Read the rest of this entry »

The boulevards of the world are awash in possible jokes, all of them tiresome even before they depart one’s lips or typing fingers. Why? Because the Pope is taking batting practice …

When I told you the Pope was taking batting practice it turns out I was not lying. This surprised even me. I just resisted a joke. And another. And then another. The Pope is taking batting practice.

I am scooting and clicking around my shitty home like an addled crab because the Pope is taking batting practice. What else am I to do? Stare mutely in the mirror at my mongrel’s visage? Ask my dog sincere questions?

Besides hiding from leering Heaven in my sump pit, I shall create a NotGraphs category called “The Pope is Taking Batting Practice.”

What else am I to do? Murder an urchin?

The Pope is taking batting practice, and he has a reasonable left-handed swing.

Push me down the stairs, ghosts about me.

Ed. Note: Dayn Perry would like to credit the editor’s friend Ross for finding this evergreen video.

Even with almost a whole week having passed since filling the Balboni-shaped holes inside us all on his Feast Day, there might still remain for the reader what is known in the medical field as an Appetite for Balboni — a condition similar to an Appetite for Destruction, except less about causing property damage and more about mustache care and eating ham directly off the bone.

With a view to mollifying the effects of said condition, the author has found and then embedded the above video — a profile of then-minor-leaguer Steve Balboni from 1980, hosted by a poorly disguised Ernest Borgnine.

Pictured below, among the ephemera of my bedroom office, is a First Edition (Fifth Printing, though) copy of A Thinking Man’s Guide to Baseball (1967) by Leonard Koppett, lent to me by a friend. In subsequent editions the title was changed to A Thinking Fan’s Guide to Baseball, because, well, people who aren’t “men” are baseball fans, too.

For some reason the lamp has a sticker on it that reads “Spay or Neuter”.

In the introduction, Koppett makes explicit his assumptions about his readers: Read the rest of this entry »

Craig Calcaterra and his colleagues over at NBC have once again been collecting mentions of ballplayers claiming to be in the “best shape of their lives” — Javier Vazquez, Neil Walker, Hanley Ramirez, CC Sabathia so far this offseason.

It has me asking the obvious question… what shape is someone in when they’re in the best shape of their life?

And the answer, I’ve decided… is octagon.