Here at Notgraphs, where we take an avowed scholarly interest in futility, the name of John Gochnaur holds a certain incomparable cachet. Mr. Gochnaur’s short, miserable career, and most especially his epic 1903 season, stand as an eternal monument to baseball failure. That year, starting at shortstop for all but six of Cleveland’s 140 games, this man compiled a picturesque line of .185/.265/.240, with zero home runs of course, breaking his own modern record for lowest single-season batting average — and setting a new one that would stand for nearly ninety years. And he did it while racking up an astonishing 98 errors, leading the league by more than twenty, and establishing himself as the last major leaguer in history to crack 90. Thanks to these achievements, Mr. Gochnaur has earned himself an all but proverbial status as one of the worst ballplayers, or the worst ballplayer, ever to deface a diamond. A twenty-first century Republican congressman even paid him tribute on the House floor, likening his futility to that of the Endangered Species Act. John Gochnaur, there are some crimes against America that we are eventually prepared to forgive. Yours is not one of them.

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Dayn Perry and I are recording a Question Time™ edition of the podcast at 11am ET tomorrow (Wednesday).

Feel free to submit questions for Perry — who has fewer than zero reasons to live — in the comment section below.

Deadspin recently reprinted a fascinating look into the depths of Steve Carlton’s mind. Turns out, a cabal of 300 people is running the world. Or the Jews. Or the Chinese. Or the bankers.

It can get a little confusing to keep it straight. And so, with a recount of the tale that cost Steve Carlton his life savings freshly in mind, here are a few suggestions for his tchochtka-selling business.

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The purpose of this post is to remind the lusty and bespectacled readership that NC State sophomore Carlos Rodon’s slider — an example of which one see here being thrown to, and also knocking over, DH Cam McRae of Presbyterian College this past Sunday (box) — that Rodon’s slider remains superlative.

Nothing has changed since February, for example, when his slider was superlative — nor April, a different month in which his slider was also superlative.

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After hitting a dinger, Melky Cabrera proceeded to proceed through the dugout, giving false high fives all around.

In honor of Melky’s grand promenade, I offer the dulcet tones of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s Procession of the Nobles.

Watch:

Noble, indeed.

Listen:

procession

(GIF originally found on Reddit)

The Leaders of Tomorrow work hard and play harder and smile hardest.

Because both (a) life is a cavalcade of miseries and (b) alcohol famously offers consequence-free relief from said miseries, it follows that (c) no further incentives need exist for its (i.e. alcohol’s) consumption.

And yet, it is not uncommon to find — in particular, among the Leaders of Tomorrow — to find games designed to facilitate and make more amusing the consumption of alcoholic beverages.

Below are eight examples of real baseball-related drinking games discovered by the present site’s Investigative Reporting Investigation Team and not actually just invented right now by the author, sitting at his dumb writing table.

1. Take a small sip of chablis for every infield fly hit by Joey Votto. (Note: for light drinkers.)

2. Drink a beer for every mention of FanGraphs on a Cubs television broadcast.

3. During a Dodgers home broadcast, take a sip every time you secretly wish Vin Scully would hold you and whisper that everything is okay before commencing a meaningful anecdote about Sandy Koufax.

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Sometimes, people who are wise in your life will tell you that “Practice makes perfect.” Sometimes, a cat with a good sense of humor and who also happens to speak English with some measure of fluency will tell you that “Practice makes purr-fect.”

In either case, what we learn is that, for anyone who has an interest in acquiring some measure of expertise in this or that skill, what’s necessary is to develop that skill over a long period of time and by virtue of considerable repetition.

As the footage here demonstrates, at least one person in the Dodgers organization understands that. Outfield prospect Yasiel Puig has exhibited considerable promise in the art and science of bat-flipping. Those fledgling efforts haven’t compelled him to miss the forest for the trees, however — in which metaphor the forest is the potential for future bats to be flipped ever more beautifully and the trees are probably individual bats that were flipped well, but not enough to make a whole forest, probably.

Credit to Kiley McDaniel for video and Nick Piecoro for drawing author’s attention to same.

Gil Hodges’ large hands probably helped him to become a pretty good baseball player. The first-baseman hit 370 HR and had a career WAR of 41.8.

Those same hands might have made him good at murder, too.

Sure, Gil Hodges would be happy to crush your skull for you!

It’s easy to find several photographs of Hodges that highlight the size of his hands. Apparently, their size distracted both photographers and the public from the fact that Hodges always very literally had blood on his hands.

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Recall former major league catcher Charlie O’Brien, backstop for eleven Cy Young Award winners, personal catcher to Greg Maddux, inventor of hockey-style catcher’s mask.

And, in his retirement, deer odor salesperson.

That’s right, I have stumbled across Charlie O’Products, O’Brien’s unique (or maybe not!) line of sprays, creams, and beads that will make deer come closer to your guns so you can shoot them. Actual text on web site:

WARNING: Animals may be prone to attack you while using this product.

So, yeah, that seems like a great idea. But I guess if you’re wearing a hockey-style catcher’s mask while the deer mauls you, at least your face will be protected.

O’Brien is apparently also a member of the cast of Deer Thugs, a television program on the I REALLY NEED TO STOP WATCHING TV BECAUSE IT IS ROTTING MY BRAIN television network.

Deer hunters among you, feel free to explain in the comments why it makes good sense to rub yourself with perfume that makes deer think they should mate with you. I have all sorts of frustrations about living in New York City — construction noise, garbage, the high cost of living, subway cars that smell like urine — but at least I don’t have to worry that a deer is going to try and mate with me.

The Dodgers 1970 scouting report of Dick Allen:

Dick Allen doesn’t need a country. Doesn’t need a position. His country is his steely gaze. His position is that you should go to hell with your judgments.

He’ll fill those holes in his bat when he God-damn feels like it. Dick Allen is tired of you reporting on his potential, too. Go to the next man, see if he cares. (Author’s note: Allen was traded to the Dodgers the year after this report was written.)

You don’t win Rookie of the Year and become an All-Star by pushing cars downhill, dickweed. Cars need to go up. Dick Allen is the man to make that happen.

(Report provided by the National Baseball Hall of Fame.)