The idea of a world without Garfield has already been fully realized. But what of a world without Andrew McCutchen?

I’ve often wondered — fantasized, even — about what it would be like if I just disappeared from my life. Like, just totally evaporated. Usually, it’s difficult not to imagine a net positive. One less “first world” carbon footprint couldn’t hurt. The world — especially Carson Cistulli’s world — might be better off with far fewer very predictable jokes about genitals. Someone with more talent and ambition would inevitably fill my position at a very worthwhile nonprofit. The overall quality of NotGraphs would improve. My mother would not have to waste her time tediously preparing lectures to give me about my debt; she could actually enjoy her retirement. The list goes on.

When Andrew McCutchen disappears — just totally goes invisible — the world (well, the Pittsburgh Pirates, at least) still experience a net positive for an entirely different set of reasons. Really, it’s the same set of positives that McCutchen provides while not being disappeared. In his absence, he still catches balls while leaping into the wall, he still hits home runs, he still keeps the outfield at PNC Park clean of debris while maintaining an amiable demeanor.

Indeed, some people are such a positive force in the world that even in the absence of their corporeal self, their force continues to make a difference. I am not one of those people, but I am happy to know they exist.

Thanks, ‘Cutch.

The 1927 Yankees were one of the best teams in history. But none of their players have made an impact on the field in years. Was it just that special mix of intangibles that made the 1927 team able to succeed in a way that none of its individual members have been able to for the past 80+ years? Or was it something else? NotGraphs has deployed its crack investigative team to take a look at where the 1927 Yankees are now, and whether they might ever be able to reunite and once again take the baseball world by storm.

Catcher Pat Collins is deceased. First baseman Lou Gehrig, sadly, is also deceased. Second baseman Tony Lazzeri was originally thought to be working in real estate in Jupiter, Florida, but is in fact deceased. Third baseman Joe Dugan, according to his Facebook page, is deceased. Shortstop Mark Koenig is deceased. Outfielder Earle Combs is deceased. Outfielder Bob Meusel, according to several highly-placed government sources, is deceased. There is no information available about the whereabouts of outfielder Babe Ruth. The entire starting rotation — Waite Hoyt, Urban Shocker, Herb Pennock, Dutch Ruether, and George Pipgras — is deceased. Police are still looking into whether any foul play (or balls) might be involved. Relief pitcher Bob Shawkey is deceased.

Despite quite possibly in some cases being scattered across the globe, we still believe there is hope for the team to reunite and perform competitively against the 2013 Marlins or Astros.

Phillies manager Charlie Manuel is known in proper quarters as “Uncle History,” and there’s a reason for this. The reason is that Charlie Manuel is history made noble savage. Charlie Manuel, you see, will use the tools of rational inquiry to rebuild your transmission …

As you can see, in the morning mists of July 11, 1804 at Weehawken, New Jersey, Charlie Manuel was felled by Charlie Manuel. The fatal hostilities traced back the Senatorial election of 1891, in which Charlie Manuel defeated the father-in-law of Charlie Manuel. From that point forward, Charlie Manuel relentlessly feuded with Charlie Manuel, often over the direction of the Charlie Manuel’s (and, by extension, Charlie Manuels’) Federalist Party. It all grimly culminated in Charlie Manuel’s sanctioned murder of Charlie Manual, all as a number of Charlie Manuels and at least one wet nurse looked on in mute disbelief. “Got damn,” the lot of them muttered in unison, most especially the assailant and victim, who have each been identified as Charlie Manuel.

Charlie Manuel is Uncle History.

Some things are worth being certain about. When your cat is begging for food, it is worth being certain he has not already eaten and thereby just being a fatso. Because if you feed your cat too much, he will eat himself into your wallet, pilfer your hard-earned cash for cat-related medical bills. So take the extra moment to consider, “Did I already feed this fatso this morning?”

Likewise, when Munenori Kawasaki commissions a new series of GIFs, the artistic baseball community needs to see them. It is a thing worth being certain about. I want to be certain the NotGraphs readers have seen Ben Halpern’s GIFs of Munenori Kawasaki warming up:

Because it has pleasantly surprised gentleman statistician Bill Petti, it might very well surprise pleasantly at least one other reader, too, to learn that, in the first inning of today’s Cubs-Mets game, the WGN broadcast presented run expectancy charts for the edification of the Viewing Public.

Like in this instance, for example, with a runner on third, one out, and Anthony Rizzo batting:

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While eventually only losing by a score of 7-6, the Milwaukee Brewers conceded five of the Cardinals’ seven total runs in the first inning of the clubs’ Friday night game in St. Louis (box).

That the evening might be a difficult one was not lost on veteran broadcaster and muscular bodyguard of leisure Bob Uecker, who informed the Listening Public how much beer would be a sufficient amount to bring him peace.

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Fellow FanGrapher and Internet superstar Drew Sheppard gifted us with the closeup footage of Ian Kinsler’s slide-fall into third from yesterday’s game.

It is a GIF of quiet sadness. Of baseballing malaise. Much like the subject of the Bydlo movement from Modest Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, Ian Kinsler is treating his neck like a beast of burden. Or perhaps the theory of momentum is the ox, and Kinsler is just the cart being pulled along the path– bumps and all.

Watch:

Listen (this is the Ravel orchestration, obvs.):

bydlo

Yesterday marked the home opener for the Saint Paul Saints, an independent team from the American Association of Professional Baseball. The Saints would end up losing in extra innings to New Jersey Jackals, but like most Saints games, the efforts on the field are less important to the majority of fans. Saints games harken back to the old days a little, with the team using tricks, gags, promotions, events, and anything else they can to get people to the ballpark (the ownership group involves Bill Veeck’s son, after all). Yes there’s a baseball game going on, but the atmosphere and reasonable prices are what draws fans.

I, due to proclivities that have haunted/assisted me throughout my life, usually give too much attention to the play on the field. I certainly enjoy the races and trivia and people getting dunked in cottage cheese  between the innings, but I pay more attention than most to what’s going on during the game. It’s because of this that I got to see Jose Hernandez.

Jose Hernandez was drafted in the late rounds of 2009 by the Pittsburgh Pirates, but has apparently fallen out of favor there and is now in the independent leagues. It may be because of the lowered level of competition, but Hernandez was the star for the Saints on Thursday. He went 2 for 4 (both doubles) with an RBI, and had two great defensive plays. Playing center field, he laid out for a very nice inning-ending, run-saving catch. In a later inning, he kept a runner at third from scoring on a sacrifice by throwing an absolute pea to home from shallow center. No bounce, almost no arc. Just a frozen rope. Moments like these stick out to me. The Saints and whoever their opponents are usually play sloppy baseball. The pitching can be OK, but there are lots of throwing errors, poor outfield defense, and a head-shaking amount of outs made on the bases. It’s kind of the fun of it, but it be comes tiresome after a while. This is why Hernandez’s play is a welcome site. He is a diamond in the rough, even if his diamond were somewhat cloudy to begin with.

Hernandez is also the owner of something I can’t say I’ve seen often, if ever. One of his doubles, the one in the bottom of the 7th inning, was a broken-bat double. This wasn’t a solid double where I could tell his bat had cracked. His bat exploded in two, the ball flared out to right-center, and a combination of outfield incompetence and Hernandez’s speed allowed him to take second. I feel as if my words do not do it justice. It was just fantastic.

And this is why I love independent baseball. I’m certainly aware that there are good and terrible plays to be found in MLB. But in the American Association, the bad happens so much more, that the good shines that much brighter. There aren’t a whole lot of success stories of players getting plucked from the AA to a major-league system, and Jose Hernandez certainly has a long shot. But I know I’ll be circling his name in my score card when I go to my next game. I usually pick a player of interest for every season, for reasons due to baseball or not, and Hernandez is in the front running for this totally worthless prize this year. Let’s hope he doesn’t disappoint.

To suggest that the author has spent nearly two hours of his Thursday night/Friday morning browsing through videos of outfielders recording spectacular assists would be to suggest a true thing.

To suggest that same thing within the vicinity of the author’s wife would be what is known generally as an “exercise in folly.”

There are 44 players in the history of baseball, by my count, for whom we have only a last name. Unknown Gilroy, Unknown O’Rourke, Unknown Long. Each of these men snuck his way into a boxscore — just one, usually — and then vanished into the mists of time, thereby enacting a most human of tragedies: to scale the Olympian heights, only to be struck down while etching one’s name in eternal stone.

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