If you have a television and that television has sports powers, you, sir or madam, probably saw this last evening:
A million life-debts to SB Nation for so precisely and cleanly enGIFing this so precisely and cleanly turned double play. And thank you Yunel Escobar and Ben Zobrist; thank you for you Jedi-like connectedness that allows for the glove-flip-to-bare-hand turn. I thank everyone.
This has been a HOT GIF.
As should be apparent by now, “Dr. Internet” is not a specific person. Rather, it is any man who has decided he’s not going to take this shit anymore — “this shit” being the epicene objections of unmanly others on this our Internet.
Recently, a NotGraphs commenter by the nom de Internet of “TheReal” happened upon a Yasiel Puig post by Ham-Nuts Cistulli that, in the service of eroding civilization, celebrated one of Mr. Puig’s opposite-of-elusive bat-flips. TheReal took the necessary step of pointing out that this flourish would not play too well on the streets of fire whence he was forged. But then the lady-lads in his midst predictably took offense. Tired of conversing with his inferiors, TheReal took to the rhetorical top turnbuckle and landed this finishing move:
At this point, you will recognize — in spirit if not in precise diction — the imprimatur and influence of one Banknotes Harper.
True, Banknotes Harper learned business because business wanted to be learned by Banknotes Harper, and the only use Banknotes Harper has for the higher-education asset bubble is the opportunity to make a sherpa’s load of billion-dollar bills via credit default swaps on the student loans of the working poor. Still, the timely wielding of the Business Pecker, whether it be by way of high marks in a possibly-credentialed MBA program or with stacks of redeemable bullion, is something that pleases Banknotes Harper.
And so when Dr. Internet wielded his Business Pecker in order to cow the dole-sucking hordes that deigned to afflict him, Banknotes Harper saw that it was good:
Dr. Internet, you may just have a shot at being an intern to the intern of Banknotes Harper’s interns’ interns.
Ted Williams didn’t play during the Heat Map Era. He also didn’t play during the Internet, Grunge, Civil Rights, Designated Hitter, or David Bowie Era. But Mr. Williams still understood the idea behind heat maps. The above (embiggenable) image is of a display at the Hall of Fame museum, in which Williams estimates his batting average based on pitch location.
I have yet to visit the Hall of Fame, but when I do, I will certainly seek this display out. I’ve tried to come up with something humorous or insightful to say about this, but everything I come up with pales in comparison to just how cool this thing is. Just imagining Ted Williams dictating a batting average for 77 different balls — splitting some vertically, some horizontally, because that inch and half matters — delights me. We don’t have Pitch F/X data with which to compare this, and I honestly don’t care. Comparing it to facts would ruin it somehow. This isn’t so much a factual chart as it is a peek inside the head of one of the smartest hitters the game has ever seen.
It’s a glorious thing, and it will be my misshapen computer wallpaper for a while.
(image via the digital mind meld known as Reddit)
“I don’t understand why no one is signing up for my Photoshop* classes. It doesn’t make any sense.”
*Actually, GIMP, which seems really powerful, if only I knew what the heck I was doing.
I assume the one-armed man is Johnny Damon.
According to Bill Madden of the New York Daily News, Alex Rodriguez “is the Whitey Bulger of baseball, the most wanted criminal in the game’s history, more condemned by MLB authorities tan Shoeless Joe Jackson…Pete Rose…or Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds.”
Indeed, Whitey Bulger ran organized crime in Boston for roughly a decade, murdering almost indiscriminately. After being on the run from 1994-2011, he was captured and has been charged with 19 murders and is currently on trial.
That’s a pretty apt comparison, actually. We may never know how many deaths Alex Rodriguez is really responsible for, but here’s a list of those in whose death or disappearances he’s most certainly had a hand:
The reader should rest assured that the above is not merely a hastily selected clip-art image stolen from the internet of a cartoon thermometer exploding, but rather a technologically advanced and mega accurate Outrage Meter exclusive to NotGraphs which is capable of measuring the level of indignation present among America’s sporting commentators at any given moment. What one finds now, in the wake of Ryan Braun’s admission of guilt and subsequent punishment, is that the Outrage Meter has reached Dangerous Levels of Danger.
Dear Hopeless Joe,
I watch baseball to escape from the problems of my everyday life. Unfortunately, the current problem I am facing in my everyday life is a drug-related suspension. What do I do?
Cheers,
B. Todriguez
Mr. Todriguez,
Thanks for writing. It’s a lost art. Writing, I mean. Kind of amazing anyone does it anymore, with video games and the Internet and all of that. Also paper cuts. That’s a real disincentive. I hate paper cuts. But I should get to your question. Yes, watching baseball is an escape from everyday life, but even escapes from everyday life are sometimes similarly bleak. After all, they have to be believable. Maybe you need an escape from the escapes from your life. Have you tried the fire escape? I think it’s high enough off the ground that you have no chance of survival if you jump. Not that I’m telling you to jump. I watch baseball as an escape from my everyday life, too. Did I ever tell you where I escaped from? They’re still looking for me.
Cautiously,
Hopeless Joe
If you have a question for Hopeless Joe, he already knows it.
I set up an interview with Ira Kaplan of Yo La Tengo to figure out how much of a Mets fan he was. If you know the story of the band’s name, you know that there’s a link to the team. And there are a few other clues that link the band to the hapless Mets. But every fan has a different level of engagement with the sport.
I recently downloaded MLB.com’s Home Run Derby™ game. I am very bad at it. After playing dozens of rounds, I’ve never hit more than four HR, never advanced to the second round. Like with any of the copious examples of failure in my life, my lack of skill with regards to this game does not surprise me; as with any failure, this one saddens me nevertheless.
