On Tuesday I asked you to either 1) Vote for one of the saucy ripostes I came up with in, like, 45 seconds while watching The Walking Dead, or 2) Craft your own saucy riposte. These ripostes (riposte! riposte! riposte! How many times can I write riposte!?) riposted a verbal thrust from Carlos Beltran, which insinuated that Yasiel Puig was both ignorant of the implications of his own actions and geographically misaligned in the head. Presto [note: altered from original quotation]:

“As a player, I just think you don’t know how to act… That’s what I think. You really don’t know. You must think that you’re still playing somewhere else.”

Of the options I gave, the following riposte received the most votes:

“Indeed, I think I must be playing at home on my Xbox, given the ease with which I’ve defeated you.”

Of the options presented by voters in the “Other” box, there were many! It appears many readers never developed the verbal jousting acumen I expected from noble NotGraphs readers, given the number of responses invoking Carlos Beltran’s mother in some capacity. Ta-da:

“I was playing at yo mama’s house last night”

“Your mother”

“That’s right I’m playing somewhere else, your momma’s butt is where I’m playing.”

Perhaps, given the stereotypes surrounding those interested in in-depth statistical analysis, I should have realized that nerds probably never figured out how to make comebacks more poignant than referencing the offender’s mother’s anus. This is not to say that I wasn’t thoroughly tickled by these ripostes! Also, I love you, nerds. Other themes included fecal matter:

“You are poop.”
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William Howard Taft, the first U.S. President to throw out a ceremonial first pitch, is back in the news this week.

William Howard Taft, the only massively obese man ever to be president of the United States, struggled mightily to control his weight a century ago… Taft was to eat a small portion of lean meat or fish at every meal, cooked vegetables at lunch and dinner (no butter), a plain salad, and stewed or baked fruit (unsweetened). He got a single glass of “unsweetened” wine at lunch. The doctor also allowed his own diet product, gluten biscuits, that were produced to his specifications in London. Taft bought them and had them shipped to the United States.
— The New York Times

So, given those restrictions, what might he have eaten at the ballpark?

…
…
…

Perhaps a build-your-own salad at Coors Field.

Wild pacific salmon at PNC.

Or a delicious batting glove.

Poor President Taft.

As a nation rages over the definition of sportsmanship and whether smiling is included in such, it’s natural to reflect on the wisdom of John McGraw. Once, in the dark pre-internet ages of baseball and America, McGraw was forgotten save for twenty-three separate references in Bill James’s Historical Baseball Abstract. But now, thanks to No Child Left Behind, tales of America’s Ruffian Sweetheart are now recited and memorized by elementary-age children during the Mandatory Edutational Bus Ride Chant section of their morning commute.

Despite the great leaps made by educational reform, however, some Americans might still somehow be unaware the Little Napoleon still ranks third all-time with a career .466 on-base percentage. How is it possible that a man only 1.03 Altuves in height and 0.89 Altuves in weight could prove so able at reaching first? The NotGraphs Arcane Research Department delved into gigabytes of Retrosheet data, and interviewed random nonagenarians. They uncovered the following anecdotal evidence, symptomatic of the barbarism of 1890s baseball.

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Scientists, were one of them asked, would almost certainly conclude that human beings were strangely incapable — despite thousands of years of time to practice — of drawing tigers until 1961.

The proof to which those same scientists would very likely point: assorted logos utilized by the Detroit Tigers between the formation of the American League (in 1901) and the introduction of a logo, in 1961, featuring a passable likeness of the very large feline.

The first logo used by the Tigers (in 1901-02) which attempted to depict that majestic animal is actually perhaps the most successful of these early ones, insofar as the artist in question appears to recognize his limitations — which, as noted above, are really the limitations of his entire race. In this case, one finds only an orange-colored silhouette of the tiger, as opposed to detailed facial portrait.

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At a certain point, it becomes too cumbersome and tedious to try and analyze which team will win a postseason game based solely on numbers. So, let us make our predictions based one which team SOUNDS better. Specifically, which club has a more pleasing team at-bat song. And by team at-bat song, I mean all of the at-bat songs of the starting lineup played at the same time.

I like the Red Sox in this one.

(at-bat music data via Designated Hits)

Heritage Action has cornered the market on player pages with vaguely patriotic names.

The author can’t recall for sure, but definitely one of the big philosophers — like, probably Epictetus or Jacques Tati — writes somewhere that it ought to be the individual’s first (and perhaps only) concern to obey his True Nature. The precise dimensions of that Nature require some measure of discernment, obviously; that’s a given. Ultimately, though, it falls to that one in search of authentic living to identify and pursue those activities which resonate in his deepest self.

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My best buy low candidate for 2014 is Ted Williams. He is likely to come very cheap in drafts, but as cryogenic technology continues to mature, each year Williams has a growing chance of returning to life, returning to the majors, and returning to the top of the leaderboards. Especially the OBP leaderboard (Overall Brain Percentage), because I think it’s only his head that was frozen, right?

If you want to take a chance on a player who might truly be a difference-maker, I think you have no choice but to draft Williams. His revival will not only make a difference to your fantasy team’s statistics, but also to the entirety of mankind. And only a small number of fantasy teams can ever aspire to make a lasting difference to the world. So why not dream?

It is of course sensible to be a little skeptical that Williams could ever emerge from cryogenic preservation to again become the hitter that he once was — after all, he was 83 years old when he died, and hadn’t played a major league game in over 40 years. To that I say that sometimes the psychological element of baseball is often ignored by the stats. Think about how scared a pitcher would be to throw the ball to an unfrozen Ted Williams. I think this anxiety, confusion, and puzzlement might overwhelm any small age-related decline that Williams might have experienced. I think pitchers would have significantly decreased control, and if Williams can walk, he will end up walking a lot. Contributing, of course, to his league-leading OBP (the regular kind).

I understand why people would want to be frozen, if money is no object and you would otherwise just toss $200K plus a monthly maintenance fee into the trash. Why not? What’s the worst that can happen, aside from your soul being in a permanent state of limbo and not being allowed to enter the afterlife?

So after striking out with my buy low candidates from 2011 (Cal Ripken, Jr.), 2012 (Cal Ripken, Sr.), and 2013 (Derek Jeter), I am confident that Ted Williams will make your 2014 teams much more… something.

Scene: Helicopter shot of Los Angeles, zoom in on a flashy red convertible, driving erratically down Wilshire Boulevard. In the rearview mirror, we see a car pursuing them. The suspect in the passenger seat looks back, and we follow his gaze to a jet black muscle car, driven by Adrian Gonzalez. Gonzalez’s partner, Hanley Ramirez, leans out the passenger window and tries to shoot out the tires of fleeing convertible.

Hanley: Get me closer!

Adrian: This is as close as you’re going to get.

Hanley: I don’t care how, but you’ve got to get alongside them.

Adrian: I’ll try.

Cut to Yasiel Puig, badge hanging from a chain around his neck, borrowing a bulldozer from a construction site a few blocks away.

Cut back to Gonzalez, who steps on the gas. As the convertible swerves right, he pulls up next to it. Ramirez shoots out the tires, but the car keeps going as the driver struggles to maintain control. A third passenger, from the back seat, leans out of the car with a shotgun and points it at Ramirez. Over the radio, we hear a voice:

Yasiel: Don’t worry guys; I got this.

Yasiel Puig pulls out in front of the convertible in the bulldozer, and leaps clear at the last second. There is a spectacular collision, and the car explodes. Rattled, Gonzalez loses control of his car and hits a palm tree. Ramirez is severely injured.

Adrian: Hanley! Hanley! Talk to me buddy!

Fade out.

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Certain Cardinals were piqued by things the Dodgers did last night that did not involve the Dodgers having more runs than them at the end of nine innings. One such comment by a Cardinal was expertly rebutted by the accused Dodger. Observe:

Adam Wainwright: “I saw Adrian doing some Mickey Mouse stuff at second, but I didn’t see Puig.”

Adrian Gonzalez: “I did what I always do, but we are in L.A., so Mickey Mouse is only an hour away”

Ka-chow! This appears to be a succulent comeback! Bravo, Adrian Gonzalez! The exchange reminded me of the 1990 point-and-click graphic adventure game The Secret of Monkey Island, wherein protagonist Guybrush Threepwood must swordfight pirates by hurling scathing insults and parrying lurid slurs with quickly conceived repartees. When one pirate might offer a jibe such as, “I’ve spoken with apes more polite than you,” one would receive a list of options with which to riposte. Voila:

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The St. Louis coaching staff has a reputation for being well-prepared. Manager Mike Matheny and his coaches spend plenty of time doing their homework before each series — and it’s paid off, as their team finds itself two wins away from a pennant.

But when it came to the most important series of their year so far, they took preparedness to a whole new level.

It all started, according to the skipper, when assistant hitting coach Bengie Molina revealed that he had an extensive collection of nineteenth-century British novels.

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