My little nephew Danny has been really struggling at tee ball, so he turned to his Professional Baseball Writer of an uncle for advice. The only problem is, I also stunk at tee ball, so I may not have been the best source of information.

But what I lack in physical prowess, I make up for in analytical skills, so I tried to help Danny the only way I knew how — by installing a makeshift PitchFX system at his tee ball park. This new system, which I call TeeFX, has proven to be a wealth of knowledge when it comes to analyzing the various pitches a tee ball tee can deliver.

See that spot in the middle there? That’s where the ball is, so I told Danny that swinging at that would increase his chances off putting bat on ball. I think this small adjustment in approach could really help Danny turn things around.

When Danny’s father allows him to speak to me again, I will report back with further findings.

Scene: A baseball game. Two messenger bags are placed at a table, while their owners slip away to watch the action. The camera watches them leave, then pans back to the bags.

Bag 1: Whew. They’re gone. Finally, a chance to talk.

Bag 2: What is there to say? This is what we do.

Bag 1: Yeah, but don’t you aspire to something more?

Bag 2: Like what? I’m a bag. That’s what I do. That’s what I am. That’s all I’ll ever be. You should get used to this.

Bag 1: I’ll never get used to this. It’s like they carry us everywhere. They never leave us alone. I have interests, man.

Bag 2: Like what? Carrying stuff?

Bag 1: No, dude. That’s, like, my job. I really want to get into woodworking. Can you imagine how great it would feel to just make a chair? For the rest of your life, you would think “I made this,” every time you sat in it.

Bag 2: Look, let’s set aside for a second the fact that you don’t have any hands. Even if you could make the chair, you’re still a bag. When he’s done with you, you get dumped on the floor nine times out of ten. The only chance you have of even using the chair is when you get put in it by somebody who is afraid you’ll get tripped over or get something spilled on you. Just like you were this time.

Bag 1: You’ve got a really shitty attitude.

Bag 2: Hey, don’t shoot the messenger bag. I’m not trying to be a bummer. I’m just saying you need to be realistic about who you are, and learn to accept it. Listen, I’ve been around for a long time; a lot longer than you have. These dumbasses carry us every single place they go. Absolutely. Every. Single. Place. They never, ever leave us behind. They never ask if we want to go with them. They never offer to lighten our load. They stick their laptops and their phones and their books and their “idea journals” and their packs of gum and their spare tissues in us and couldn’t care less if it’s fulfilling or fun or comfortable for us. I’m sorry if this is hard for you to hear, but I really think it’s best that you understand this above all else: We are stuck with these assholes until they find a better, stronger, younger bag, and then we get thrown in a dark closet, if we’re lucky, to live in obscure retirement except for emergencies or moving days. It’s either that or out with the trash. So keep your straps strong, buddy. Because that’s the best that you can hope for.

Bag 1: I’m sorry. That’s not enough for me.

Bag 1 pops a stitch.

Bag 2: What are you doing?

Bag 1: The only thing I can.

The bags owners, Carson Cistulli and David Temple, return. Temple picks up his bag, his laptop slipping from the bottom, towards the concrete floor, saved at the last moment when Temple puts his foot under it to cushion the fall.

Temple: Ow!

Cistulli: Hey, what’s wrong David Temple?

Temple: My bag just got a big rip in it and I dropped my laptop on my foot.

Cistulli: You should get a new one of those. I like mine. It’s always very reliable.

Temple: I guess so. I really liked this bag too. Guess it just wasn’t strong enough.

Sadly, the offseason is winding down, and soon enough it’ll be back to the drudgery of actual baseball. But before that happens, let’s take a minute to review the action of the last few months, with the help of Balls Against Humanity — the new game with the stupid name, that promises fun for your whole family! (Provided you have a family of perverts.)

Rules: Balls Against Humanity is exactly the same as the conveniently copyright-free game Cards Against Humanity — only, it’s all about baseball. So, just choose the card from your “hand” that best fits each prompt!

Commence!

The Yankees spent $155 million to bring ___ over from Japan.

Read the rest of this entry »

Readers! It’s time for you to provide the creative spark where I cannot. That’s right: a caption contest—aka shameless wit-farming. Your job is to provide humorous captions for this  Vine video published on MLB’s official Vine profile. Feel free to submit a caption or simply +1 the ones you like. The winner will be lauded for millennia, tattooed on the hearts of billions, and, most importantly, mentioned in the next post I publish.

The Video:

1. In Australia, they run the bases backwards — just like the water swirling down the toilet.

2. In Australia, kangaroos are not only mascots and the primary ingredient in the most popular hot dog sold at the games, but they also manage the teams.

3. In Australia, convicts on the team aren’t just the exception, they’re the rule.

4. In Australia, the All-Star Game is played atop the Great Barrier Reef.

5. In Australia, the grounds crew is composed entirely of koala bears.

If you heard rumors of a recent gathering of FanGraphs writers in Arizona, I’m here to confirm those rumors. And when FanGraphs writers come to a town, they run that town. This is not to say they run in that town, as physical activity is not usually on the itinerary. But they do live life to the fullest, if that only entails going to Spring Training games and restaurants.

One such restaurant, the very fancy Chelsea’s Kitchen, specialized in a certain drink called white sangria. This is fulfilling to two ways:

1. It is extremely delicious.
2. It gives all of us a chance to pair a nickname with a player.

So, I turn to you, fair NotGraphs readers. What player deserves the nickname White Sangria?

Our iron-fisted ruler at NotGraphs may be in Arizona for the springiest of all trainings right now, but spiritually, he’s still in Paris, guzzling wine, writing “poems,” and hating America.

To increase the size of the image, use your digitus secundus to click upon it, and suddenly, via the power of the Internet, increased in size it shall be.

Presenting… the ballplayers born (or at least named) to excel at certain baseball statistics:

CHRis Iannetta
CHRis Davis
CHRis Carter
CHRis B. Young
KHRis Davis

Julio TehERAn
ERAsmo Ramirez
Drew PomERAnz
Joel PERAlta
Kelvin HerrERA

Jacoby EllSBury

Drew StuBBs
BoBBy Abreu

Chris DenoRFia

Kohl SteWARt
Jason HeyWARd

Patrick CoRBIn (unfortunately for his ERA)

Mike Trout just can’t stand losing. Last week when Target revealed their completely reasonable and not at all absurd/deplorable/alien-like standards for the human body, Trout took note. Six days and thousands of reps on the awkward crotch compression workout machine thing later… well just take a look for yourself:

Mike Trout is now not only the best baseball player ever for his age, he’s also just as beautiful as a photoshop-mangled Target underwear model. What CAN’T he do?! #thinspiration!

As our own brilliant and enviably popular Jeff Sullivan demonstrated recently, Livan Hernandez — who announced his retirement on Wednesday — survived in baseball for 17 years by making his own strike zone. Here, in tribute to a unique if not arousingly dynamic pitcher, is the only known photograph of Mr. Hernandez with the strike zone he made.

The work has been described by critics as “luminous…haunting in its unsettled polyvalence…intimately charts the artist’s fractured subjectivity under the hegemony of late capitalism.” It is under consideration for acquisition by the National Folk Art Museum.