It is a characteristic of NotGraphs that we are uncomfortably aware of other people, largely because we’re horrified whenever we are at all aware of ourselves. As such, I have determined it my duty to be uncomfortably aware of the current frequenters of this laundromat–the one I am literally within as I write this–and rate them for their potential as members of the sabermetrics community.

The methodology is simple: I will sit here in this chair in this laundromat in this squalid New England town and ferociously judge every person doing their laundry for their potential as enthusiasts of statistical analysis in baseball. They will be judged on a scale from TURD to KACHOW! Witness the laundromat in which I sat for two hours, except turn the beautiful fall foliage into barren frost-bitten twigs and turn one of those cars into my derelict Pontiac Sunfire SE:

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It came to my attention, while doing some very important, not-at-all bullshit research, that there was once a baseball player named Tim Spooneybarger. As he was not a baseball player that long ago, I would like to think that I once knew this already, and his existence has been simply washed from my conscience by the cleansing waters of bourbon.

Nevertheless, the fact that Tim Spooneybarger once was and still is a man, and the fact that that once and future man has the name Tim Spooneybarger, makes him a prime candidate for our Men Surrounded by Things series.

The New York Times had a piece earlier in the week, titled “Little Choice but to Hope Tejada Can Handle Job,” featuring quite possibly the least-supportive selection of quotes I’ve ever seen about a player.

“At this moment, Ruben Tejada is the shortstop here.”

“We don’t have a lot of options. He’s our main guy right now.”

“We just need him to get on base and turn the lineup over…. That’s all we need him to do. He’s definitely capable of it. He’s probably capable of more than that. But that’s what we need him to do.”

I assume the Mets have tried and failed to trade Tejada, because certainly no team would be interested if this is how his own team talks about him. What confuses me is why Terry Collins and Dave Hudgens feel like it makes sense to go on record about how disenchanted they are with a player who is still on the team, and who they still need to perform. I felt bad for Ruben Tejada after reading this article, even if he is as lazy as the piece makes him sound. Who wants to be publicly insulted by his boss? Professional athletes may make a ton of money, but they also suffer a lot of public shame and ridicule… though usually it comes from fans and commentators, not their own employers!

There is something a little puzzling about the Mets’ front office if they would rather stick with a player they think is the worst than be able to find some sort of acceptable replacement for him. Surely there is a shortstop available somewhere, anywhere, that would be preferable to them, based on this article.

A recent and actual baseball headline:

“Adam,” said Colette. “What ever is the matter? You are more distant and brooding than even your usual distant, brooding self.”

Adam Dunn stooped to extinguish his cigarette in an exquisite coil of hound poo. Ce que je viens de faire est le seul art dans le monde, he thought to himself. “Colette,” he said. “The boulevards at once console and mock me.”

“I have a searing love for you,” she said.

“Meaningless,” said Adam Dunn. “Let us make love for no other reason than force of ritual.”

(Curtsy: @LukeHoekstra, for bringing the abovely linked dispatch to the author’s attention)

SURPRISE, ARIZ. — Inspired by former teammate Ian Kinsler’s recent characterization of Rangers GM Jon Daniels, Texas ace and serial accumulator of super-awesome pitches Yu Darvish has added what he is calling the “sleazeball” to his already impressive arsenal.

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Also, the Yankees have a really old team.

“I’m one of the league leaders in confidences. If I perform like I’ve always done, I’ll be one of the best players in this game. I don’t need any added motivation of drama at work. I’ll just let my work speak for itself, as every artist should.” – Ryan Braun, to USA Today’s Bob Nightengale

I can’t help admiring the kind of chutzpah it takes to essentially place yourself among the greats. To speak out, and through the power of your utterance to declare yourself the equal of the truly honored and revered. I speak, of course, of your Angelos, Michelled. Your Brandts, Remmed. Your Shias, LaBeofed. I wish I had that kind of self-assuredness, and the talent to presumably back it up.

I speak not, of course, of Braun’s baseball talent, which has been highly evident since the artist was a young man, a portrait of which he has graciously provided for us:

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This bassist actually appears to know a little bit what love is.

Much like the various members of popular British-American rock band Foreigner, I have often wanted to know what love is. Nor, as is the case with Mick Jones et al., have I neglected to ask this or that individual to provide a simple, illustrative demonstration of same (i.e. love).

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Edward Mujica, BOS

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