We here at NotGraphs have been described in many ways; namely “irreverent”, “whimsical”, and “soon-to-be-cancelled.” Rarely, even despite the best efforts of the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team, are we described as “journalistic.”

However, this may all change today as I believe I have uncovered the secret behind Yasiel Puig’s dominance. Dude’s magic.

As you can see in this not-at-all-reversed clip above, Puig appears to have the ability to move objects at will without even touching them. Is this how he keeps those doubles away from outfielders? Can he summon fly balls into his glove? Does he make Adrian Gonzalez’s gentleman parts twitch on occasion just to freak him out?

This is obviously a turning point in the evolution of humanity. Soon, baseball will cease being a test of physical prowess and hand-eye coordination, and merely a battle of magical powers. Just wizards and warlocks duking it out. Third base will truly be the hot corner, as the fielders try to ward off fire spells from the opposing dugout. Outfielders will turn high fly balls into actual cans of corn just to be dicks.

Some writers will cry foul. They will use their indignation to create column after column about this new breed of cheaters. Those writers will be turned into goats. Eventually, everyone makes it into the Hall of Fame. The sanctity of the game is ruined.

Thanks a lot, Obama Yasiel Puig.

As I’ve learned over the years, there is a great deal of brainpower lurking out there in the miasmic hellscape known as NotGraphs Readerland, and it is just waiting to be mobilized in the service of something ridiculously inconsequential. Never again will I underestimate you, readers; and so for this, my third Rebus, I have abandoned all mercy, pity, remorse, and indeed all humanity. There will be no hints; there will be no gimmes. I give you the Rebus of Death, and yes, you may click to receive your death in larger form:

Courtesy of Baseball Think Factory, a recent article in Wired unveils the Axe Bat, a baseball bat with the handle of an axe, which, based on a study by an engineering professor who lucked into a job where he gets to do research on baseball bats:

is more comfortable, delivers more power and speed, and reduces injuries when compared with traditional bats

The article is pretty interesting, and I recommend you all check out the Axe Bat, but I thought it would be more fun to speculate about other revolutionary new mash-up bat designs coming to a stadium near you:

1. The Com-Bat, a bat that’s also a weapon of war. Head of a bat, handle of a grenade. Good idea for military baseball games.

2. The Rub-bat, a bat with a rubber handle. Super comfortable to hold, although it limits bat control to some extent. Fun to bunt, since the ball bounces right off the thing. Hard to get a lot of power in the swing, though, since the head just starts flopping around. Ben Revere uses this, I think.

3. The WomBat (I), a combination wombat and baseball bat. Very cuddly.

4. The WomBat (II), a combination woman and baseball bat. Head of a bat and the legs of a woman. Not really sure what this offers a ballplayer, but maybe it’s a good novelty gift.

5. The Bat Bat, a baseball bat with the wings and teeth of a bat. Keeps the catcher far away, since he’s worried about rabies, allowing for free passage for runners on the basepaths and lots of dropped third strikes.

Vicente Lupo, the Mets prospect pictured in the right part of this picture, is exhibiting considerable emotion. Is it because:

1. He realized only after waiting in line at the DMV that he’d neglected to bring either his checkbook or the requisite amount of cash to renew his license; or
2. His parents just related, in unnecessarily graphic detail, the circumstances leading to his conception; or
3. He accidentally read a James Joyce novel; or
4. His hands, which are transplants from a deceased murderer, are attempting to strangle him; or
5. His hands, which are transplants from a deceased murderer, smell terrible?

Note, of course, that there’s no correct answer. Indeed, there’s no answer at all. All human endeavor continues to be an exercise in futility.

Credit to handsome entrepreneur Jeffrey Paternostro for bringing this image to the author’s attention.

This is the time of the season when, if your team isn’t in the hunt for the pennant (fantasy team, real team, it doesn’t matter), baseball can get a little, well, boring. No close races to really care about yet, just a whole bunch of games already played and quite a few still to go, and, well, can you really blame some players for being bored with the whole thing?

After Eden and beyond Hedonism II, people are supposed to wear their laundry. Generally speaking, clothing-optional is not an option. What is an option, at least if you aren’t Prisoner #30976, is the kind of clothing with which you adorn your form, be it a rhinestone caftan or a CSI: Miami nightshirt, with David Caruso’s sunglasses featured prominently in the area of the sternum.

With regard to baseball, perhaps no figure has celebrated this vestiary freedom with greater panache than former White Sox owner Bill Veeck. Indeed, 38 years ago last Friday, it was Veeck who perpetrated either a) the greatest sartorial misdeed in the annals of modern sports or b) the finest display of stylistic self-rule in the history of all history. On that afternoon in Chicago, in the first game of doubleheader at Comiskey Park, the White Sox took the field in uniforms that gave them the distinct appearance of misbehaving English schoolboys.

Now, in honor of that historic day, Major League Baseball is introducing 10 new uniforms, each an heir to the liberties that the Sox so bravely modeled. It is expected that each team will wear at least one of the uniforms during every homestand in September, and then again at Halloween.

The uniform: a flag-colored Speedo of the type that Mark Spitz wore in the 1972 Summer Olympics, matched with a Molly Hatchet concert T-shirt (Fredericksburg Fairgrounds, May 30, 1983) and a Nehru jacket made of heavy merino tweed. The hat is a traditional Tam o’ Shanter stained with day-old haggis.
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Your friend, my friend, and friend of NotGraphs Max Taylor points out there is in fact possibly the finest baseball film ever and, no surprises here, it comes from the home of the no-nonsense film industry in Japan. It’s called Deadball and this is its trailer:

Some highlights:
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Yes, it’s true. We’re less than 48 seconds away from the InstaGraphs Boston Meetup. For all of the original details, which are still details, read the post that you are currently reading, which is the post that I am currently writing.

Sometimes, we nerds like to go out on the town. One of those towns is the former Incan capital city of Vilcabamba, but because that city was destroyed during the Spanish conquest of Peru in 1572, and also because a trip to Peru would take a lot longer than 48 seconds, we cannot logically schedule an InstaGraphs meetup there.

Sorry, Vilcabamba. Better luck next minute!

Not surprisingly, this year’s Saber SpeedSocializing Seminar will take place within a minute’s time. So, just as we did last minute, we’re going to set up shop at the corner of Shawmut and Berkeley and pass out demitasses full of espresso.

It promises to be a good time, or at least a quick time, and also a caffeinating time. Since the beginning of this posting, other SpeedSocializing luminaries have pledged their brief attendance, but since I a) won’t see all of them due to their tremendous socializing pace and b) am running out of time, you’ll just have to take my word on that. Espresso, baseball and rapidly socializing baseball nerds. It’s a combination just crazy enough to work, and work pretty quickly. Join us, won’t you?

You have approximately 10 seconds.

As I read about the promotion of Tigers prospect pitcher Buck Farmer, I found myself giggling ever so slightly.

“Buck Farmer?” I said to myself. “Now that’s a name. It almost sounds like a job. I’m Steve, I’m a buck farmer.”

I immediately realized that this wouldn’t be a job, as bucks do not really need farming. The forest is the only real buck farmer, when you think of it, which you shouldn’t.

But I made me wonder, with the thousands of players that came through the major leagues, certainly some of them had names that could also be construed as occupations. So I did some digging, and found the four best.

4. Steel Smith

Smith saw time with both Cleveland and Cincinnati, playing mostly shortstop and second base in the late 1930s. Initial research did not find if he indeed came from a family line of metalsmiths, but his great-great grandfather was rumored to have invented the iron pancreas — a device not unlike the iron lung except that it was made for the digestive system and didn’t actually work.

3. Stephen “Dog” Walker

According to reports, Walker got his nickname not for his love of dogs or even an aggressive demeanor, but for his penchant for urinating on things to claim them as his own. In 1982, while serving as a bench bat for the Yankees, Walker was said to have ended the season with eight of his own lockers in the clubhouse. Walker’s career ended in 1991, when a labor dispute kept him out of Spring Training with the Expos, as Montreal demanded he hire his own laundry attendant for the season.

2. Webb Scribe

Scribe, coincidentally, did not live in a time when the Internet existed. A glove-first third baseman for the Dodgers and Phillies in the late 60s, Scribe was known as being aloof, often forgetting to come to games and team meetings. He was famous for his telegrams to the team offices with messages such as “Sorry, forgot. Working on it now.” and “Oh, that was today? When’s the latest you need me by?” When Scribe was eventually let go by the Phillies in 1970, he went back to school to obtain a Master’s degree. He lives and works as a waiter in New York.

1. Brock Tologist

Tologist’s name doesn’t perfectly match up with an occupation, but this didn’t stop his teammates and visiting fans from making fun of him. A relief pitcher, Tologist retired in 1977 with a 3.87 ERA, 38 wins, and 14 court-mandated anger management classes. Tologist had a penetrating fastball, which left his opponents wincing. Along with his long-time friend, Phil McCrackin, Tologist started a very successful latex manufacturer in Butte, Montana.