Smeth Sith was a male Sabermorthian Platoon Dark Lord of the Sith who lived during the waning years of the San Diego Padres franchise. Originally a Sabermorthian Batbrother born on Rock-1 and known only as Begglesmethak, the infant Smeth was given by his Nightsister mother to the Dark Manager, Lord Clinth Hurdlehk, who instructed him in the ways of the dark side of the platoon as his secret apprentice in a Phoenix-area training facility, along with the help of a split-personality droid.

Smeth became a master of Juyo, Fungo’Kai, and Pepper-Eräs Käsi, with training in Niman, and chose to wield a maple-bladed, 35″/36oz bat-staff in combat. Though well-trained in the ways of the platoon, Smeth was often a violation of the Rule of Two, as his clans often included other out-fielding assassins unable to defend themselves against left-handed Jedi. The primary reason that he was allowed to persist in his clans in violation of the Rule of Two was that his Clan Masters and Dark Managers saw Smeth as an expendable asset. As a Strict Platoonist, Smeth could perform ably in specific missions for the Sith without running the risk of exposing trainees who were not yet ready for such high-level missions. When the other trainees were ready, Smeth could be abandoned by his current clan…

Feelin’/lookin’ fine.

In the summertime — and when it’s baseball season, it’s summertime — Dale prefers to keep a good sweat-lather about him at all times. Keeps ‘im fresh. That’s where Dale’s moustache comes in. Well, Dale’s moustache comes into play a lot of places, if you catch Dale’s drift, which, it’s probably impossible not to.

Well, too, you can’t really call Dale’s moustache a moustache; it’s more’n that. Gatekeeper of Dale’s Face, call it. Sigourney effin’ Weaver in Ghostbusters, call it. Keeper of every secret you ever wanted to know; every phone number, too. Alyssa Milano? If you reached far enough inside Dale’s ‘stache, there’s a direct line to Alyssa Milano’s bedside phone. But that’s fer Dale’s use only.

Anyways, that’s not the only thing Dale’s got stashed up in the ol’ Gatekeeper. Got about a dozen tiny Icers in there, chillin’ in a tiny ice bed. If you see Dale sniff real hard on the mound? That’s Dale snortin’ a much needed Icer, from down in the chops, up through the lip-tickler, an’ straight to his brain. Whoo-boy, Dale! Got it goin’!

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It is difficult to present the following observations about Rob Deer’s twitter account without coming off as glib or ironic or even snarky. However, because the author was once dubbed NotGraph’s Most Earnest Contributor (an award for which he is still awaiting the accompanying commemorative plaque), said author hopes that readers will take his word for it when he writes that all of the following observations served to rekindle and then deepen his appreciation for Rob Deer, ballplayer and human being. Additionally, the author hopes that the below observations have a similar effect on readers.

@Warrior1Yoga for real ! but I still don't know this twitter thing

— Rob Deer (@RobDeer45) April 16, 2014

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Rise up!
Or rather
get out of bed
you lout
it is 1:30 in the afternoon
on a Tuesday
and you do not work
third shift

but also because
Rob Deer (@RobDeer45)
is now following you on Twitter!

Make yourself
some breakfast
you turd
and make it a good one
with cage free
vegetarian eggs
a nice bacon
alternative
something you can really
Instagram
you piece of––
because you are alive
and you can
still chew your food
because it is your birthday

and also because
Rob Deer (@RobDeer45)
is now following you on Twitter!

Hey you
crud-thumping
anxiety magician
it is time
are you ready
for good things to happen
for the possibility
of Rob Deer (@RobDeer45)
engaging in abusive behavior
on Twitter
for the regime change
for all of your
favorite snacks?

Mobilize already!
Take a walk or something
with your smartphone
emblazoned in front of you
the fact that Rob Deer (@RobDeer45)
is now following you on Twitter
will shield you from
whatever the capitalist pigs
that also follow you on Twitter
will throw your way.

Take the bull by the horns
and make lemonade
for you have lived to see another
afternoon, to take another
walk with your smartphone, to
swallow more fake
bacon, to gaze into your
inbox once more––

and what an inbox it is!
telling you of steals and deals
and deaths and
among other things
that Rob Deer (@RobDeer45)
is now following you on Twitter!

You odoriferous speck
of taint waste.

Spring Training is upon us, and Curtis Granderson, along with roughly 1100 other players in the various MLB camps, is in the best shape of his life.

That’s not because he lost 30 pounds (which would probably kill him), or because he added 20 pounds of muscles, or because some self-important yogi screamed “You shit on the inside!” at him, leading to an intense off-season yoga regiment that has given him the flexibility to kiss is own butt and reach pitches three feet outside of the strike zone.

Rather, it is because Curtis Granderson has been drinking lots of good old-fashioned water — “Michigan straight,” as we call in eastern Wisconsin.

I drink #water to refresh, stay better, get better, be better. @URH2O #DrinkUp. Ready for @mets #SpringTraining! pic.twitter.com/E3gXdNhMA5

— Curtis Granderson (@cgrand3) February 4, 2014

About 0.00025% of Earth’s water is freshwater accessible for consumption. Will it be enough to quench Curtis Granderson’s major league thirst? It will be interesting — and perhaps terrifying — to find out. Perhaps when he has finished drinking all of said accessible freshwater, he will move on to tap the underground aquifers, or to suckle Greenland’s dwindling ice caps.

And perhaps when he is finished with doing those things he will drink you, too, considering that you yourself are 60-65% water, some of which is, presumably, contained in your delicious, rejuvenating stem cells. Perhaps you will be so lucky to remain conscious long enough to witness the spectacle of Curtis Granderson cracking your stem cells like eggs on his major league countertop, drizzling their watery yokes down his very healthy gullet.

I don’t know about you but I am pencilling Curtis Granderson in for 45 homeruns and league-leading urine production.

On Wednesday, a mysterious cube-shaped package arrived in the mail for me. There was a return address, but no name. The package was coming from inside Milwaukee!

Inside the shipping cube was another cube, this one faux-gold and real-fancy:

Bird was very interested, as he is with the arrival of all packages.

Any baseball nerd would be sure at this point — as was I — that inside was a baseball. And sure enough! It was a baseball! And on it, the head of Carlos Gomez!

Thankfully, not the actual head of Carlos Gomez.
The Brewers need him to play centerfield this season!

At first, I thought it was a special Valentine’s gift from my belovéd betrothed. Which, I suppose the enclosed card could have supported — though it would mean, maybe, that she was trying to tell me something.

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“Shameless”, is a word that might be used to describe the mental state of the author as he begins constructing this post. “Wholly Unaccomplished in Life”, is an epitaph to which said author will likely be resigned by the end of this same post….

Election to the National Baseball Hall of Fame is a mark — albeit an imprecise one, to say the least — of greatness. While some of the players enshrined in the Hall could hardly have been greater than they actually were (like the newly elected Greg Maddux), I think I speak for at least seven billion people when I say that the perfect set of eyebrows can greatly improve the aura of even the greatest of the greats. Great. So.

Jackie Robinson with Branch Rickey and his perfect eyebrows.

Speaking again for those same seven billion people, I say that Branch Rickey’s eyebrows are perfect for affixing under almost any circumstance. Here they are, then, affixed in pixels to the newest inductees to the Hall of Fame.

Greg Maddux

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The headline that was literally interpreted.

As Zach Links of MLB Trade Rumors reported yesterday — relaying info from ESPN.com’s Jerry Crasnick — agent Scott Boras has attempted to engage the New York Mets on his clients Kendrys Morales and Stephen Drew.

What that statement probably doesn’t mean, but what I have decided to believe is true — because without constant flight of fancy such as this I would become overwhelmed by the number and magnitude of my own failures — is that Boras attempted to become engaged to be married to the Mets while on top of Morales and Drew.

And so it is:

It will all be over soon, Stephen.

This has been a Hot Stove Headline, misinterpreted.

Probably no one saw my newsworthy tweet on Saturday:

Who was the big winner at the MLB Winter Meanings? Why it was Bubba Sparxxx, who was officially certified as an agent.

— Robert J Baumann (@RobertJBaumann) December 15, 2013

It’s official (in the magical NotReality of NotGraphs, at least): Sparxxx has followed in Jay-Z’s footsteps as rap-star-turned-sports-agent. Sparxxx stated in a recent email to NotGraphs:

With the recent mega-contract for Robinson Cano orchestrated in part by Jay-Z and his Roc Nation Sports, along with current “rap style” hits by Major League Baseball players such as [Cleveland Indians right-hander] Trevor Bauer (“Gutter to the Grail”), one would think that the crossover between rap/hip-hop and professional sports is a new one. But if you are a true music and sports historian, you would recall that this interdisciplinary movement actual began in 1995 when, as a high school senior, I was a burgeoning rapper while also being an All-Region tight end and linebacker in LaGrange [Georgia]. The video for the first single on my debut album Dark Days, Bright Nights featured me and some pals in the mud with the ol’ pigskin, racing tractors, and performing at night on a baseball field illuminated by bug lights. If that’s not the epitome of the rap-sports connection, then nothing is. Furthermore, I have always been a player, now I just represent them, too.

The new face (and thumb) of player representation.

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