What follows is apparently not entirely new to the Internet, but it’s new to me, which is why I’m bothering conjuring this image. It is a personalized jersey, which is a thing about which I’m not entirely sure how I feel. Is it silly-britches? A sign of arrested personhood? Utterly harmless? Actually, yes, it’s utterly harmless, but I don’t indulge in the practice, which is tacit disapproval of a kind, no?

But whatever my feelings about the larger rubric, the personalized jersey below, by whatever standard or measure you wish to apply, is something that warms the cockles of hearts like a puppy made of sunshine who is holding a scalloped-edge, rose-gilded porcelain serving tray filled with delicious gooseberry muffins …

Gooseberry muffins! Nom, nom, nom!

In case the use of pronouns in the headline and the naughty letter to Burt Reynolds pictured above don’t tip you off, this is a post about Brian Fuentes. Mr. Fuentes is not a loser, but he’s lost things. To wit, he’s lost enough games this season to overwhelm something — maybe an over-sized bulk box constructed of triple-wall corrugated fiberboard or perhaps a a silo towering over the American prairies like a tensed phallus — designed expressly — and, it should go without saying, with expert craftsmanship and tantalizingly in excess of industry standards and best practices — to hold a great deal of losses.

Indeed: Brian Fuentes, despite being a reliever tasked with doing something besides recording decisions of any kind, is on pace to go 3-23 this season. Like others who make love to these pages, I’m aware that pitcher wins and losses are far from illuminating. Still, one can’t help but be impressed that a reliever has managed to be yoked with defeat seven times before June.

Getting to 20 losses will, of course, require another, greater conga line of foul-smelling performances on the part of Fuentes. That’s not difficult in a vacuum. The problem is that merely one or three more foul-smelling performances on the part of Fuentes will likely result in his being banished to the low-leverage terra incognita of the bullpen. And thus, the Republic’s dream of a 20-loss reliever will perish.

Not to place the dual burdens of Job and Frodo upon Mr. Fuentes and Bob Geren, who stands in the dugout and projects authority, but they simply must contrive a way to make this happen. This battered generation needs it. These beleaguered patriots need it …

So you say you stormed Omaha Beach, old man waiting for the bus? Adorable. I saw a reliever lose 20 games in a season.

You’re damn right I’ll take it from here.

This chat will begin at 3pm ET; however, questions can be submitted any time beginning this moment.

For some idea of what might happen in a NotGraphs Chat, do considering briefly looking over this post from yesterday.

Behold, fathom and regard …

No, contrary to appearances, that’s not the bassist for Grand Funk backstage in a Cards jersey. That’s Randy Poffo, vastly better known by his nom de guerre, Randy “Macho Man” Savage. As you can plainly see, even as a fresh-faced youth the Macho Man was fond of buccaneering sojourns at the gun show, albeit a gun show less enhanced than in later, more famous years.

The image comes to us via this thoroughly adequate SI piece on the Macho Man’s minor-league baseball career. Said baseball career was rather forgettable — inasmuch as quality time with Tito Landrum can ever be “forgettable” — but the recently departed Poffo’s legend within the squared circle is secure and will remain so until the mountains crumble into the sea.

And speaking of the mountains crumbling into the sea, any ideas as to what spared us from the tentatively scheduled rapture last Saturday? Yeah, that’s right, a certain former minor-league catcher spared us from the tentatively scheduled rapture last Saturday …

Oooh. Yeah.

While not as loin-stirring as, say, woodsy and mead- and pipeweed-fueled coitus with an elf, hugging a dragon would be quite nice, I think we can all agree. And if you were one of 5,615 fortunate souls recently meandering through a particular semi-major American city, you know this firsthand. And you helped Charlotte Knights mascot Homer the Dragon (pictured above, first from left) make Maximum History.

Indeed, Homer has approached, reached and overtaken the record for “Most Hugs by a Mascot Given in a 24-Hour Span,” which is a threshold as timeless and enduring as the trilobite fossils entombed deep within the bottommost sediment of the Yangtze. So bless his heart.

Sure, our dear, departed Gary Gygax might prefer the arms of dragons to be more murderous than loving, but Homer deserves your admiration for cutting a swath of unconditional affection through the boulevards of Charlotte. Know hope, citizens.

Survey Josh Womack’s professional baseball career, and you come away impressed merely to the extent that he had a professional baseball career. That’s to say, Womack’s bestowals on the diamond are somewhat forgettable. What’s not forgettable is the abracadabra-sorcery-jinx-necromancy that Mr. Womack can perform with a maple stick …

Bewitchment! Pointy hat, gnarled oaken staff and flowing purple robe festooned with astral designs!

Via Pony Express comes to me George Vecsey’s Stan Musial: An American Life. As a Cardinals fan, I am, of course, in a perpetual state of adoration of all things Stan. After all, he was one of the greatest players in the history of ever, and, according to everyone in the world not named Murray Chass, he’s also a gem of a human being.

At present, I’m shin deep in Nixonland, which is quite good but decidedly tome-ish. So it’ll be a while before I get around to Stan. When I do, though, I’ll be sure to share my thoughts, which are as muscle-bound as they are lucid and handsome.

And so it begins … What “it” is is a thing to determine the Base-and-Ball Cultural Alphabet. And what is that? Allow me to explain …

On occasion, I read this book to my young spawn. It assigns players, based on surname, to each letter of the alphabet. Some of the choices are … curious to the point of suggesting malice aforethought. I shall not pursue civil litigation. This is because I mostly enjoy the book. What I shall do, however, is expand the pool of eligibles to include not only players but also baseball humans of other persuasions, things related to our fair game, ideas, notions both fleeting and timeless, and so on. I do this in the service of, as you might guess, assembling The Base-and-Ball Cultural Alphabet. For that, I need your help, page viewers.

We start with the letter “A.” Below, I will list the 10 candidates for election, and I will also briefly regale you with tales of him, her or it. Voting is enabled and, much like regular applications of imported cologne, encouraged.

Who or what will represent the letter “A” in The Base-and-Ball Cultural Alphabet? That’s up to you, muscled readers …

Read the rest of this entry »

The bottom of the ninth of last night’s KC loss to Texas offers us a bounty of delights. With the Rangers in front 3-2, Organizational Jesus Erik Hosmer hit a spank to tie the score. Then, small miracle of small miracles, Jeff Francoeur drew an unintentional walk (!). Then … Well, let’s just roll tape …

N Feliz J Francoeur 9 0 ___ 3-3 Jeff Francoeur walked. 2.28 0.52 71.5 % .073 0.39
N Feliz J Dyson 9 0 1__ 3-3 Jarrod Dyson picked off. 3.17 0.91 58.3 % -.132 -0.64
N Feliz B Butler 9 1 ___ 3-3 Billy Butler walked. 1.84 0.28 63.8 % .055 0.27
N Feliz M Aviles 9 1 1__ 3-3 Mike Aviles picked off. 2.94 0.54 53.7 % -.101 -0.43
N Feliz W Betemit 9 2 ___ 3-3 Wilson Betemit struck out looking. 1.42 0.11 50.0 % -.037 -0.11

It’s one thing to have two runners picked off at first base in the ninth inning of a tie game. It’s another thing when both pick-off-ees are pinch runners and, thus, notionally in the game precisely not to do such a thing. It’s something else altogether when said pinch runners are the first two pick-off victims of the pitcher’s career.

Viva la Royals!

Denton True “Cy” Young was a great pitcher …

Denton True “Cy” Young was also a great mustachioed pitcher. Denton True “Cy” Young was also a great chinless pitcher. And, as Venn Diagrams teach us, Denton True “Cy” Young was also a great mustachioed, chinless pitcher. So a little respect, please.