That’s musician Glenn Donnellan of the National Symphony Orchestra. Sometimes, he wears black, three-button suits paired with a patterned tie. More relevant to this space, he also sometimes plays a violin made out of a baseball bat.

This is an enchanting video of his playing Eddie Van Halen’s “Eruption” on said violin made out of a baseball bat. It is very beautiful to me. If the National Symphony Orchestra did stuff like that on a regular basis, then I might consider supporting the arts rather than using an acetylene torch to incinerate any cash that comes my way.

So does this post not have a strong enough baseball connection for you? Fine. Consider that if you swapped out the “Glenn” in “Glenn Donnellan” for something like “Magnus” or “Declan,” then it would sound like someone who played alongside John McGraw and once killed a railcar porter while drunk on Dr. Tichenor’s.

That Ron Gardenhire — the roll he is on! The Twins’ manager is without question this week’s leading quipsmith. First came yuks at the expense of Delmon Young, and now comes this restaurant-quality riff on the subject of The Twitter:

You can tweet that. Just tweet it. You don’t even have to write it. Just fire it through the Internet.

Aaron Gleeman promptly and rightly observed that “Just fire it through the Internet” should become a lasting thing — more specifically, a lasting t-shirt thing. First lo, then behold: It is now a t-shirt, and it is divine.

Classicists will recognize that “Just fire it through the Internet” was originally the battle cry of Diomedes, our pick to click in the Trojan War, but hosannas to Gardenhire for disinterring it in such fitting fashion.

And now a quick proofread of this post before I just fire it through the Internet!

The latest dispatch from Joe West is perhaps the most haunting and worrisome of all …

It may be that Joe West is merely ejecting a fiery celestial body from the firmament. If that’s the case, then nothing here is too surprising. After all, Joe West, when not in umpire blues, wears four-button spats, top hat and monocle and carries in his breast pocket a cigarette case and in his sock a pearl-handled revolver. So ejecting a burning sun is the sort of thing that sort of man does and does well.

But what if this is an urgent cable that tells us Joe West is … in danger? Perhaps Joe West, with his usual righteous certainty, is ejecting something else while this sinister ball of fire — normally tethered to the heavens — attempts to murder the great Joe West. After all, Joe West has a long and unfortunate history of being ambushed by flame-kissed planetoids. To date, he has walked away from all such attacks, but will he this time? If anyone can survive a giant boulder heated up to three million kelvin, it’s Joe West. Right? RIGHT?!?

An urgent people wait with bated breath for the next installment of the Adventures of Joe West, should it ever reach us.

Godspeed, patriot.

(A gentleman’s expression of gratitude to reader Sorry Your Heinous for the unsettling image.)

While one can hardly blame French-Canadian elements for cultivating some hostility toward our fair game, why take it out on the poor semi-pro Ottawa Fat Cats and their awesome team name?

What am I talking about? This:

Read the rest of this entry »

We already that Delmon Young is to outfield defense what someone who can’t do something very well is to that thing that he or she cannot do very well. But now that Mr. Young has spent the offseason repeatedly lifting heavy objects over his head and growing large beach muscles, will his glovecraft reach new depths? Maybe!

On the other hand, Young actually shed pounds last offseason, and one might wonder whether that helped his fly-catching in 2010. With the answer — and the quote of the day — is Young’s manager, Ron Gardenhire:

“We thought that he was running faster, but that just meant that he was chasing the balls he missed faster.”

Thou hast been zinged!

While the Washington Nationals are trending upward these days, there’s no disputing that the franchise plucked from the wilds of Canada and dropped in the capital of the Milky Way has endured some fits and starts. Part of the problem has been some rather ham-fisted marketing initiatives. Fortunately, for the Nationals and their discontents, we’re here to help.

There’s really only one thing that needs to be done to make this into a model franchise. Better scouting and development? Higher payrolls? Louder rock music between innings? Change the nickname to “Nationalz”? No. Cooler uniforms? Yea, verily.

The Nats have yoked themselves to the evocative powers of the dead president, which is wise, because everyone loves every U.S. president without exception. However, the relationship between baseball and the great landowning Episcopalians of history needs to be strengthened just a bit. First, the Nationals’ new road uniforms will have this image — ideally by way of iron-on decal — emblazoned upon the jersey:

Clearly, that’s an un-doctored photograph taken from some authoritative history text. As you can also clearly see, that’s Lincoln and Washington, each a chest-haired colt of a man, in the throes of a vigorous, manly, virile, potent, sinewy, and rippled presidential wrestling match that will end with someone’s Viking funeral. Who wins? All of us, but especially the Nationals.

As for the Nats’ road uniforms, well, wars on foreign soil aren’t for the spineless among us, so the Nats need to project an image of ruthless and terrible confidence. The jersey image that follows has graced these pages before, and now it’s time to make it a part of baseball’s tapestry forevermore …

Not only is Teddy Roosevelt slaying the foreign Bigfoot hordes in this un-doctored photograph taken from some authoritative history text, but he’s also stout-hearted enough to offer up his belt buckle as a fallout shelter. But besides Bigfoot’s encroachments, what’s he upset about? Probably his baseball humiliations. This is precisely the kind of terrifying presence to which the Nationals should aspire, especially when far from the comforts of home.

Finally, in a nod to the last remaining president whose actual giant, stone disembodied head sits atop Mt. Rushmore …

Some of you might be thinking, “Hey, that’s one of those creepy droid things from ‘Dr. Who.'” No, it isn’t. That’s a board-certified photograph of Robot Thomas Jefferson, and I see no reason why every Nats player shouldn’t wear this exact cumbersome robot suit on the field of play (along with, of course, the appropriate jersey design concocted above).

Do these things, Nationals Baseball Club, and the Republic’s precious discretionary lucre will all be yours. Promise. And please let Mr. Roosevelt win a race before he commits even more justifiable homicides.

Brewers ender of ballgames John Axford wants you to help him choose his entrance music. As we all know, a closer’s entrance music is as vital to his success as his fastball and his morning muesli followed by a round of deep knee bends. That Axford is leaving such an important matter up to the will of the people demonstrates that, a, he is of, for and by those very people, and, b, Nickelback is just awful.

Anyhow, you’d think Axford, based on his winsome and gentlemanly mustache, would prefer whatever parlor music is favored by accomplished 19th-century railroad barons, but will the people give it to him? No, they will not. That’s because whenever the question involves music, the answer is always, always, eternally and without fail, “Motorhead backed by an orchestra” …

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=801CketNy1Y

See that above? That’s a snapshot of a graphical box score available at Back to Baseball, which is a computer Web site that is fast becoming very beautiful to me. How beautiful? Cheryl Tiegs, make room at the front of the line!

The Revolution smiles upon this because you can see the play-by-play of any game going back to 1950. Once more, for maximum emphasis: You can see the play-by-play of any game going back to 1950. Now who among us can best let the burdens and obligations of adulthood wither on the vine while we toy around with this thing?

(Lingering embrace: BBTF)

This Lenny Dykstra interview with Philly’s NBC10 contains multitudes. Por ejemplo:

In summary: Mr. Dykstra 1, Murderous Bankers of America 0. Winning indeed.

(Manly, punishing handshake: Deadspin)

You know me: I don’t use the phrase “Eternal Hero of the Fightin’ Republic” lightly. But I’m calling Brooklynite Mitch Davie an Eternal Hero of the Fightin’ Republic. Why? Feast thine eyes …

It’s one thing to catch a bat in full helicopter mode with one hand. It’s another thing to catch a bat in full helicopter mode while, with the other, nobler hand, safeguarding your beer as though it were a Faberge egg, which in some ways it is. It’s still yet another thing to do all this while demonstrating reasonably good taste in wholesome, nutritious alcohol.

When I go to war with the dark forces that plague us — and it’s only a matter of time before I do just that — I want Mitch Davie at my side.

(Awkward fist-bump: The Seattle Times)