Thanks to Carson and all the other wonderful minds I met here.
Thanks to the readers — the best group a writer could ask for.
I’m writing this on my iPad and also tearing up a little bit.
I will never forget my time here or all the opportunities it has allowed me. I’ve come a long way in two years, and none of it would have happened if not for this site.
You are all important to me, and I will miss you dearly.
Harper’s company, The Harper Group of Concerns and Equity and Pounding, released a statement this morning stating that after the last out of the 2014 World Series, all future NotGraphs content will take place at BanknotesIndustries.com. Current NotGraphs writers were offered the opportunity to continue their work at Banknotes Industries, at an agreed-upon and much lower compensation level.
When asked for a statement, Mr. Harper did make mention that he was available for comment, but was choosing not to anyway.
More as this story develops.
Jay opened one eye to see a different, smaller eye staring back at him.
“Dad! Guess what day it is?”
Jay slowly opened the other eye.
“Son, what time is it?”
“It’s two fourteen. Do you know what that means? It’s Derek Jeter Day.”
“That’s great, buddy. Happy Derek Jeter Day.”
“Can we open presents now?”
“Not yet, Danny. Daddy needs to sleep. The gift baskets will still be there in a few hours. Go back to bed.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Well I can’t not sleep. When it’s time, I’ll get you from your room.”
Jay closed his eyes again. He felt the weight lift off the bed and heard Danny’s tiny footsteps moving away. He rolled to his right side, sighed, and drifted off again. Read the rest of this entry »
When I first saw the original photo posted by Erik Malinowski, I had but one thought; This is a situation in which I would like to take part.
And through the magic of photo-manipulation software, I was able to simulate such a scenario. Does this image encapsulate the feeling of actually being in said situation? It’s hard to say. I would not care for my head to be removed and shrunken in such a way, I can tell you that. But otherwise, this photo pleases me.
This has been Inserting Things Between Yasiel Puig and a Dog.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Read the rest of this entry »
Wipe your eyes, America. Pivot that chin up. Matt Harvey is pitching again.
You may hate your spouse, your kids may hate you, your career might be in the toilet. So what?
You think Matt Harvey lets that shit get to him? He used to be on top of the world. He was on top of the world, looking down on we filthy with his piercing eyes of judgement and compassion. Then Fate, Killer of Fun struck him down at the knees. Well, his elbow actually. But the elbow is basically the knee of the arm. Matt Harvey used to be the elbow of a nation. Then he was the teardrop of the Internet.
But look at this handsome fuck. He didn’t let it stop him. He’s riding fast — two middle fingers cocked and ready — all the way back. He’s taking his life back from Life. He has fate in a sleeper hold. He is moments away from sweeping the leg.
Leave your spouse. Quit your job. Start that novel or rehash that hobby or ask out that barista with the great legs and the pretty good face. Matt Harvey’s elbow has died for your sins. Is this how you wish to repay it? Winners never sulk, and sulkers can go walk into traffic.
Matt Harvey is pitching again. Let us all rejoice by creating better versions of ourselves.
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