I came across this passage while reading the book The Fix is In.
We’ve created nicknames for players. We’ve created nicknames for former players. But every now and then, a previously-used nickname needs to be reapplied. “Whiskey Face” is one such nickname.
So, fair NotGraphs readers, spout off in the comments as to which baseballing person– former or current — is most deserving of this nickname of nicknames.
Second Base, Head First
Elimination Number: 75
Due to the hammering down of what actually constitutes my tastes, and using that stencil to make decisions about which people who I care to listen and admire, I have ended up with a select group of people I call friends. Some I’ve met more than others, some hold a more prominent role in this constructed circle, but almost all of them share at least one quality; they love the show Arrested Development. And with good reason. It’s delightful.
This past weekend, the creators of the show released a fifth season of sorts, years after the show’s original and untimely end. This was lauded by my acquaintances as a triumph, a righting of a wrong, and — most importantly — another opportunity to entertain ourselves. The buzz surrounding the release was palatable, as people’s breaths were sufficiently bated. Without even checking, I’m going to say that there was a Tumblr counting down the days. That’s how confident I am that there was one. This past Memorial Day weekend, the episodes were released. The Internet subsequently lost its shit. I was visiting my parents at the time, helping them do chores that emphysema and hysterectomies have made more difficult than they used to be. I missed the experience that many had, but I knew the episodes would be there when I returned home.
But, the thing is, I don’t think I want to see the new episodes.
Johnny Four Eyes, you are the NotGraphs Fan of the Night!
In the matter of four seconds, you manage to display looks of fear for your well-being, concern for the well-being of Nate McClouth, general confusion, and a firm belief that this was not a catch.
Looks like ducking out early from your world history lecture paid off, Johnny! Congratulations! You win a … I dunno, a Labatt? It’s probably a Labatt.
1. A Home Run
2. A Stolen Base
3. An Umpire
4. A Good Catch
5. A Team Lose
6. A Bunt
7. A Manager Get Ejected
8. An Infield
9. A Team Win
10. A Pitcher
11. A Double Play
12. A Baseball
13. A Baseball Bat
14. A Batter
Fellow FanGrapher and Internet superstar Drew Sheppard gifted us with the closeup footage of Ian Kinsler’s slide-fall into third from yesterday’s game.
It is a GIF of quiet sadness. Of baseballing malaise. Much like the subject of the Bydlo movement from Modest Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, Ian Kinsler is treating his neck like a beast of burden. Or perhaps the theory of momentum is the ox, and Kinsler is just the cart being pulled along the path– bumps and all.
Watch:
Listen (this is the Ravel orchestration, obvs.):
Yesterday marked the home opener for the Saint Paul Saints, an independent team from the American Association of Professional Baseball. The Saints would end up losing in extra innings to New Jersey Jackals, but like most Saints games, the efforts on the field are less important to the majority of fans. Saints games harken back to the old days a little, with the team using tricks, gags, promotions, events, and anything else they can to get people to the ballpark (the ownership group involves Bill Veeck’s son, after all). Yes there’s a baseball game going on, but the atmosphere and reasonable prices are what draws fans.
I, due to proclivities that have haunted/assisted me throughout my life, usually give too much attention to the play on the field. I certainly enjoy the races and trivia and people getting dunked in cottage cheese between the innings, but I pay more attention than most to what’s going on during the game. It’s because of this that I got to see Jose Hernandez.
Jose Hernandez was drafted in the late rounds of 2009 by the Pittsburgh Pirates, but has apparently fallen out of favor there and is now in the independent leagues. It may be because of the lowered level of competition, but Hernandez was the star for the Saints on Thursday. He went 2 for 4 (both doubles) with an RBI, and had two great defensive plays. Playing center field, he laid out for a very nice inning-ending, run-saving catch. In a later inning, he kept a runner at third from scoring on a sacrifice by throwing an absolute pea to home from shallow center. No bounce, almost no arc. Just a frozen rope. Moments like these stick out to me. The Saints and whoever their opponents are usually play sloppy baseball. The pitching can be OK, but there are lots of throwing errors, poor outfield defense, and a head-shaking amount of outs made on the bases. It’s kind of the fun of it, but it be comes tiresome after a while. This is why Hernandez’s play is a welcome site. He is a diamond in the rough, even if his diamond were somewhat cloudy to begin with.
Hernandez is also the owner of something I can’t say I’ve seen often, if ever. One of his doubles, the one in the bottom of the 7th inning, was a broken-bat double. This wasn’t a solid double where I could tell his bat had cracked. His bat exploded in two, the ball flared out to right-center, and a combination of outfield incompetence and Hernandez’s speed allowed him to take second. I feel as if my words do not do it justice. It was just fantastic.
And this is why I love independent baseball. I’m certainly aware that there are good and terrible plays to be found in MLB. But in the American Association, the bad happens so much more, that the good shines that much brighter. There aren’t a whole lot of success stories of players getting plucked from the AA to a major-league system, and Jose Hernandez certainly has a long shot. But I know I’ll be circling his name in my score card when I go to my next game. I usually pick a player of interest for every season, for reasons due to baseball or not, and Hernandez is in the front running for this totally worthless prize this year. Let’s hope he doesn’t disappoint.
The baseball landscape is littered with harmonic carcasses of side projects gone bad. Baseball players — perhaps out of boredom or ill-advised thought — have made numerous attempts at expressing themselves through music.
The Kid Who Could Only Hit Homers revolves around the titular character Sylvester Coddmyer III, a boy who stinks at baseball. We know he stinks at baseball, because the author spends upwards of two and half whole pages explaining this. He’s all bummed about it, and decides to quit the team. The next day, he’s visited by a creepy old man, George Baruth, some sort of specter of Babe Ruth, who starts training with the kid. The next day — THE NEXT DAY — this kid is belting hits all over the field, and is patrolling the outfield with the grace of Willie Mays. A few warmup games are played, and then it’s time for the season.
Roger Maris, what have you done? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
You’ve cashed in your fame and fortune for a laboratory of horrors — to perform your monstrous and unethical experiments. You’ve crudely melded man and beast, and for what? What is your end goal?
Why must you dabble in the dark sciences, Roger Maris? What possible motivation do you have? Look at that poor thing to your left. Look in its eyes. Well, pick an eye, I guess. Explain to this jumbo rodent why you did what you did. Tell it why you sewed a belt to its skin. Tell it why you grafted what appears to be some sort of 2×6 to its chest. Why the thigh implants? Did you give it a watch so it could track exactly how long it’s endured excruciating pain and suffering? Your cruelty is as sharp as that thing’s widow’s peak.
Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, you fink. There is no joy to be found in this dugout. You have done heinous things.
Your skills at the plate do not match your skills in genetics, Roger Maris. You sicken me.
(h/t to Chris Mottram for the original link)
Elimination Number: 118
It is not lost on the present author that a visitor to this hamlet of the Internet might either have a small amount of knowledge about a large swath of subjects, or perhaps the exact opposite. Either way, it seems like possessing one of the other (perhaps the latter more so) causes society to label one as a nerd or geek. I would add dweeb but I don’t hear people say that any more. I might research why that is. But not right now.
Right now I want to talk to you about singularity. For those who know, I apologize both for the redundancy as well as my surely-lacking description. The general idea of singularity is that some time in the future (the consensus of when differs), technology will advance so much that humans will reach a place of super-intelligence. No one can tell you about what this future world will look like due to the anchoring theory of singularity — our puny stupid brains have no way of conceiving this world. The craziest, most futuristic thing we can think of will pale in comparison to what will actually exist, where we will actually be. We simply are not equipped to visualize this future. The only thing that will allow us to understand it is to advance technologically as a species to the point in which it actually happens, at which point thinking about it will be irrelevant. Science is weird.