Look at this Inuit man. Let his face, an etching of curious disdain, deflate your idiotic woes. Study his posture–the quintessence of nonchalance–then mimic it. He won’t mind; he doesn’t even notice you. Do you see his barren homeland? He pays its harshness no regard–a conqueror need not heed the already conquered. He reads, he naps, he pretends to care. He inserts his own name, Ikniqpalaguq, into classic works of literature, or The Saturday Evening Post. He does not give a fuck. He is a leisured gentleman. This man is NotGraphs in the offseason, but way, way better at hunting polar bears.

These are dark times. Like, actually, measurably dark because the northern hemisphere is tilted away from the sun. These are also dark times for the baseball-loving soul. You don’t need to be reminded of this; it consumes us. January is horrible.

In these times it is important to find ways to demonstrate to the darkness that you’ve still got it. It being aplomb, braggadocio, spunk, and measurable levels of responsibly supplemented Vitamin D3. You’ve also got to demonstrate to yourself, kind reader, that you’ve got it, otherwise the mire of life sans base-and-ball sports will overcome you from the inside. One way to do this is to remember better times, and if possible, remember better times that involve both baseball and accidental allusions to celebratory sodomy.
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The Cubs recently announced they are bringing back a mascot to the franchise in the form of “Clark the Cub.” Clark, a name normally reserved for douchebags and Superman, is the first mascot the Cubs have had since Joa, a live bear that remained with the club for only three months. But before Joa the 1908 Cubs had this:

O terror!

And now the Cubs have this:

O terror! Terror abounds!

In 2005 the United States government funded a nearly $200 million dollar advertising campaign titled “Above The Influence” intended to curb marijuana and drug use among teens and young adults. The campaign, unlike the “My Anti-Drug” campaign that preceded it, has been effective in reducing drug use among teens, a result that inexplicably rankled the entire nation of Australia. So Australia fought back.

In direct opposition to to the successful campaign, the Australian Baseball League (ABL) adopted “Be The Influence” as league slogan, commanding every Australian to encourage American teens to abuse drugs. The campaign, though morally bereft and fully evil–not to mention horrid and sick, just… sick–has been a resounding success. From a disregarded desert of death-snakes rotting on the bum-side of the planet, Australians have succeeded in causing America’s youth to spiral into a twitchy, drug-addled catatonia, all by telling ABL fans to speak positively to American kids about drug use anytime they visit. The substantial effectiveness of the Aussies is reportedly due to a mix of their friendly, informal attitude and the American misconception that anyone with an accent is a fucking genius.

Americans hope the aggravatingly competent ABL chooses to alter their slogan–and soon–to target other countries battling drug problems, like Iran or Mexico. However, rumors are circulating that the crafty Ozlanders are targeting America’s neighbor to the north, rebranding Canada’s benign “DrugsNot4Me” campaign as “DrugsYes4MeAnd4U2” to kick off next year.

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The “Be the Influence” slogan is, in actuality, meant to raise awareness of binge drinking among Australians–a noble campaign by all accounts, seeing as Foster’s is gross.

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BONUS: Here’s an ABL brawl from last week, in case you haven’t already seen it:

Suffering is universal, of course. We all suffer, and we all find ways to distract ourselves from it as often as possible. What cold weather does is make us especially unable to distract ourselves from suffering. It dissects our optimism, laying us open, piece by piece, revealing the bits that composed our wintery cheer and freezing them solid. So we complain. We moan, we cry, we tweet, we Instagram snapshots of temperature gauges and the frost in our beards. We complain a lot, and it feels good. So, to help us broaden the number of ways we can express displeasure with our nation’s airmass, allow me to put this arctic vortex in baseball terms: It’s Pete Kozma. And he’s about to bat for your team.

As ESPN, Wikipedia, The Baltimore Sun, MASN reporter Roch Kubatko, and 44,400 search results tell us, Grant Balfour is “now in jeopardy.” More evidence below:

You, the Jeopardy attentive reader, should consider it your duty to imagine further punny categories in the comments below.

Beverl,y MA—Multiple  witrneses reportt seeing local facial hair having basebll blogge aZach Reynolds aTTEMTPINT TO craft a baseball-related blog pos “at the top of his inteeligence” while wearing cumbersom gloves. The normaly crisps andf reliable typist wAS reduced to tuyping an emaRRASIKNG meta-post rifve with asccidntall caps-lcokl presses and unfortuante spelling gaffes.

Reports scoming in mid-afternoon MOnday indciate that the bloger’s apartement is the primary culprit for his imprecide finger bhavior. The residential domicile is allregfly kept at a frigid 62 degrees, and the desk Reynolds normally sits at to craft blog posts is locatef ina zoone that is anohte5r 3-5 dgrees colder5 due to the thermostat being lvoated in a warmner room. Iirrefutabel scientific analYSES show that the glvoes severly hinder the blooger’s abilitry to typre accurately due to increADd ginfer surfqace area, lack of tactile feedback when excetuing keystrokes, and diminshed fine-motorcontrol as a result of his fingers still actually being cold despiute having the glvoesd on. Some analkysts believe the cold might be affecting the already laxy man’s will to edit, as werll as think of baseball-related content in a time of year wehn nearly nothign non-JAMES LONEYT RELATED is happening in the sport.

Excluvsive photographic content captured late Monday AFTENON REveals the layabout weating ragged hobo mittens over knitted touchpoiint glovs. “This kind of thign could absolutley hiunder one;’s ability to type quickly and accurately.,” says al local law efnorcxment offfifer. “It might ebven make him not wreie a real post abot baseball. Or even, I don’;t know, attempt a fake news article about how his hands are cold. Tgat wold be dumb, though, so hipefully he doesn’;t do that..”

When contactef about why he doiesn’t simply turn up the heat in hus apartment, the shivering malcontent answered, “Hey I’m not paying to heat the whole neighborhood herw!” and “yo don;’t know what it’s lke living LIJKE I fo.:” confirming suspicions tatt the young man is weary and bitter at heart.

Attmpets by resuce organiztions to AIRLIFT BTHE BLOGGER A PARI OFHEATED GLVOES RESLUTSED IN CATSTROIPHE WHEN, distracvtred by the internt and it’s infinite fepths, Reynolfs failed to proippeply read ht eintrsutions pringted ont he packoacung of the heqated glvoes, casuing a massive fire ton erpout iun bhis writing nook, evfnutally spreading andf bringinn down the entieytel of BEvely, mAssachusetts.l As of pres time, heatreadings in thesmnoldeing wtreckage show two distinct bleue dots assunmed to be Reynolds’mn forver-frozerd hands.

Let me first say that I am in no way an authority on baseball cards, or even baseball for that matter. I don’t even really like baseball, I just like traditions that facilitate the wearing of high-socks. I never collected baseball cards and I never wanted to; I thought baseball was dumb when I was young, plus my youth didn’t really overlap with the time that most people loved baseball cards. Also I spent much of my youth in Germany, where baseball is considered “blöd.” Why do I write for Notgraphs. (I kid, baseball “ist kool”).

What I do know about baseball cards is that they are not what they used to be! As a non-baseball card person it seems like they’re not worth much unless they’re Honus Wagner and were discovered in an attic in Germantown, PA by someone’s great aunt. Which is to say, they have historical significance and are probably a worthwhile interest to those who were interested when they were big, but to me, a brazen, uncouth, possibly anti-American youth, baseball cards hold no interest outside of being a record of moustaches throughout baseball history. Which—that’s pretty valuable, I’ll admit.

However, being a nerd, I love collectible cards. Cards like Magic cards, or the Pokemon cards I so desperately coveted when I was 11. The appeal of those games is not just in the collecting, but in how each card adds a key strategic piece to one’s deck. Acquiring a rare card doesn’t just mean it gets stored in a plastic sleeve, but that it could have potential to benefit you in competitive play. In that sense collectible card games (CCGs!) like Magic or deck-building games like Dominion and 7 Wonders are more similar to the task of a general manager in baseball than cards that are simply made to be collected.

This isn’t to say that there aren’t any baseball card games. In my admittedly hurried research it seems like most baseball card games are some combination of 1) baseball simulations (i.e. do not involve strategy after a set of cards is assembled) 2) involve only individual games (i.e. not the strategy of winning over the course of a season or seasons) 3) antiques and do not fully resemble modern baseball. Most of these card games involve managerial strategy, but none involve general managerial strategy. Which is what I’m interested in. Playing pretend that I’m Billy Beane.

In other words, there is probably no card game whose aim is to create the experience of being a Major League general manager. If it does exist, do tell me. Also, I realize that fantasy baseball accomplishes a lot of what I’m talking about without the hassle of cards and direct human interaction (ugh!). But fantasy takes a whole season to play out and… just isn’t the same. What I want is to be able to gather some friends  for an evening and act as general manager of a fake baseball team. To my knowledge, I cannot yet do this.

So I want to workshop what this game could be. I’m going to brainstorm some ideas and questions, and if you have any thoughts or suggestions please do leave a comment. If we come to something worthwhile I’ll make a follow-up post detailing a draft of the game’s rules.

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Reproduced below and definitely not edited is a newspaper clipping from the Palm Beach Post, July 1, 1973. Click to embiggen. Click to discover. Click to be (a/be)mused.

This kind of translation-fun-times thing has already been covered by Mississippi Matt Smith here and elsewhere excellently and sans flaw. But I really love automated translators, and am dabbling today because there is a mystery afoot, possibly a sexual mystery, possibly a mystery involving a stiff suit, and definitely a mystery involving Koji Uehara. Observe:

http://www.koji-uehara.net/2013/11/26/1640.html

What a handsome and tall man! Let me draw your attention to a specific phrase:

やっぱりスーツって、身体が硬くなるような…。ユニフォームの方が楽に動けるからいいね。

And then supply you with some possible translations:

Google:

After all I suit, body such that … hard. I hope those of uniform because move easily.

Bing:

It suits me body hardens like… Uniform who can move effortlessly from Nice.

Freetranslation.com:

I guess the body suit is a lot stronger. The uniform is easier to move to it’s good.

translate.reference.com

After all.that a body is tense a suit…Because a uniform can work easily, I am good.

What is Koji saying? Something involving his body hardening and uniforms, clearly unclearly. The Bing translation is by far the most intriguing, as it involves the southern French city of Nice for some reason. Also a body in the act of hardening. Now THAT is interesting. Or perverse. Or just French, I guess. Why, how, wherefore, whence, and whoontz Koji needed to discuss his hard body and Nice, France are still completely unknown. Because I am out of worthwhile brainwaves this Tuesday I will let the mystery remain without further analysis. Instead I’ll leave you with the translation party tool and a song my friend made about Odysseus.