I never saw hopes quite so high, nor faces quite so bright,
As when Tito led the Tribe to war that fine October night.
Six years had come and gone since they’d played on at season’s end,
And six decades since a title; yet they’d neither shrink nor bend;
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PITTSBURGH — The teammate who distracted Andrew McCutchen during batting practice Monday, causing the star outfielder to be hit in the face by a ground ball, has been identified by sources as injured catcher Michael McKenry. One Pirate, who asked to remain nameless, referred to McKenry as “that insufferable attention whore” and said “He does his stupid little song and dance out there all the time during BP…it was only a matter of time before someone paid the price.”
With all the fuss surrounding the retirements of Mariano Rivera, Andy Pettitte, Todd Helton, and Vladimir Guerrero, I’m afraid that the possible ending of another exceptional career has gotten lost in the shuffle. As any fool can guess, because it’s in the title of this post, I’m talking about Chad Griffin Durbin. Durb, who’s been featured in these pages before, started off the year in Philly on a rather handsome contract. He was released from that contract in June, after giving up 17 runs in 16 innings, on 25 hits and 9 walks. He hasn’t pitched since, to my knowledge, and this could be the end of the road for the 35-year-old righty.
It’s easy to forget just how bad Durbin has been, and for just how long. In fact, his combination of longevity and mediocrity is quite rare — rare enough to raise the question: assuming he’s done with baseball, is Durbin’s resume Hall of Shame-worthy?
This has been Prince Fielder Surfing, presented here for the first time. It shall not be the last.
Last Thursday, I broke the Internet. I caused priceless and irreplaceable mental effort, belonging to 183 actual, sad human beings, to be diverted away from countless worthy ends and toward quite possibly the least worthy end in the universe: commenting on a Notgraphs post. According to reports, the tremor of futility was registered on sensitive instruments as far away as China; the dumbing, experts say, may be irreversible. For this I will shoulder the blame entirely.
Any day now one of the most esteemed records in professional sports, the Japanese single-season home run mark, will be toppled by a man whose name nobody can pronounce. This seems to be a recurring problem with people from Wladimir Balentien’s native Curaçao. It is almost as though these people want to discourage immigrants through sheer linguistic perversity. Even if you can master the name of the country itself, you get there and you have to make friends with folks named Andrelton Simmons and Jair Jurrjens and Hensley Meulens and Jonathan Schoop. Scanning the names of some “famous” non-baseballing Curaçaoans only reinforces the suspicion: consider Riechedly Bazoer, Angelo Cijntje, and Ruelly Etienne-Winklaar. These are names that sound like regular names from around the world, if regular names were torn into pieces, put into a hat, shaken thoroughly, and reconstituted by small children.
In triumphing over the Rangers on Monday, Pittsburgh finally lurched over the .500 mark and thereby joined a proud, and recently underpopulated, list of winners in the Steel City. Let’s take a stroll back through the annals of successful buccaneering, shall we?
1671 – This dominating season saw Henry Morgan seal his case for the Pirate Hall of Fame, completing the unprecedented feat of sacking and burning the city of Panama.
1925 – These Pirates rode future Hall of Famers Kiki Cuyler and Pie Traynor to a pennant and, ultimately, a seven-game world championship for their second time in history.
Bad Liriano made another untimely appearance yesterday, and so, with the Bucs stuck at 81 wins, the Doleful Pittsburgh Narrative drags on. At this point I think we’re all — OK, those of us outside St. Louis and Cincinnati — rooting for them to win tomorrow night and put this thing to rest. (Actually, I suspect many Reds and Cards fans are just as eager for the violin music to end.) So, to facilitate that happy event, I thought the time was ripe to roll out the Pirate Victory Song.
You know how this works. Fill out the list below, without peeking at the story. Fill in the blanks. Enjoy. Share.
1. High-altitude city
2. Exceptionally well-paid group of men
3. Derogatory term
4. Name of a well-known Cuban person
5. Type of minor injury
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With a monthish left in the season, it’s about that time to start handicapping the awards races. Of course, they’ve got that taken care of over on FanGraphs. So we are left with the far more unique, challenging, and thankless task of handicapping the NotAwards races. Because when suckiness becomes outstanding — we firmly believe — it must be celebrated and rewarded.
Least Valuable Player (AL)
This is Maicer Izturis‘ award to lose. Unfortunately, he’s gone and sprained his ankle and landed on the DL, so his prospects of detracting value from the Blue Jays for the rest of the season are in serious doubt. (Ryan Goins, his replacement for now, is hitting .455 since his call-up.) But Maicer is pacing the majors in negative WAR by a full half a win, which should prove to be a prohibitive lead. Few players provide crappy hitting (.236/.288/.310), crappy fielding (-16.5 UZR), and crappy baserunning (1 SB, 5 CS) in the same package, and Izturis’ versatility in sucking at three infield positions is second to none. All in all, his 2013 will go down as one of the most futile campaigns in recent memory. (And that Izturis is emblematic of a franchise having a mind-blowing disappointment of a year certainly won’t hurt him with the voters.) Still, Chicago teammates Paul Konerko and Jeff Keppinger deserve shoutouts here, as does erstwhile Royal Jeff Francoeur (for his epic half-season of turd-laying).