As regular – and stupendously handsome – NotGraphs reader and commenter Yirmiyahu pointed out in an email to our underground headquarters over the weekend: We must feast. Especially during the offseason.
#Feastmode!
The story of Uganda’s Little League team is both inspirational, and sad: A few months ago, Uganda’s Rev. John Foundation Little League team made history by qualifying for the Little League World Series, becoming the first African team to ever do so. They were bound for Williamsport, Pennsylvania, or so they thought, until their visas to the United States were denied. The New York Times has more:
What I love about Twitter is that it’s opened — I mean swung wide open — the lines of communication; it’s put all of us on the same digital page. Have a favorite team? Follow its beat writer. Actually, follow your favorite beat writer. They’re all tweeting; posting lineups, plugging stories and blog posts, and dropping other useful nuggets of information. Twitter’s become part of the job. I work in a newsroom, albeit not a traditional breaking news kind of newsroom, and it’s become part of our jobs, as producers, too. It’s crazy. (And, before I forget, peep this piece by Dave Kindred, at SportsJournalism.org, about beat writing, and how technology — Twitter, iPhones, iPads, and RIM’s BlackBerry — has changed it. It’s fantastic.)
Usually when we’re hit up via our Team NotGraphs Hot Hotline, we’re sent a link, or a video, or a whited-out picture of Joe West, along with the words, “If you have some time, have some fun!” (We did. We definitely did.) You get the idea: we’re sent something that deserves our attention. We then give it what you now know as “The NotGraphs Treatment.”
Today’s a bit different: Avid NotGraphs readers Dave Yeager and Dan Ford have gone the extra mile, and below is their NotGraphs moment in the sun. Thank you, Dave and Dan. Thank you so much. The floor is yours …
Pictured above: Wilmington Blue Rocks mascots Mr. Celery (sans torso/head) and Rocky Bluewinkle (with giant toothbrush).
Is this what life is? The waiting between moments?
Does Rocky stand there with his oversized toothbrush, facing into the light, preparing to take a tentative first step into the unknown, bearing only tools ill designed for the tasks ahead? What can one moose do against the slings and arrows of the world at large? Better to be prepared in some way, I suppose, than not at all – for if nothing else, perhaps the toothbrush gives him comfort that no matter what, he faced what lay ahead the only way he knew how.
Or perhaps it is not that Rocky stands unprepared. Nay, perhaps he stands as a vigilant sentinel against what approaches, while Mr. Celery looks on. What is Mr. Celery doing in this scenario? Resting? Perhaps when Rocky can bear no more, the duty to maintain this vigil will fall to him.
Or perhaps it is that Mr. Celery has already surrendered, as he sits passively. Not Rocky though. He will face fate head on, toothbrush in hand.
Whatever it is, it belongs in a museum.
Photo courtesy Delaware Online’s July 2010 must-read article: Mr. Celery, unmasked!
Recently, after a raucous night of country music and beers, Joe West looked at us, the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team, and wistfully said, “I hate what’s become of the Dodgers.”
Us too, Cowboy Joe. Us too.
It took a while, longer than any of us expected, but Joe West always gets his man.
Frank McCourt: You’re finally, mercifully, thankfully … outta here!
Original image courtesy of Zimbio.
No, this is not a post about, and nor will you see a photograph below of, Tony La Russa. You’re sick.
The best part? She’s not lying: I don’t see a ring.
It gets better: This photo was taken at game six. Game frigging six. Obviously she made the right decision.
And shout out to her soon-to-be husband for even putting a World Series game on the table, as a viable option to an engagement ring. That’s love.
I’d credit the image appropriately, but I found it on Tumblr. Let’s just thank the Internet.
The headline from The Associated Press reads: “No fan rally planned for Texas Rangers this year.” Last October, the Rangers were lovable losers. This October, they’re heartbreakers; failures. Now I’m no Texas supporter, but I can’t help but feel for the Rangers. What a way to lose. I’d prefer it if there was another fan rally.
When I think about the end of baseball season, I think about the soul-crushing Canadian winter: I know it’s coming, there’s nothing I can do to delay the inevitable, it gets worse every year, and there’s no way I can possibly prepare myself; it is utterly depressing. It’s a long season, no doubt, and now there’s only one game left. Where does the time go?
Below, 27 of my inner-most thoughts on baseball — game six, the World Series, and more — as we prepare to say goodbye …
1. About last night: That was some silly, silly shit. I can’t really describe it any other way. It didn’t make sense. The comedy of errors, on the field and in the dugouts; the home runs and the lead changes; the many final at-bats of Albert Pujols’ Cardinals career; Mike Napoli’s ankle; Nelson Cruz in right field; Matt Holliday’s wrist; God telling Josh Hamilton he was about to hit a home run. I mean, I like to think of God as being a pretty busy cat, but even he was enthralled by last night’s baseball game. And can you blame him? It had it all.
2. I don’t think I can call what I watched last night simply a “baseball game.” That doesn’t do it justice. It was so much more. It was theater. I almost felt underdressed, watching the 10th inning on television at home.
3. I saw a billion similar tweets as the drama unfolded: “If you’re not a fan of baseball after this …” and “If anyone ever tells you baseball is boring …” etc., etc. Look, nothing’s changed: Some people are morons. They think baseball’s boring. They don’t appreciate the game. We don’t need them. To hell with ’em.
He was practicing for game six.
What Tony La Russa was thinking: “How the f*ck do you spell Rzepczynski?”
Image courtesy Reuters via Daylife.
It’s his. He brought the monkey to the game. I thought it might be his son’s, or maybe his daughter’s, but it isn’t. It’s his. I’m convinced. You can tell by the way he’s holding it. And you can’t tell me otherwise. Hell, he might watch Rangers games on television at home much the same way: mouth agape, baseball glove at the ready, Texas Rangers stuffed monkey held tight to his chest.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not here to judge him. I don’t know him. Maybe he went to game(s) four and/or five of last year’s World Series in Arlington without his Rangers monkey. Maybe he thought about taking the monkey, agonized over the decision, but ended up leaving it at home. Maybe, sans monkey, he watched Texas fall to San Francisco. Read the rest of this entry »