They’re New York Mets, of course.
More importantly, though, those “educated fans,” we’re them. They’re us. From Pardon The Interruption, to cartoon’s in The New Yorker — I found this one in a piece, a rather good one by Lawrence Wright, I might add, about “The unintended consequences of American funding in Pakistan“) — we’re everywhere, man.
Cartoon by Michael Crawford. If you want to buy it, you can.
By far the greatest anything that will happen at Minute Maid Park in Houston this season:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X7B4gic1-qU&
He got away. He definitely got away.
H/T: FanGraphs’ own Mike Axisa. Don’t you ever change, Mike.
You’re damned right I’d follow Billy Martin’s mustache, and his spectacles, into the heat of baseball battle.
Adding to Martin’s lore: Whiskey Slick, his nickname, according to Baseball Almanac. And Whiskey Slick loved an old fashioned fracas, or ten, I learned, after going down the rabbit hole that is Billy Martin’s Wikipedia entry.
Witness:
Martin was well known for drinking to excess and for rowdy behavior when drinking. In 1957, a group of Yankees met at the famous Copacabana nightclub to celebrate Martin’s 29th birthday; the party ultimately erupted into a much publicized brawl when Martin, Hank Bauer, Mickey Mantle and Yogi Berra challenged a few drunks who were hurling racial slurs at performer Sammy Davis, Jr. A month later, general manager George Weiss—believing Martin’s nightlife was a bad influence on teammates Whitey Ford and Mickey Mantle—exiled him to Kansas City. Martin felt betrayed by Stengel, with whom he had a strong father-son relationship, for failing to prevent the trade, and the two did not speak for years.
Exile in Kansas City. The more things change …
A few years later:
On August 4, 1960, Martin, then playing for the Reds, charged the mound in the second inning after receiving a brushback pitch from Chicago Cubs pitcher Jim Brewer. Martin threw his bat at Brewer, who picked up the bat and started to hand it to Martin as he approached. Martin punched Brewer in the right eye, breaking his cheekbone. Brewer was hospitalized for two months, and Martin served a five-day suspension. The Cubs sued Martin for $1,000,000 ($7,416,009 as of 2011), for the loss of Brewer’s services. While the Cubs dropped their case, Brewer pursued his, and in 1969, a judge ordered Martin to pay $10,000 ($59,909 as of 2011), in damages. When informed of the judgment by the press, he asked sarcastically, “How do they want it? Cash or check?”
Martin’s fights as a player also included bouts with Jimmy Piersall, Clint Courtney (twice), Matt Batts and Tommy Lasorda.
There’s no way you can convince me that Martin didn’t pay his fine in cash.
There’s more:
In 1969, Martin’s only season as manager of the Twins, he won a division championship. He was fired after the season following an August 1969 fight in Detroit with one of his pitchers, Dave Boswell, in an alley outside the legendary Lindell A.C. bar.
Ten years later, Martin hadn’t mellowed:
After the 1979 season, Martin got into a fight with marshmallow salesman Joseph Cooper at a hotel in Minneapolis.
Marshmallow salesmen are the worst.
Moving on:
On September 22, 1985, while at a hotel bar in Baltimore, Maryland, Martin fought one of his pitchers, Ed Whitson, who broke one of Martin’s arms.
And here I thought the 2006 scuffle between then Toronto Blue Jays manager John Gibbons and Ted Lilly was the stuff of dreams.
Finally:
Martin’s sparring opponents as a manager also included two traveling secretaries (Minnesota’s Howard Fox and Texas’ Burt Hawkins) in a fight outside of Howard Wong’s in Bloomington, Minnesota; Jack Sears, a fan outside Tiger Stadium; a Chicago cab driver who preferred soccer to baseball; sportswriter Ray Hagar, in a Reno indoor arena bar; … two bar patrons, in Anaheim and in Baltimore; and two bouncers in an Arlington topless bar.
I shudder to think what might have become of a marshmallow salesman who moonlighted as a cab driver, and who preferred the beautiful game to baseball, had he crossed Billy Martin’s path.
Interesting cat, Billy Martin, to say the least. And I had no idea.
Image courtesy Baseball Almanac, “Where what happened yesterday is being preserved today.” They ain’t foolin’.
On Friday night, The Great Ejector was ejected. Think about that for a minute, or ten.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
And, yes, you can absolutely trust NESN.com’s Jeff Howe on this one. He knows a guy.
Bravo, Boston. I am indubitably impressed. Bravo.
Remember Feast Days? They’re back. At least for one glorious Friday afternoon, when we rightfully celebrate.
Please remember: I’m no poet. I’m no Carson Cistulli.
Life: Willie friggin’ Mays. Fourth all-time with 163.2 WAR. One of only five baseball players to eclipse the 150 WAR-mark. In center field, Mays flew.
Spiritual Exercise: Mays twice hit 50 home runs in a season; 51 in 1955, and 52, 10 years later, in 1965. Even time appreciated Willie Howard Mays, Jr.
A Prayer for Willie Mays:
Before my time,
Came Willie Mays.
A student of baseball history,
I learned: GOAT.
Willie Mays!
Before “The Catch,”
Before the home runs,
The MVP and World Series trophies,
Mays, a rookie in 1951, hitless in his first 12 Major League at-bats.
Lucky 13: a home run.
Against Warren Spahn, no less.
He’d hit 659 more, 17 more off Spahn.
Willie Mays!
New York, San Francisco, and back to New York.
A Giant, in baseball and in life.
Walk through AT&T Park
and look for Ted Williams’ words on the wall:
“They invented the All-Star game for Willie Mays.”
It’s true,
They did.
Eighty-years old today,
but forever just a Kid.
Say Hey!
Image courtesy blackathlete.net.
When he’s not playing minor league baseball for the Tampa Bay Rays, Emeel Salem sings “Katy Perry piano covers. You know, guy stuff.”
Me, I’m just glad I’m not the only one who enjoys Perry’s Teenage Dream. Massive tune, no matter what the haters say.
Enjoy. And make sure you thank Emeel on Twitter: @e_salem.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n9iJKKXldVc&
Piano-sized props out to Rays Index. And Emeel. Definitely Emeel.
I missed Wednesday night’s festivities between the Toronto Blue Jays and Tampa Bay Rays. I was, believe it or not, playing hockey. I know: I am an actual, living, in-the-flesh Canadian stereotype.
Anyway, you can imagine my chagrin upon learning that I missed a Joe West ejection, two Chad Fairchild ejections, and all the drama that accompanied them. Life isn’t fair.
Thankfully, though, intrepid journalistic organizations — Reuters, for example — employ some of the finest sports photographers in the business, and they caught Joe West in action. It’s his form — his damn fine form — that I have become so enamored with.
Bob Hamelin. An oldie, but a goodie.
A Great Moment In Spectacles, undoubtedly. And, yes, a most heinous crime against baseball cards, too.
Conservative Canadian props to my colleague and friend Mike Miner for sending the Hamelin gems — this one, too — my way. A quick story, if I may: Monsieur Miner is a Baltimore Orioles fan. Yep, Toronto’s only one. Before he met yours truly, he didn’t mind the Blue Jays so much, he says. Today, he hates them. All thanks to me. This brings me great joy.
Remember, if you know of a Great Moment In Spectacles that ought to be celebrated, please, be in touch: not+tips@fangraphs.com.
Image, by no means easy on the eyes, courtesy of The Trading Card Database.
Embiggen. Go on. Trust me.
The incredible moment in time — October 7, 1978, as the Los Angeles Dodgers celebrate winning the pennant — was captured by Los Angeles Times photographer Larry Sharkey.
After hitting his run-scoring single in the bottom of the 10th, the Dodgers mob shortstop Bill Russell. During the celebration, several fans also rushed the field. One was caught by Sharkey trying to steal second base as a souvenir. The unidentified fan ended up the next morning all over Southern California on the front page of the Los Angeles Times. … Additional information on the fan — especially if he got away with second base — was not found in The Times’ archive.
I choose to live my life believing that the unidentified fan definitely got away with second base, making for one helluva souvenir, and story, over the past thirty-plus years.
H/T: It’s a long season.
Embiggen! Be delighted! Grab your credit card!
The legend of Billy Ripken’s F*ck Face baseball card lives on, now in t-shirt form. As it should, I say.
From the folks at No Mas, where you can order the newest addition to your wardrobe:
Oh, Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy…
In the great whodunnit debate over this most precious of error cards, we say the wound was self-inflicted. How else would he have known to hold the bat so perfectly straight for the camera. The self-degradation provided the perfect cover for what may be the ultimate baseball prank.
You can have you your Cal, and your hall of fame plaque, and your fancy consecutive game streak, and your All-Americanosity. We love us some Billy.
Preach on, No Mas. Preach on.
Not just $34 well spent, but rather $34 very well spent.
Leaping chest bump: Old Time Family Baseball.