Friends, we at NotGraphs have not been doing our jobs, in that one of the 20th century’s greatest orators, Thomas Charles Lasorda is not nearly as well represented in the pages of NotGraphs for his distinguished linguistic accomplishments as he should be. Today, I take the first steps in trying to rectify that oversight, as I present you with the following dramatic monologue, entitled “Tommy Lasorda: Master of the Slow Build.”

But first, let us set the scene. On June 30, 1982, Lasorda’s Dodgers were facing the Padres of San Diego, with the Padres up by a single run in the top of the 9th inning. Lasorda decides to stick with his young reliever, Tom Niedenfuer for a second inning, which proves costly as Broderick Perkins leads off with what will be the last of the eight home runs of his career. The next batter, Joe Lefebvre is hit by the pitch. Niedenfuer is allowed to keep pitching, and allows a double to Tim Flannery before he is removed in favor of Alejandro Pena.

Nevertheless, the reliever is fined $500 by the National League for throwing at Lefebvre, causing some consternation in Lefebvre’s teammate, Kurt Bevacqua, who told reporters, “The guy they should have fined was the guy who ordered Niedenfuer to throw at Joe, that fat little Italian.” What follows is Lasorda’s response:

Read the rest of this entry »

Hello NotGraphs. I realize this is a break from your regularly scheduled dose of me. Please try not panic. I come to you today with an urgent purpose. And that is for you to see a video.

But before that happens, let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a 13 year-old boy on the cusp of manhood who loved three things: Prodigy Communications Corporation, Baseball, and The Mickey Mouse Club. That young man wrote a letter (a proto-email) to one of the comely young lasses who graced said Mouse Club, virtually daring her to find him. And find him she did, in the most wonderful and awkward fashion possible.

That young man was and is lawyer, baseball writer, my dear friend, and hetero-sexual life partner, Bill Parker, of The Platoon Advantage and SBNation, amongst other fine places. And this, dear friends, is the video that I promised would remain unpublicized until the day he was ready to face that dark chapter of his life publicly. But with Bill finally baring his soul before God and his almost (but not quite) 3000 followers, today is, finally, the best day of my life. Also, of note, he wears a Cubs hat, so this is totally baseball-related.

Please, enjoy this as much as I have:

Read the rest of this entry »

You might ask yourself, dear reader, you might ask yourself, “what were the Twins doing in 1991?” Especially, you might be asking yourself this because that is, in fact, the title of this article. After you’re done asking that, “Probably playing baseball,” is one answer that you could give, if you weren’t particularly clever. “Winning the World Series,” is another for the more literal-minded of you. Yes, these are both things that the Twins were doing in 1991. But among other things they were also doing, such as eating, sleeping, grooming their mustaches and mullets, watching Cheers, enjoying the musics of Color Me Badd and C+C Music Factory, and wondering if a viable third party candidate might emerge in next year’s presidential election, were the following:

Being hot.

Coming on strong.

Having Kelly at the wheel.

Not going wrong.

Lookin’ straight ahead on the right track.

Not turning back.

Having Puck, Chuck, Jack, Mack, Chili, Willie, Bush, Tap, Harper, Gladden, Al, and Gags. Hrbek, Willis, Gene, and Pags. Aguilera, Erickson, Teddy, and Bedrosian. Guthrie, West, and the rest.

Having the best.

Commencing to get off and running.

Observe:

Read the rest of this entry »

Belovéd, yesterday Craig Calcaterra, of Hardball Talk, foretold of the coming of a cinematic experience so singularly important that it dwarfs any of the petty and mundane concerns that make up our lives. When this film, Mr. Go, arrives from South Korea upon the shores of these here United States, we are compelled to drop everything and greet it with the awe and reverence it will clearly deserve. And yet, I am confused by so much in the following trailer:

Read the rest of this entry »

As you are no doubt aware, or if you weren’t, now you are, because you are reading this fine article, Delmon Young has been designated for assignment by the Philadelphia Phillies. In honor of this great loss, the Royal We debut a new feature here on NotGraphs, in which We insert Delmon Young’s name into a shitty representation of the Western Canon, thus diminishing those works even further into the flammable morass of Lake Erie that is reality-TV-based popular culture.

In today’s episode, Delmon Young is the object of affection for one Edward Cullen, from New Moon, the second book in the Twilight Saga: Read the rest of this entry »

One of the highlights of this year’s SABR conference was a spirited former player session with ex-Phillies Dickie Noles, Gary Matthews, and Brad Lidge. Noles regaled the crowd with his version of events from the 1980 playoffs and World Series, when he apparently was bound and determined to throw at every single hitter on the Astros and Royals who dared to stand in against him. Brad Lidge talked about being on the mound to close out the 2009 2008 World Series, and also the beginnings of his career.

Sarge, as he’s prone to do as one third of the26^th ranked broadcast team in the Majors, rambled on extensively about how he doesn’t trust numbers, he trusts heart, and barely discussed his playing career. He did, however, provide the greatest revelation of the conference, as it was revealed that Gary Matthews is not just a former ballplayer. He’s not just a broadcaster. He’s not just the father of Gary Matthews Jr. He is all of these three, and he is also a hatter.

That’s right, Gary Matthews makes hats. Beautiful hats. All the hats you could ever want, if your head wasn’t shaped funny like mine, and therefore you looked ridiculous in a hat. Hats galore. He’s even starting a line of little fedoras for kids. Which will be adorable because kids in hats. His website boasts, “Along with his family and baseball, Sarge has a great love for stylish headwear. A quality hat always tops off his look and Sarge wanted to share his passion for headwear with his friends and fans. Creating a collection of his favorite styles, SargesHats.com is the on-line destination for classically styled and high quality hats and caps for men and women.”

Perhaps his meandering on television and in person are because he is still using the traditional mercurit nitrate for felting his hats, and prolonged exposure is driving him mad. That would explain a lot anyway. Well, as he slowly succumbs to mercury poisoning, he is leaving behind a fine legacy of headwear. Here now are the 10 best hats available for the discriminating gentleman to purchase today-right now, in fact-on SargesHats.com*: Read the rest of this entry »

Via common sense, that precious gift from our god and creator (David Appelman), we know that there is a limit to which any elite athlete can push his or her body. Often, that is an abstract concept, some theoretical level that we could never hope to attain, but that people like Mike Trout, Michael Phelps, and Michelle Kwan can approach.

Like most people with a name derived from the archangel Michael, I have finally reached that plateau. Over the past weekend, which I spent in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania as a willing, nay enthusiastic, participant at the annual conference for the Society for American Baseball Research (SABR), I put myself to the test and touched the face of Appelman (note: I am speaking figuratively; in the strictest legal sense, I did not violate the restraining order).  Under the watchful eye and painful lash of my NotGraphs “editor,” Carson Cistulli, I made it my mission to discover if a man could live almost exclusively on Yuengling Lager and cheesesteaks for an entire SABR convention.

I arrived on Thursday morning, and stayed until Sunday morning, so I was limited to three lunches and three dinners. As such, I did strive to have what I thought would be the breakfast equivalent of a cheesesteak on both Friday  and Saturday mornings. Most of this came from the amazing Reading Terminal Market, which was located directly across from our hotel in the heart of the city. I can’t recommend this conglomeration of quick restaurants, fresh produce, meat, and seafood, bakeries, coffee bars, and assorted deliciousness enough. And since I’m told that Power Rankings are SEO gold, here are the official rankings of the food I ate over the course of three days: Read the rest of this entry »

I assume the one-armed man is Johnny Damon.

According to Bill Madden of the New York Daily News, Alex Rodriguez “is the Whitey Bulger of baseball, the most wanted criminal in the game’s history, more condemned by MLB authorities tan Shoeless Joe Jackson…Pete Rose…or Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds.”

Indeed, Whitey Bulger ran organized crime in Boston for roughly a  decade, murdering almost indiscriminately.  After being on the run from 1994-2011, he was captured and has been charged with 19 murders and is currently on trial.

That’s a pretty apt comparison, actually. We may never know how many deaths Alex Rodriguez is really responsible for, but here’s a list of those in whose death or disappearances he’s most certainly had a hand:

Read the rest of this entry »

Scene: Alex Rodriguez speeds up the Amazon River on an airboat, trying frantically to outrun the MLB investigators that are right behind him. He turns, and shoots his gun, barely missing his pursuers. One of the investigators, probably played by Bruce Campbell, takes steady aim and fires a shot that severs A-Rod’s fuel line, causing his airboat to catch fire. Rodriguez jumps into the Amazon just before an explosion rocks his airboat. He is fished out of the water by Campbell.

Campbell: Gotcha, A-Rod. This is your third strike, and you’re out.

Campbell knocks Rodriguez unconscious with a single punch. A-rod is cuffed to the MLB investigators’ airboat. The camera zooms in on A-Rod’s boat sinking, and on several barrels riddled with bullet holes marked HGH, as they slowly, ominously, slip under the waves.

One week later, giant piranhas, anacondas, and crocodiles begin wreaking havoc on local fishermen. A brilliant wildlife expert, probably played by Amanda Bynes, puts two and two together, and meets with Bruce Campbell to tell him that A-Rod’s HGH did something to the river. Campbell and Bynes have to visit A-Rod in MLB jail. Read the rest of this entry »

Earlier today, one Dayn Perry, who is a public disgrace to himself, his nuclear family, and his ancestors, and who is not unknown to you in these pages, declared something he felt merited public consumption. This was that declaration:

There needs to be a rapper named “Killa-Brew.”

— Dayn Perry (@daynperry) July 15, 2013

 1) Dayn Perry does not get to decide what goes on in the world of hip hop. That’s Suge Knight’s job. Mark this Dayn, lest Suge hang you off of a hotel balcony by your ankles until you sign away the rights to your next middling paperback.

2) Dayn, you ignorant slut, how quickly you forgot:

Read the rest of this entry »