Archive for Actual Thing

A must for the Leisured Gentleman.

It’s $348, and Coach is, frankly, ridiculous, but having a wallet that looks and feels like a baseball glove just make sense, dammit.

H/T: It’s a long season.

Dayn Perry and I are recording his stupid weekly podcast appearance at 8pm ET tonight (Tuesday).

Feel free to submit questions or comments or court summonses in the comment section below — although, I’ll be shocked if even one person cares what Perry thinks about anything.

The Wall Street Journal released their Best and Worst Jobs of 2012 list yesterday. It is an interesting list, aside from one glaring omission (click to embiggen):

If you’re partial to connoisseur’s baseball — the kind of ball-match in which runs are earned by grit, moxie and a toiler’s ethic — then yesterday’s Orioles contest should be to your liking:

Much as one does not merely walk into Mordor, a major-league team does not merely stride onto a diamond housing the ball-ists of Manatee Community College and expect to escape without a brawler’s bruises. If it consoles, then know that the vanquished Orioles share the yoke of the defeated with the mighty likes of Indian River State College and Polk State College and the University of Tampa junior-varsity squad and Florida State College-Jacksonville.

Indeed, not all who have dared square off against Manatee Community College have been as fortunate as Palm Beach State College and Chipola College and Seminole State College and Broward College (twice) and Florida State College-Jacksonville (thrice) and Polk State College and, well, quite a number of others, actually.

But no, not every team can be so kissed by the fates — so groped by the fates like a coquette on a Tokyo subway — as to escape the presence of Manatee Community College without a loss. Although that University of Tampa junior-varsity squad tied them at one point, it seems …

Anyhow, one might notice the gallery of tossers that the Orioles faced upon the yesterday …

Doubtless, the reader will be reminded of that solemn piece of base-and-ball doggerel, penned by Grantland Rice when he worked the MCC beat like a flatfoot on the Bowery …

So chins up, Orioles of Baltimore: for countless others have met such a fate!

But not Hillsborough Community College, it turns out.

The staff at FanGraphs makes an annual trip to Spring Training, seeing as how we are all in this virtual workplace and occasionally need assurance that the people we are talking to online are in fact real, carbon-based creatures. Here is footage from that assurance ritual:

Have you seen this, friend?

I like the looks of it. I am going to Borchert Field. I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

Part of me — the good part — hopes that the Tripoli Arab Patrol is a patrol made up of Arabs rather than a patrol in search of Arabs to be patrolled. But I’m still going to Borchert Field. I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

The Tripoli Arab Patrol is world-famous throughout Shrinedom, so it can’t be all bad. I’m told a band will play. I enjoy a good Sousa march. I’ll hope for a Sousa march, and I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

It will all unfold harmlessly, you see. The fun will approach such levels that a circus will come to mind. Or a riot. Would you call a riot “fun”? They promise laughter. I often find myself asking, “What’s so funny?” I ask this of myself sometimes when I’m alone. But I’ll go anyway to Borchert Field. I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys. “Who even has the energy anymore?” is something else I say a lot.

Milwaukee Gas Light Company is a name I can trust. Twenty-five cents sounds reasonable. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself in a grand stand. I’m on a budget like the rest of us. Does this look like scabies to you? No, not that. I hadn’t even noticed that before.

Yes, I suppose I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

I remember lying on the roof as a boy and looking up at the stars in mute suspension and talking about what scared me. I don’t believe I ever mentioned donkeys or Shriners. So I shall go to Borchert Park. The more I think about it, though, it seems quite possible that I would’ve mentioned donkeys and Shriners. That will give me something to think about on the bus.

“Should I watch them play baseball on donkeys?” is something I’m starting to ask a lot.

“Nite” sounds more promising than “night,” doesn’t it? “Night” carries with it the threat of menace. Or at the very least the threat of not getting to bed at a decent hour. I have a routine, you see. I suppose, though, that “nite” means the same thing. Stands to reason. They probably just spelled it that way in order to save space.

I don’t think I’m going to go see them play baseball on donkeys.

What do you think happens when you die?

Whereas Big League Chew was useful to the lad with a future in cavities and tobacco use, Big League Liniment …

… is mighty good and handy for the low-bred toiler with a fussy mule or a case of “trench loins” or a craggy-faced, Dust-Bowl wife about to die in childbirth.

Remember, suffering bastards of the world, if the catarrh doesn’t get you, then a mining disaster will. Or war. So rub some Big League Liniment on your pulverized spine!

Big League Liniment: “Got damn, it hurts!”

As you can see, courtesy of WEEI.com’s Full Count blog, not only does Bobby Valentine “get down,” but Bobby Valentine “gets down” while wearing the pinkest pink shirt that’s ever existed. (Do not look directly at it.) That’s just how he rolls. And I have to admit, I dig it.

And then, just when I thought I couldn’t possibly respect Valentine any more, I found what you’re about to enjoy, below: Bobby Valentine dancing his ass off in a Japanese music video:

Oh, those Japanese. Now, I still don’t know what the hell to make of that, what we just saw, but what I do know is that, even though I hate the Boston Red Sox with an incredible passion, I’m glad Bobby V’s back on this side of the pond, and in the spotlight. Valentine’s riling up the Yankees, Jeter and A-Rod, and taking shots at Tito; ask yourself: are you not entertained? It’s going to be a wild ride in Boston, and I can’t wait. May Valentine forever dance, and forever manage, as if nobody’s watching.

NEWSFLASH: Girls like sports, y’all! But they’re still girls! And what do girls like more than high heels, amirite?! So, what women must REALLY want is an opportunity to show off their sports loyalties in a pair of suede pumps bearing their team’s logo. This is where HerStar comes in. Their tag line is “HOW CHICKS DO SPORTS.” But, hey, listen:

“Due to demand, these shoes are currently available by Pre-Order ONLY. You should expect to wait a minimum of 8 weeks. On occasion this time can me shorter or longer. We have no control over these time frames as they are set by the manufacturer. Once you complete payment you cannot be refunded, your payment goes directly to the manufacturer to fund production. PLEASE only purchase if you are prepared to wait for this seasons hottest sports item. We want only to satisfy our customers.”

I’m trying to make it to SABR42; if I can swing it and they’ve been kickstarted manufactured by then, I’m definitely going to buy a different pair of these for each day of attendance.

As the Professional Marketing Professional knows, there’s no better way to appeal to the younger generation — the Pepsi Generation — than by replacing the plural-signifying “s” with a “z” and by adding the italicized and exclaimed phrase “with attitude!” to an otherwise unassuming noun. Another focus-grouped tool is making domesticated animals into hilarious rappers. This latter step to success at the office, at the gym and in the bedroom is not lost on the Tampa Bay Rays, who have hereby put the “wild” and the “card” into “wild card.” Please ready an awkward fist-bump for DJ Kitty:

Much like the Fresh Prince rose from the remorseless urban crucible to remind us that parents, in point of fact, just don’t understand, DJ Kitty is here to remind us that nobody works the dub like a cat from Florida. And like most mascots, he is also here to remind us that the least you can do is be nude below the waist.