Archive for Actual Thing

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.

I was and am a Topps brand evangelist. Sure, as a kid I had a sherpa’s load of Fleer and Donruss cards lying around, but something about the Topps family of products inspired in me a consumerist loyalty I would not experience again until my discovery of fine Corinthian leather.

Why is this the case? It’s probably hail-fellow-well-met Manny Sanguillen. How can you see this expression of uncorrupted joy at the world about us …

… And not emerge from the experience with a love for everything everywhere? You cannot, say I.

Anyhow, I recently began purchasing Topps cards anew for my male human child, who will one day — provided he agrees not to follow his father into the absurd, toad-like existence of the liberal-arts major — inherit the full complement of my palatial holdings. And now comes this, a Topps innovation like none other …

Sure, I don’t care a whit about the confluence of lowered expectations and bet-hedging known as a “wedding,” and I don’t care about the World’s Leading Preppies and their opulent rituals. But I do care about kings. Why? Because the very mention of such an ancient and now-mythical designation makes me think a unicorn or an elf might show up.

I won’t buy this — holy crap, I will not buy this — but knowing it’s out there makes me think of dragons. So thanks again, Topps. I very much look forward to once again giving you some U.S. currency in exchange for durable goods.

That beautiful mustachioed gentleman you see there is Mr. Josh Collmenter, circa July 2008. If Mr. Collmenter’s name sounds familiar, it’s either because (a) you read about his unique pitching delivery in these pages last November, (b) you read about his recent promotion two days ago at our buttoned-up parent site, or (c) it just sounds like a pretty normal American name. (Please note: those are the only three possible ways you’ve ever heard Josh Collmenter’s name. Don’t even start pretending like there’s some fourth way or something. That’s ridiculous.)

Being the sort of person who’s paid handsomely just to sit at home and amuse himself, I was watching this afternoon’s contest between Collmenter’s Diamondbacks and the Cardinals of St . Louis when broadcaster Matt Vasgersian made reference to a promotion in which Collmenter had played a major role while a minor-leaguer with the Sound Bend Silver Hawks — a promotion called Mustache Appreciation Night.

Let me repeat that in red Comic Sans just case you’re impaired in one way or another. What I said was:

Read the rest of this entry »

Commenter/muscled philosopher Dave, sensing my ignorance of post-mid 1980s baseball cards, observes that there’s another extant image of Mickey Hatcher and his hulksome fly-catcher. Please enjoy:

And on the back of this 1991 Upper Deck action snapshot, you’ll find that Mickey Hatcher puts out small fires with the vigor and efficiency of a man who puts out small fires with vigor and efficiency …

Still and yet, though …

I know. I know. It’s confusing. Just stay with me. What you see on your computer screen is known as a “Lubie.” Which, apparently, means this:

o MLB Lubies are a break-through line of plush combining clean, charming designs with the irresistible, playable shape of a ball.
o Lubies are insanely cute, adorable softball size, super soft material, for ages 0+ and pure simple fun.

And of course the litany of information doesn’t end there. MLB inquires; did you ALSO know?

* Lubies are pronounced “LUH-BEES”
* Lubies are rated for ages 0+
* Lubies are safety tested and lead free
* Lubies are made from all new material and filled with polyester fiber; surface clean only
* Lubies are roughly the size of a softball, measuring 5″ in diameter
* Lubies come with a little “Did You Know” fact
* Lubies can double as safe, soft and squeezable plush balls – fun for tossing

And of course, the least surprising thing to ever happen ever:

Country Of Origin : China

To be fair to MLB and Lubies and whoever else is responsible for whatever… that… is, the White Sox Lubie shown above is the most disturbingly depressed looking of the entire collection. Most of them look downright happy or even friendly. Which, now that I think of it, might actually be scarier. But nothing is scarier than the fact that this is an Actual Thing, the horror of which words can hardly describe.

Internet sources tell me — and anyone else who clicks on this link — that a robot, whose prevailing intentions for humankind have yet to be revealed, threw out the ceremonial first pitch at tonight’s Brewers-Phillies tilt. The gritty, which is also nitty:

The robot is the brainchild of Jordan Brindza and Jamie Gewirtz, two students who built the robot in their spare time. The Inquirer reported that in addition to a robotic arm, a “wrist”-like joint also helps flip the ball toward the plate. The framework is a Segway, meaning that the Philliebot can theoretically move – although it’s doubtful that the Philliebot can field its position.

My question, page viewers: Did anyone see the first pitch? Impressions? Pitch F/X data? Suspicions that the Pitch F/X robot is pumping up the numbers in a show of robo-tribalism?

Mostly, though: How many onlookers were slaughtered?

UPDATE: Savvy commenter John K. observes that today is, in point of fact, Tuesday and not Wednesday, when the Philliebot will unleash his awful and boundless powers. This strikes me as a reasonable observation.

Yeah, Brian Wilson’s two-seamer (featured below!) is impressive enough, and I can forgive his reluctance to brawl with randomly outraged A’s fans. What I shall not abide is if Mr. Wilson and his face-forest duck out on this:

The Second Annual $5000 Beard Team USA National Beard and Moustache Championships will take place on October 8, 2011 at the Clipper Magazine Stadium, in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

That’s right, Wilson: The Second Annual $5000 Beard Team USA National Beard and Moustache Championships. You know it’s serious because “Beard” is mentioned twice. You know it’s for the discriminating gentleman because “Moustache” is spelled with an “ou,” which is, of course, the preferred spelling of the hardy and right-wise.

Oh sure, it’s possible Mr. Wilson’s team will have something of the postseason-ish flavoring scheduled for October 8, but I see no reason he can’t take a cue from baseball legend Deion Sanders and be hustled by giant flying machine from one event to the other.

Wilson, your beard may be baseball’s best (at least now that Bo Diaz is no longer with us), but can it stack up with the likes of Devin Cara, who is pictured above and surely pleases the crumbled bones of Aaron Burr?

So, Wilson, is that a beard on your mug or a gathering of tiny, hairlike cowards? We’ll find out on October 8.

My shirt has an answer for you.

The further we get into this fantasy baseball thing, the more we’d like other people to know about it, right? And what better way to celebrate our nerd-dom than by wearing it proudly across our chest?

Thanks to FanSports, you can, indeed, emblazon your chest with a slogan relating to your love of the fantasy game. “Sleeper Alert” could refer to your own status within your league, or your pickup of Brent Morel in your 20-team dynasty league. Playing baseball “By the Numbers” is what we do.

If there’s anything that FanSports needs, it’s more products. To help them along, I’ve got some ideas of my own below.

“Tragic BABIP” – With a ball bouncing just beyond the reach of an outstretched glove.
“Sell High, Buy Low” – With a picture of Jeff Francoeur, smiling.
“Stars and Scrubs” – With a picture of Albert Pujols and Ryan Theriot
“Position Scarcity?” – With a picture of an infield missing a shortstop

Now, your turn. And! The best idea in the comments gets a free shirt from FanSports, just for fun.

It’s not just any baseball glove chair, either. “Joe,” according to Chicago’s Museum of Contemporary Art store, is:

… a full-scale leather chair inspired by the baseball glove of New York Yankees legend Joe DiMaggio.

You know, I’m not sure I ever really thought about it until this very moment, but Joe DiMaggio is a fantastic name. Joe DiMaggio. Perhaps the perfect baseball name. And now, while I’m thinking about DiMaggio, I can’t help but picture Jerry Seinfeld sitting at the coffee shop, saying, slowly, in awe, “The Yankee Clipper.” Helluva nickname, too. DiMaggio had it all.

But, the chair. The beautiful chair. More from the MCA Store:

Leather and foam, with the designers’ signatures etched into the heel of the baseball glove. 5.5″ tall x 10.5″ wide x 6″ deep. Made in Poland and packaged in a wooden Vitra Design Museum box.

For some reason, I’m intrigued by the fact that it’s made in Poland. I’m also a touch intrigued by the “Vitra Design Museum box” it comes in.

At $415, which is about $300 Canadian these days, thanks to the high-flying loonie (or is it the beleaguered greenback?), I find myself seriously consider purchasing “Joe.” Because baseball may never meet contemporary Italian design again.

Daps, as the kids say, to MightyFlynn, whose Tumblr blog brings wonderful things like “Joe” into my life.

If you’re the Rays marketing department — and, let’s be honest, there is a certain resemblance — then what are you to do about the approaching (and awkward and ill-timed) hoofbeats of Manny Ramirez Bobblehead Night? Like anyone else with nowhere left to turn, you send up the Fuld Signal:

That, brothers and sisters in arms, is a Super Sam Fuld Cape, and it will be presented to the first 10,000 fans age 14 and under who negotiate the turnstiles on May 29 to cheer on the Sons of Greg Vaughn.

There’s nothing particularly wrong with a Manny Ramirez Bobblehead, banal and outmoded though it may be. But it’s certainly no Super Sam Fuld Cape. I mean, a cape! Heroes wear capes! And so do oversexed barons! Capes!

And so the Legend of Sam Fuld grows and walks among us. My hope is that all of this soon leads the Franklin Mint to give us two things the people want and need: The Sam Fuld Numbered Commemorative Plate and The Sam Fuld Boer War Chess Set.

We love you, Sam Fuld. We love you so much.