If there’s one thing a man wants, it’s to be immortalized in the very permanent medium that is Twitter.
That thing is what’s happening right now to Tampa Bay Ray, New Hampshire native, and Member of the Tribe Sam Fuld.
After the jump, you can find some prime examples of Sam Fuld-related panegyric. Feel free to embrace all the magic by clicking here.
I know, I know. I too am skeptical of 11-minute YouTube videos. Such a span falls inconveniently between the 30-second yuks that MTV and Judge Learned Hand have told us we crave and the more sprawling run times necessary to enjoy hot popped maize and a tumbler of Jameson. But I urge you — with the primal, red-faced desperation that I normally reserve for trying to get retailers to honor manufacturer and store coupons — to watch this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iIe9FkZv4Uw&feature=related
Much like a color television with wheels, this is a thing that is not new but is new to me. So if you’ve already seen it, then I look forward to your telling me so in the comments section.
I have some observations about what we have just fathomed. As much as I would like to, I’ll not ape Eno Sarris and number my thoughts. Rather, I shall use bullet points, which, according to a recent internal memorandum, are preferred by the gentleman with a bright future in sales. Also, I do not have 10 things to say. Forthwith …
I imagine this is not unlike the Dodger Stadium mound of the 1960s. This is also not unlike what happens when Jon Rauch faces Dustin Pedroia. Barry Bonds is occasionally very serious about making this happen. In this situation, I would opt for protective headgear — most probably the “Great Gazoo” helmet favored by Francisco Cervelli. Alternatively, I would not agree to do this. Respect to Trampo-Pitcher for ceding the platoon advantage in each plate appearance. And Bernie Williams and his awesome Cardinal Richelieu beard agree with me about the helmet. My inner coward, for which validation is nourishment, is validated. Perhaps the guy with the most discerning batting eye in the annals of time was not the best choice for this necessary experiment? From the darkened clubhouse tunnel, Vlad Guerrero watches on in envy, longing. That’s clearly a balk at the 7:41 mark. Fortunately for the moundsman, he is a stranger to baserunners. And could this end any other way? Ichiro is invoked, and said invocations lead to a righteous humbling of the big cheater and his jumping machine.
A lingering embrace — one that goes on an instant too long — for NotGraphs reader John Murn, who passed this along in exchange for nothing more than the currency of glory.
In case you were under a rock last October and missed the San Francisco Giants’ infuriating magical run to become World Series champions, the Giants reminded everybody who the World Champions are and will be until at least next October. These gold-lettered jerseys (and gold-logo bearing caps) are pure swagger, the kind of swagger only a champion could pull off.
As cool as these jerseys are (And seriously, every champion team in every sport should do something like this. Screw patches. You won the World F*cking Championship. Go crazy, show it off.), they have nothing on the pure testicular fortitude shown by three teams from the initial third of the 20th century. The 1906 New York Giants, 1921 Cleveland Indians, and 1927 St. Louis Cardinals all wore uniforms with some form of “World Champions” emblazoned across the chest in lieu of the names of their cities or teams. And they didn’t just do it for one day like the 2011 Giants. They did it for the whole season. Just imagine the balls it would take to wear this jersey on a daily basis, and at every road park too.
Now that’s swagger.
Now that hat could start a rally.
You’re seeing that correctly – the Altoona Curve have developed a reversible cap that actually looks like something when worn inside out in “rally cap” fashion. This is a brilliant marketing decision by the curve and something that perfectly fits into the rather zany world of minor league baseball (seriously, there’s a team called the Diamond Jaxx).
However, I think there’s something deeper here. No doubt, any time the Curve are down in the 9th inning, they’ll surely bust out the rally side of their caps. Now, what if this rally cap actually produces rallies? This is clearly a situation to be watched as the minor league season continues, and if it works – if the Curve are extraordinarily successful in late-game clutch situations – we may see the rise of the Rally Cap as the new market inefficiency.
(Tip of the hat to Duk at Big League Stew, who plays the part of the Fashion Ump. Dare I say he may be the Joe West of Fashion Umpires? Yes, I dare!)
While tenured academics tell us we’re no longer in a recession, it remains, to a man, hard out there for a pimp. So it is uplifting to learn of a man like D-backs bullpen catcher Jeff Motuzas, whose enterprising spirit would’ve allowed him to thrive in the gravest of economic conditions. Remember when, as history teaches, a dust bowl descended upon Germany not long after the Treaty of Versailles kicked in and Okie Deutschlanders were reduced to paying for things with coal, serpent plasma and palpable regret? Jeff Motuzas would’ve been fine, thank you. Why is that? Because eating the reputedly inedible and letting Livan Hernandez konk you in the pills for cash makes for a downturn-proof income:
A recitation of Motuzas’s money-making exploits should come with a disclaimer: Kids, don’t try this at home. He has snorted wasabi and eaten horseradish by the bowlful. He has devoured a dozen donuts and guzzled 13 bottles of water. And this is the PG-rated version. “Tooz will eat anything except poop, urine and vomit,” Diamondbacks reliever Sam Demel said. “No, wait—I’m sorry. He will eat vomit.”
Demel cited the memorable day when a former teammate regurgitated some yogurt and slathered it on a potato chip for Motuzas. Demel also said he once saw Motuzas ingest a concoction of chewing tobacco dip spit and 3-day-old chili.
Pitcher Livan Hernandez became something of a sadistic benefactor when he arrived in Arizona in 2006. Motuzas said Hernandez once paid him $3,000 to drink a gallon of milk in 12 minutes. The two also hammered out a deal that permitted Hernandez to punch Motuzas in the groin for $50 a pop whenever he felt the urge. Motuzas would receive a $300 bonus after every 10th punch.
Motuzas, 39, freely volunteers his feats. How about the day he dry-shaved his armpits and left a thick coating of medicinal hot balm on them for an entire game? (“It burned so bad.”) Or ate 11 bananas in four minutes? (“That’s easy stuff.”) Or the time he let pitcher Dan Haren fire at him from close-range with a BB gun? (“He’d shoot me right in the earlobe.”)
Checking account reaching unimagined depths? Jeff Damn Motuzas would say you’re just not trying. Which you clearly aren’t.
While the Texas Rangers have developed into an enviable and successful organization, one problem remains: the hellscape that is Arlington in August. This is also a problem in other baseball locales, but, for instance, the Diamondbacks parry the crippling heat with a magic roof, and in Miami no one goes to games. So that leaves Texas with their suffering, heat-stroked masses.
On this front, the innovations underway in Qatar can be instructive. Qatar, of course, will host the 2022 World Cup, and Qataris have concerns of their own when it comes to hot-ass weather. Their solution? I’m surprised I even need to say this, but their solution is awesome, awesome, awesome robot clouds.
The linked article depressingly refers to these wondrous things as “blimps,” but — let’s be serious here — these are clearly wizard robot clouds that, in keeping with their magical nature, will not only blot out the sun but also protect us from the winged silverback gorillas that secretly roam our skies with the most sinister of intentions.
So your move, Nolan Ryan and company. Do you want your fans to continue boiling alive by the thousands in your dutch oven of a ballpark? Then do nothing. Do you not want your fans to continue boiling alive by the thousands in your dutch oven of a ballpark? Then make with the robot clouds.
No doubt, you’ve thumbed through Da Vinci’s notebooks and seen crude sketches of this:
That’s the Bottom’s Up beer dispenser, and, much like felt renderings of poker-playing dogs and season one of “Temptation Island,” it’s another of Da Vinci’s dreams for civilization that has been triumphantly realized. This innovation, obviously, will help beer vendors move product, and, much more importantly, it will also bring domestic swill to parched American lips that much faster. So it comes with little surprise that the Red Sox are early adopters of Jesus’s favorite thing ever.
As any good binge drinker knows, it’s the destination, not the journey, and the Bottom’s Up will help get you there faster than something that’s extraordinarily fast plus a tailwind. Until next summer’s release of the Bud Light Lime IV Bag, this will have to do.
That’s Oddibe McDowell! This is one of Oddibe McDowell’s recent water bills! Please enjoy, and I hope you didn’t have any pressing obligations for the rest of the afternoon!
That’s musician Glenn Donnellan of the National Symphony Orchestra. Sometimes, he wears black, three-button suits paired with a patterned tie. More relevant to this space, he also sometimes plays a violin made out of a baseball bat.
This is an enchanting video of his playing Eddie Van Halen’s “Eruption” on said violin made out of a baseball bat. It is very beautiful to me. If the National Symphony Orchestra did stuff like that on a regular basis, then I might consider supporting the arts rather than using an acetylene torch to incinerate any cash that comes my way.
So does this post not have a strong enough baseball connection for you? Fine. Consider that if you swapped out the “Glenn” in “Glenn Donnellan” for something like “Magnus” or “Declan,” then it would sound like someone who played alongside John McGraw and once killed a railcar porter while drunk on Dr. Tichenor’s.
It goes without saying that the lifeblood of any capitalist enterprise is the ability of said enterprise’s brain trust to market their product effectively and creatively. This is known in some circles as “finding synergy” and in others as “relentless douchebaggery.” Whatever you call it, FanGraphs is all in!
It’s with this in mind that Dark Overlord David Appelman has revealed to me just this morning a cross-promotional project that’s sure to raise the profile of the FanGraphs brand.
“What’s the project?” you’re obviously asking, breath hella bated.
The answer: FanGraphs: The Movie.
