Archive for Actual Thing

The type-written sentiment to follow, which was found taped above Doug DeCinces’s locker during the 1979 World Series, is as 1970s as catching the clap during an urban riot …

There are things the modern gentleman can still say, such as “Please” and “Thank you” and “When in Tangiers, one does what one must.” One cannot, however, utter — in such a precise sequence — the words taped above Doug DeCinces’s locker during the 1979 World Series. But forgive the year 1979 and its discontents; for the music was too loud, the coke and ass too beguiling.

But let us not leave on such a note. Along comes a gentleman — quite possibly Al Bumbry — to redeem team, clubhouse and year of our Lord …

A rogue chooses hat and outwear the color of gold bullion. A gentleman chooses hat and outerwear the color of gold bullion frightened by the possibilities.

I hope you’ve learned something, Inexpedient Decisions of 1979.

(Source material: The YouTube)

Doubtless, you have heard about Ambrosial Danny Heep Nachos, the delicious, piping-hot bowl of tri-cornered chips and fresh flesh named after former Astros, Mets, Dodgers, Red Sox and Braves outfielder Danny Heep? Surely you have heard tell and caught whiff.

Scrumptious is what they are. Yet they are not scrumptious because they were lovingly prepared by retired outfielder Danny Heep. Lo and no, they are scrumptious because when one consumes an inviting heap (Laughing Out Loud) of Ambrosial Danny Heep Nachos, one necessarily eats many tiny Danny Heeps. Bear whetted witness …

Do the living morsels of Danny Heep tartare wish to die gruesomely in the service of your maw-stuffing pleasure? No, they do not. They must console themselves with the promise of contributing to your mounting angina pains. Being as they are quite tiny, though, they have little say in the matter. So consume without ceasing. We can always breed more tiny Danny Heeps.

Please do enjoy your Ambrosial Danny Heep Nachos in commemorative Franklin Mint Rock and or Roll serving crock.

It’s not over yet.

Sure, Sandy’s waves aren’t beating down the New Jersey shoreline currently, and the flood waters have mostly receded, but super-storm Sandy’s impact is still being felt. My friends in Jersey City — who live a block from an evacuation zone — just got power back. Today. Cable, and normalcy, to follow. There’s still a shortage of hospitals in lower Manhattan. Long Island is not fully powered. Hoboken still has muck to clear. Families still mourn their lost ones and their losses.

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This was going to be a hyuckster piece full of jokes — what’s in there, the taste of despair with a tinge of of tears, and how’d they crystallize the taste of hubris so well for Yankee cola — but it all pales when put next to this fine piece of advertisement. It’s worth clicking the link even if you don’t speak Japanese, just to see the interactivity and bizarreness in its full splendor. We’ve just spent a couple months hearing about American exceptionalism but have you ever seen an ad here in the states that so well combined the elements of fear, play, sex, sadness and joy?

A scream in the ear of Patrick Newman for sending this my way.

Having no personal attachment to the Atlanta Braves or the St. Louis Cardinals, I watched the bottom of the eighth inning of the Wild Card Game with mingled amusement and helplessness. As the furor grew and people displayed their frustration through ballistics, the announcers grew increasingly disdainful, warning about forfeits and then simply shaming the fans for their behavior.

For those wounded Braves fans, I have nothing to offer except a shrug of the shoulders, a note about the fickle cruelty of life, and this related but comfortless tale about a meaningless baseball game from long ago. I hope it evokes some brief flicker of merriment.

It was the summer of 2003. I was, at that time, living in the tiny municipality of Busan, South Korea, teaching small children to say the word “fish” and having painful barstool conversations with drunken expatriates. One July afternoon, my friend and I thought it would be pleasant to watch the hometown Lotte Giants face off against the Hyundai Unicorns.

It was a contest between the two worst teams in the league, played on a charmless, unending summer afternoon. The crowds filtered through the rusted turnstiles like zombies, circling the concrete skeleton that was the Sajik Baseball Stadium. These days, Lotte boasts the most popular team in the KBO, setting attendance records. But in 2003, the Giants were on their way to the worst record in the league for the third straight season, and it showed:

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Jeff Karstens knows many things. He knows how to throw a fastball. He knows how to operate a door to a hotel room. And Jeff Karstens certainly knows how to conquer women. His sexual exploits are things of yet-to-be-discovered lore. When it comes to the realm of the opposite sex, and the subsequent mounting there-of, Jeff Karstens prefers quantity to quality. You don’t stare at the hearth when you’re poking at the fire, you know?

Now, you too can possess the same prowess once only known to Jeff Karstens. Introducing DERP: A new fragrance for men. (The next section requires, nay, DEMANDS, that you read the italicized words with an internal whisper.)

A fragrance by and for known gallivanters and fornicators.

DERP.

Also works well as a hair tonic.

DERP.

Featuring the essence of animals unknown to our civilization.

DERP.

Can be used to unclog pipes and as emergency lawn mower fuel.

DERP.

May cause internal bleeding.

DERP.

Do not use near open flame or mammals.

DERP.

Creating a scent that is somehow audible.

DERP.

Ladies will come running, though they may not stop when they reach you.

DERP.

DERP is can be found at all major truck stops across greater western Pennsylvania, and wherever fine taxidermy is sold.

Speedo edition.

Com’on Josh Hamilton. Too much caffeine from energy drinks caused your blurry vision that kept you out of 5 games last week. While you were gone, your team went 3-2 and let Oakland stay within reach of the division title.

To heck with the Rangers, how about my fantasy baseball team? Don’t you know owners are battling it out in H2H finals right now. I missed you for five freaking games. My team was already thin in the outfield with Nick Markakis, Michael Cuddyer and Jose Bautista all out. I had to play John Mayberry in your place. It is not like I am going to just pick up a respectable outfielder on the waiver wire in a 20 team league. How did my replacement do in the 5 games you were nursing your dried out corneas? He went 4-19 with one freaking run scored.

What did I lose HR by?
4 to 5.

RBIs?
28 to 31.

Runs?
22 to 24

Just a decent game or two from you and I could of won. And because why? Because you needed to get Amped up to be a Rockstar or Monster during a game. Don’t you know nerds across this country are counting on you so they can belittle their nerds friends for a year. Get it together. Next time you need a fourth 32 oz Monster Heavy Metal, maybe you should go with a soothing cup of herbal tea.

Once the leaders of the 2012 National League Central, the Pirates are in the midst of a second-half collapse such that they may not even finish the year at .500. What a surprise. But winning the division, according to an alleged email sent out by assistant General Manager Kyle Stark, would only have been a lesser prize. The alleged email says that “the biggest impact we can have in the second half is developing more Hells Angels.” This all came out as part of a report on the Pirates September Instructional League training which apparently included many elements from “intense Navy SEALs drills.” In part of these drills, players were supposedly required to engage in hand-to-hand combat, during which pitching prospect Jameson Taillon received a (minor) knee injury. Sounds like a bad movie I once saw…

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I can’t tell if this is FanGraphs or NotGraphs or even RotoGraphs material, so I’ll just say safe and put it here. My formula for expected RBI, supposedly a pretty simple stat:

xRBI = position-regressed indexed clutch score * league-indexed contact rate * position-indexed isolated power * health-adjusted and lineup-slot-indexed plate appearances * expected team OBP * projected raw plate appearances

I’m pretty sure I got something wrong.