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 …
Joe West would not have countenanced such tomfoolery, but Mickey Hatcher had a giant glove …
I don’t know much, but I know that Mickey Hatcher had a giant glove.
There are certain situations into which we’re thrust in this life that cause us to take stock of things, reassess our understanding of the world, and ask the big questions.
For example, the high-school senior, upon getting accepted to multiple universities, must wonder, “Do I follow my sweetheart to X, or forge my own way at Y?” Alternatively, while on a cross-country flight, one is sometimes forced to ask — at least once in his life — “Is it objectively worse to end my own life, or the life of this spoilt child?”
Without taking too many liberties, I believe we can safely conclude that reader Michael is currently experiencing one of these existential episodes.
For it’s in a recent email to Team NotGraphs’ Hot Hotline that Michael wrote the following, under the subject “Mustache for Your Consideration”:
Not sure if you’ve covered this one yet, but one MLB mustache that’s been bothering me is the one sported by new Seattle manager Eric Wedge. I’m a Cleveland fan, so know Wedge from his (mustache-free) days there, so it’s kind of compelling that he’s launched his career in Seattle with this rakish Stacy Keach-style number.
For reference, I’ve included below pictures of both the Cleveland-era Wedge and Stacy Keach. Good luck telling them apart!
If NotGraphs exists for one reason, it’s to propagate the spread of Joe West-related art throughout the country, world, and universe. But if NotGraphs exists for two reasons, the second of those is to celebrate what is Good about baseball and the internets.
Thank you, Grant Brisbee, for doing the thing you do.
If you’re reading this, you have undoubtedly heard about the cool new version of fantasy called ottoneu. According to ottoneu’s creator, Niv Shah, “[t]he name ‘ottoneu’ is derived from Otto Neu, a shortstop who played in one game in 1917 for the St. Louis Browns. In this game against the Yankees, he did not have a fielding chance or an at-bat.” Sounds reasonable, right? Catchy and obscurely baseball-ey? A likely story… too likely. But I was curious, so I dug deeper.
Does THIS look familiar, Mr. Shah?
GQ (née Gentleman’s Quarterly) has continued that Great American Journalistic Tradition of telling us what we already know.
In this case, there is neither harm nor foul, however, as the Thing We Already Know is that supporters of the Philadelphia Phillies are vile miscreants, as said fans have been named Worst by the aformentioned publication.
Over the years, Philadelphia fans have booed Santa Claus, their own star players, and most absurdly, the recipient of America’s very first hand transplant, whose crime was dribbling in a ceremonial first pitch—thrown with his freshly transplanted hand. Boooo! Admittedly, there are some things fans have cheered. Like Michael Irvin’s career-ending neck injury and a fan being tased on the outfield grass. Things reached their nadir last season, when Citizens Bank Park played host to arguably the most heinous incident in the history of sports: A drunken fan intentionally vomited on an 11-year-old girl.
Some nominal research suggests that, so far as nadirs go, intentionally vomiting on a child is one of the nadir-est.
H/T: Mets Blog
