David Wright offers both products and services.

To the saberist’s eye, Alden Gonzalez’s claim (at the Mets official site) that “David Wright offers the Mets more than mere statistics” might sound like the sort of anecdotal analysis to which baseball fans are routinely subject.

However, after some serious investigative reporting, our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team has learned today that the third baseman actually really does provide more than baseball production.

Here are some of the services we’ve verified that Wright offers:

• A thorough visual inspection.

• An expansive network.

• An integrated approach to meet your individual needs.

• Counseling and/or assistance in creating a plan.

• Customized, sophisticated analytics that help clients gain hindsight, insight, and foresight.

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I’m never one to enjoy others laughing behind my back, so when troublemaker Dayn Perry put forth a spurious Pauly Shore quote recently, I determined to find the actual source of the quote. Why? Well, when Carson Cistulli found out I didn’t know Vin Scully’s name, he mocked me publicly for weeks and garnished my wages.

I figured the quote was not indeed that of Pauly Shore, but it seemed old-timey enough to be real and possibly important, so I — as every good investigator does in Step 1 — opened a Google and searched:

“I once thought this game of base ball to be something paltry — a trifling, a merest emanation. Yet, lo, across my years I have learned that the end of the base-ball season is as redolent of death, of foreordained annihilation, as the vicar’s withered corpse.”

Which led me to happen upon this:

It doesn’t take a word wizard to see I had stumbled onto something both very poetic and very frightening.

Obviously I didn’t click on the page — my computer has enough angry, Russian viruses as it is — but I think we can all agree I had seen enough. Slicing in a few words and non-sequiters here and there, and BOOM! we’ve a James Joyce poem:

e-at-- --gry
… ball field ball game
         ball of fire
                  ball over

ball up ball valve ball-park
         where daddy took me tuesdays
… base base 64 base metal base-court
         baseball baseball bat baseball player
                  sign the ball! sign the ball!

…… dead dead beat
         dead code dead end
                  dead ground dead hand
dead head dead horse ……
daddy’s gone, season’s gone
…… dead dead beat
         dead code dead end

year leaped
         leaper leapfrog
lost time with the goldmine
                  leaping leapt lear learn learnable
learned …

daddy never left
         he was here at the
… ball field ball game
         ball of fire
                  bawl over

NOTE TO THE READER: My father is fine and well and is neither dead nor haunting a ballpark.

Smooth like milk.

Maybe you’re wondering about Melky Cabrera even though his trade to the Giants has been thoroughly dissected. But, you’re wondering about, well, you’re wondering about his name. You know about his game. Where did he get that name? What does it mean.

Here are ten random (and slightly randy) thoughts about his name:

1) Melky is short for Melquiades.
2) The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada is a pretty good movie.
3) Melquiades means “Rey por la gracia de Dios.”
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Recently, after a raucous night of country music and beers, Joe West looked at us, the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team, and wistfully said, “I hate what’s become of the Dodgers.”

Us too, Cowboy Joe. Us too.

It took a while, longer than any of us expected, but Joe West always gets his man.

Frank McCourt: You’re finally, mercifully, thankfully … outta here!

Original image courtesy of Zimbio.

Chris Carpenter, who cusses at everyone all the time more than you’ve cussed at anyone anytime, was at it again last night. His most recent victim? Besides pearl-clutching lip readers everywhere, it seemed that People’s Champion Mike Napoli was the target of Mr. Carpenter’s maledictions. At this point, we must roll tape …

But first, an urgent word of caution: This going to be loud, and this is going to be dirty. So unless you have a pair of Gentleman’s Headphones at the ready or unless your place of work is dedicated to accommodating the whims of the Internetting Gentleman, you should hold off. Again: Loud. Dirty. Forthwith:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T9Dnj-5KGe4&feature=colike

Well, Mr. Carpenter, I never!

This has not been the work of the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team, but it totally should’ve been.

A very lucky person’s backyard.

Men’s Health magazine went and ranked the luckiest cities in America earlier this month. Spoiler Alert — San Diego won, joining Baltimore as the only two cities in America with A+ luck. They defined luck as:

the most winners of Powerball, Mega Millions, and Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes; most hole-in-ones (PGA); fewest lightning strikes (including the fatal kind) and deaths from falling objects (Vaisala Inc., National Climatic Data Center, CDC); and least money lost on lottery tickets and race betting (Bureau of Labor Statistics).

Really, now we know that people in San Diego are rich enough to ignore lotteries, play a lot of golf, and stay indoors during the rare thurnderstorm. Is it really luck if San Diego is where people go after they win lottery?

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According to ESPN, the Mets are set to announce “substantial” changes to Citi Field to make it friendlier to hitters. The article says that there will be a new (shorter) left field wall, and the fence in right-center field will be moved 250 feet closer to home plate. Oh, sorry, 25 feet. I misread that.

Other changes not mentioned in the piece:

• A sinkhole near the visiting team’s on-deck circle. You mean you didn’t see it? And now Albert Pujols is missing? Oops. Read the rest of this entry »

Even the kids, i.e., seven-year-old Victor Jose Martinez, who’s got it down pat, what with the bubbly, the peace sign, and the goggles. Hell, he’s already even built like a baseball player.

Our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team was in the Bronx late last night, obviously, and inside the visitors’ clubhouse when the Tigers got down to the business of celebrating their game five victory. NotGraphs spoke to Victor Jose during the festivities. He wasn’t drunk, but he was, in his words, “loving life.”

NotG: Give me your car keys.

Victor Jose Martinez: Naw, naw, I’m good, man! Here, have some champagne! Woo!

*At this point, young Victor Jose gave us the old champagne shower.

NotG: Keys. Now.

VJM: Oh, for fuck’s sake, man. Here.

*Victor Jose fished out his keys from his back pocket, and handed them over. Then gave us champagne shower number two.

NotG: Tell me how you feel right now, young man.

VJM: Best day of my life. So far. I’m just so proud of these guys, each and every one of them. We played hard. We did it for Jimmy, man. Where is that bastard? I want a cigar! Woo!

*Champage shower number three.

NotG: Isn’t it past your bedtime?

VJM: You know, the Yankees, man, they played hard. They deserve a lot of credit. They were a formidable opponent. Much respect to New York.

NotG: No, seriously, what time do you go to bed on school nights?

*Victor Jose grabbed Victor Martinez, his dad, as he was walking by.

VJM: I love this guy! Pop Dukes!

*Victor Jose hugged his dad, and they shared a champagne shower, as only a father and son can do after they beat the New York Yankees in the postseason. It was bloody beautiful to watch.

NotG: Remember this in the morning, young fella: Gatorade, and two Tylenols, preferably extra strength.

VJM: Thanks, man! See you after the next round! Woo!

Image courtesy Reuters, via Daylife.

“Why the eff not?” says Mets owner Fred Wilpon, all the time, before doing anything.

At Mets Police on Tuesday, Shannon Shark asked the readership which statue they thought might be most appropriate — and most representative of the team’s history — to greet fans outside Citi Field.

Just today, the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team has learned that the Met front office has not only considered such a project, but has actually devised a list of five “finalists,” as it were, for the hypothetical statue.

The five approved concepts are as follows:

1. William Shea, his hand raised — as if to say, “My bad, New York.”

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We know that Carl Crawford loves antiquarian books. Does classic literature love Carl Crawford back?

The answer appears to be a resounding “Yes.” Regard:

Or perhaps you prefer a more modern printing:

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