That’s Indians catcher Carlos Santana pictured above. At first blush, you might think that Mr. Santana is looking a little forlorn and world-weary. However, that’s highly unlikely. That’s because, as the unimpeachable Wikipedia tells us …

Carlos Santana (born April 8, 1986) is a Dominican Republic professional baseball player, who is currently a catcher and first baseman with the Cleveland Indians of Major League Baseball’s American League. His best friend is Hayden Clarence.

It’s good to have friends. It’s even better to have best friends. And even better than that is when your besty is the inestimable Hayden Clarence. But who is Hayden Clarence?

The NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team answered the call and, as is their indolent wont, did just enough to meet the bare-minimum standards of contractually obligated duty before giving up and mumbling something about it being time for mid-morning tea and having problems with their magnifying glasses and not being able to stand the smell of computers. In other words, a Google Image search turned up nothing illuminating, and a review of the Wikipedia editing logs turned up nothing that made sense.

But the takeaway is that Carlos Santana and Hayden Clarence like to giggle at the same things, and isn’t that what it’s really all about?

Hosannas to NotGraphs reader Sean R., who took a break from his daily routine of sex/one-arm push-ups/physics problems/sex to pass along this bit of eureka.

Yogi Berra is looking at, or near, your soul.

In our most recent and third-ever NotGraphs Chat, reader and commenter TheGrandSlamwich asked which, among Yogi Berra’s various and sundry bon mots, was our (Dayn’s and my) favorite. This, like picking one’s favorite child, is simple. For me, it’s this, regarding a restaurant: “Nobody goes there anymore. It’s too crowded.” For Dayn, I forget. His opinions, being not mine, are of secondary importance to my life experience.

In a suspiciously timed — but no less authentic — turn of events, our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team has just today discovered five previously unpublished Yogiisms. As to whether they’re Authentic Berra — who himself quothed “I really didn’t say everything I said” — it’s hard to say. Either way, you’re sure to amuse your friends and numerous lovers with what follows.

Regard:

On His Health
I’m fine: the doctor looked in my head and didn’t find anything.

On Being Second-Guessed
No one can second-guess me. I guessed more times than that already.

On Golf
I played 18 holes, I just didn’t use’em all.

On Half-Way Crooks, Existence Of
There ain’t no such things as half-way crooks.*

On Growing Up Poor
I never lived on the street, but I could see it from my window.

*There’s reason to believe that Mobb Deep took this from Berra.

I feel for T.C. Bear. I really do. He’s lived a charmed life since he came into this world, back in the spring of 2000, when he became the mascot of the Minnesota Twins. Six division titles in 11 seasons. Sure, they’re American League Central titles, but T.C. Bear is young, and innocent; he doesn’t know any better. And, quite frankly, he needn’t be involved in baseball’s divisional politics. He’s just a bear, goddamnit.

T.C. Bear was a baby, a mere cub, the last time the Twins called the AL Central’s basement home. He’s too young to remember the tough times. And now, faced with adversity, the burden of two cities on his shoulders, T.C. Bear wants to throw in the towel. And who can blame him? The Twins are 17-35. They’ve allowed 90 more runs than they’ve scored. Jose Bautista is worth more WAR — 2.2 WAR, to be exact — than the entire Minnesota “offense.” Joe Mauer is weeks away from returning.

T.C. Bear was found this morning literally digging his own grave. Because he never imagined a world where the Twins, a third of the season complete, would be five and a half games behind the Kansas City Royals.

T.C. Bear needs us. He needs our help. More than ever before. Thankfully, the soul that operates the Minnesota Twins Twitter account found him this morning, before it was too late. I’ve spoken to NotGraphs’ intrepid Investigative Reporting Investigation Team, and they confirmed the details of what turned out to be a most harrowing morning.

After talking T.C. Bear out of the hole he was digging, Twins operatives were unable to get him to drop the shovel. Agitated, T.C. Bear began to swing said shovel around, threatening those around him, and then himself, while repeatedly yelling, “Pitch to contact, Francisco! Pitch to contact!” Finally, T.C. Bear asked to speak with Joe Mauer, and Joe Mauer only. Saint that he is, Mauer drove directly to the scene. They had a heart-to-heart, T.C. Bear and Mauer, and then took a walk together. When they returned, Mauer was holding the shovel, and T.C. Bear Mauer’s hand.

“Well played, Mauer,” indeed.

When asked by our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team reporter who was going to fill his grave, T.C. Bear paused, then said, “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” He’s just so damn cute sometimes.

It is with much pleasure that I’m able to report that T.C. Bear is currently resting comfortably at Target Field. He’s going to get through this. One T.C. Bear lost is one T.C. Bear too many.

H/T: My man, @mighty_flynn. Do visit his Tumblr blog: It’s a long season.

As the learned reader will already know, there exists in life two kinds of mystery: a mystery, and then a Mystery. The main difference between them, as anyone can see, is that the latter one has a capital-M.

It’s hard to say exactly upon which kind — a mystery or a Mystery — Phillies beat writer Ryan Lawrence stumbled yesterday, but that he did stumble upon one is as obvious as the nose above Steve Lake’s mustache.

For it was yesterday that Lawrence submitted the tweet you see skillfully embedded (and embiggen-able by clicking) at the top of this post. Nor, as the photographic evidence directly below these words indicates, was Lawrence lying even one bit.

Regard, from Bronson Arroyo’s Baseball Reference page:

In fact, Lawrence is entirely accurate: the words “Saturn Nuts” are written here, plain as day. The real question, however, is why those words appear there.

For that kind of information, I turned to the wild frontier of the internet. It was there that I learned, via the Sons of Sam Horn (SOSH) Wiki, that the sobriquet was assigned to Arroyo in a SOSH game thread by then-teammate Curt Schilling during the 2004 ALDS. Even more research brought me to the primary source.

Regard, Schilling’s own words, under the pseudonym of gehrig38 (a common handle for the former pitcher):

The reader can click on that image to embiggen both (a) the image itself and (b) the joie de vivre on all of Earth.

In the ninth inning of a tied game on Wednesday, the Royals had two runners picked off of first base. Now it seems that night’s lineup card gives a little insight to the cause of the blunders.

Glove slap: kcemigre

This very reputable psychologist contributed to our report.

In a piece from yesterday’s Times, John Branch documents — and, one might accurately say, mourns — the disappearance of great nicknames from American sport.

On one level, Branch’s point stands so far as baseball is concerned: relative to generations past, fewer current players today possess colorful sobriquets. There’s Kung Fu Panda, obviously — along with Big Papi and Pronk and some others — but the data show that a lower percentage of players have nicknames.

Branch, however, fails to make a distinction, it seems. For while, yes, there are fewer well-known baseballing nicknames, it’s come to the attention of our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team that, instead of disappearing, the art of nicknaming has merely gone underground. In fact, it appears as though the practice is as robust as ever.

“It makes sense,” said a totally credentialed psychologist who preferred to remain nameless, “that, as media more completely documents and pervades the lives of players, that they would develop mechanisms for fostering a team spirit. The secret nickname is one such device.”

With that, we present here — for the first time ever — some secret nicknames from around the majors. In most cases, there are no explanations for the names — although many of them are self-explanatory.

Regard:

Casey Blake: Business Time

Todd Coffey: Heath Bell*

Ryan Doumit: Pizza Butt

J.D. Drew: Jimmy Smiles

Adam Dunn: Sexual Chocolate**

Adam Jones: Quinoa Jones

Jason Kendall: Uncle Stinky

Carlos Marmol: Prison Shank Marmol

Mike Stanton: Leopard Pants

Ryan Theriot: Merde Hands

* This is a bit embarrassing, actually: when Nationals GM Mike Rizzo acquired Todd Coffey, he actually thought it was Heath Bell he was getting.

Tip of the double-flapped batting helmet to my old, and now totally famous, friend David Modigliani.

Born in a blowout.

ottoneu creator Niv Shah wasn’t always a Cleveland Indians fan. In part one of this two-part piece, we covered the beginning of that night when Niv called friend Chad Young (currently blogging about being a member of the FanGraphs Experts League) and said he had some tickets to the game that night between the Rays and Indians.

Though there might have been some resistance to the strange formatting, the die is cast. The format has been decided. Chad got Niv to the game, it turned into a blowout, and yet they stayed to appreciate the Jake. Now it’s time to bring this night to its thrilling conclusion!

Eno Sarris: Do you remember a moment when you were like, hey wait a minute, let’s sit down? A player at the bat, or some cheering or something?

Niv Shah: i honestly don’t think we did. i remember a point where we were like, wait a minute, we might come back here – i think it was fryman’s homer in the 7th… definitely a home run in the 7th that was like “Wait… we are not down that much”

yeah

david f*cking lamb too

Read the rest of this entry »

I missed Wednesday night’s festivities between the Toronto Blue Jays and Tampa Bay Rays. I was, believe it or not, playing hockey. I know: I am an actual, living, in-the-flesh Canadian stereotype.

Anyway, you can imagine my chagrin upon learning that I missed a Joe West ejection, two Chad Fairchild ejections, and all the drama that accompanied them. Life isn’t fair.

Thankfully, though, intrepid journalistic organizations — Reuters, for example — employ some of the finest sports photographers in the business, and they caught Joe West in action. It’s his form — his damn fine form — that I have become so enamored with.

Read the rest of this entry »

From today’s Cubs/Dodgers game in Chicago (where it’s 45 degrees out according to the ever-suspicious Weather Channel), we have Chad Billingsley running the bases in a jacket.

(Click to embiggen)

I feel like a bird-watcher who has stumbled upon a bald eagle in its natural home. Shh, don’t disturb it! And if you touch its nest, it’ll throw away the children.

(Hat tip: Mike Petriello of Mike Scioscia’s Tragic Illness and much much more.)

Today, thorough investigation of the Baseball-Reference website revealed a very shocking fact: namely, Jonny Gomes’s middle name.

Hold on, we need to zoom in here.

Just a little more…

Nope, you’re losing me.

Hey, there it is!

That’s right. Jonny Gomes’s middle name is “Johnson.” It’s hard to sum that up better than my friend Dan, who after hearing this news, declared “What a douche” of Gomes. And really, out of this guy, maybe we shouldn’t be too surprised: