Those of you who follow the news of baseball regularly – and I expect that to be most of you, fair readers – might have been made aware of something that Yunel Escobar did the other day, and the subsequent fallout. I will not use these pages to convey my feelings, as I feel nearly every baseball writer and consequent Internet commenter – my God, the commenters – have put in their two one-hundredths of a dollar.
I will, however, bestow upon you some additional knowledge of the situation learned by the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigative Team. As it happens, Mr. Escobar’s suspension will not be the only penance he must pay. Nay, he will also be required to wear an apology on the same eye black that cause such a ruckus.
This humble author offers a few opinions:
1. Hit ‘em where it hurts, by pointing out he is really not that good of a baseball player.
The NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team — ever purveyors of obscure, tenuous, and breaking news — has discovered that twenty-one-year-old phenom Mike Trout is considering leaving his team (whose playoff chances now stand at just 22.8%) in favor of pursuing a career in comedic performance art. The Investigation Team discovered the below flier, which was tacked to the community bulletin board of an independent bookstore in Milwaukee, Wisconsin over the weekend.
“…one the American masters of the art of talking onstage.”
I first met Ace, the Toronto Blue Jays’ beloved mascot, in April, at The Only, a pub on the Danforth in Toronto’s east end, after a Wednesday night game against Tampa Bay, a 12-2 Devil Rays victory. He was wasted when I found him, seated alone at the bar; I’ll never forget it. After I introduced myself as a Blue Jays supporter who’d had a few pints of fine Canadian beer and wanted to say hello, Ace didn’t even look at me. Staring straight ahead, he took another shot of Jameson, and said:
Jesus Christ. I figured nobody would recognize me out here, out fuckin’ east. Can’t a man have a goddamned drink in peace?
It was funny because he was wearing his mascot outfit. He was Ace. He was dressed as a giant blue bird. And, I soon figured out, he needed someone to talk to. We drank until the early morning. That night, a tortured Ace let go of all that was weighing heavily on his feathered shoulders. Off the record, of course. Until now.
I kept in touch with Ace over the course of the season, and today, finally, he’s ready to to share his story. Representing NotGraphs’ award-winning Investigative Reporting Investigation Team, below is my conversation with Ace, who is so much more than a mascot.
Navin: Thanks for doing this, Ace. You know I think you’re very brave.
Ace: Thanks for having me, Nav. You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?
The reader will likely know that Kevin Youkilis was recently placed on — and has, even more recently, returned from — paternity leave by the Chicago White Sox. What our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team has learned in the meantime, however, is that Youkilis’ absence was not designed to facilitate his presence at the birth of his first human child. Rather, it allowed him time to sire, bear, and deliver the mustache (pictured above) favored by constables of all seven continents and probably space, too.
MLB rosters expanded to 40 spots back on September 1. Following suit today, Mr. Yankee Derek Jeter expanded the roster of those who are eligible to receive a Derek Jeter Gift Basket™.
The future Hall of Famer said the idea came to him in a cold sweat, in the middle of the night on Saturday — a rare night that he spent alone.
“It sorta reminded me of that movie — what’s that movie? Jerry Magruber? With Charlie Sheen and Calista Frockert? You know how the guy wakes up and writes something down that ends up changing his life? Well, I didn’t write anything down, but otherwise it was sorta like that.”
That play, Manny Machado to Mark Reynolds, Monday afternoon in Toronto, was one of the many manifestations of Orioles Magic. I saw it. I felt it. Our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team confirmed it: “Yep, that’s what Orioles Magic looks like,” they reported. Something — someone — kept Reynolds’ toe on the bag.
It’s obvious, especially after Mississippi Matt Smith’s excellent post, I Cannot Use This Website to Explain the Baltimore Orioles, that there’s a higher power at work here. Something greater than all of us. Something we’ll never understand. Jesus, probably. And now that I’ve thought about it, He’s leading us — all of us — to a greater common good, to something that brings all of us together, united in baseball: a potential defeat of the New York Yankees. (Except if it’s the Red Sox who beat them. Then we all lose. Well, except Boston. You see my point.)
It’s not that I’m rooting for the Orioles. I’m too shocked, jealous, and bitter about their random success to root for them. But if the Blue Jays can’t win, I’d rather the Yankees didn’t. That’s just the way I live my life. So the Orioles have become a means to an end.
My point is: That was a fantastic play by Machado and Reynolds. Believe.
In a series of posts yesterday, somelonger than others, Davids Appleman and Cameron introduced new stats, exclusive to FanGraphs, that help us to evaluate pitcher success. The discerning baseball fan will find these indispensable going forward — or at least they will find them to be an excuse to sit at a computer, staring at custom leaderboards for dozens of additional hours while their social lives and muscles atrophy.
Indeed, FanGraphs has become known for its insightful analysis and groundbreaking statistical endeavors. NotGraphs, on the other hand, if it has become known, has become known for…not those things.
Keeping up with the Davids.
But that is not to say that we NotGraphers are oblivious to the standards of excellence established by our parent site. That is why, in hasty, scrambling reaction to these exciting developments at FanGraphs, we at NotGraphs are announcing several new “stats” of our own, and even several new Investigative Reporting Investigation Teams. What follows are names and brief descriptions of said, on which we have no intention of following up.
So, that happened Friday night, in beautiful San Francisco. AT&T Park, man. One of the best.
I’ve always assumed that it would be easier to support a mediocre baseball team if the stadium in which it played wasn’t a soulless slab of mostly concrete. Not that the Giants are mediocre — not at all. But I imagine 2005 through 2008 were more bearable for Giants fans because of AT&T Park.
It may be hard to imagine, fair readers, but baseballers didn’t always live the luxurious lives they do now. Before the contract boom of the later 20th century, members of local nines made a fairly modest living, all things considered. Many don’t know this, but before Lou Gehrig came to prominence, his weekly pay consisted of $11, a handshake, and a coupon to a house of ill repute in Sacramento. John Thorn told me that story.
Many players of yesteryear actually held other jobs in the offseason to supplement their meager earnings. Many did manual labor in shipyards and warehouses, while others would travel north for lumberjacking jobs. Some players would try to cash in, if you will, on the fame attached to their names by opening their own businesses. While this plan was not flawed in concept – people have been capitalizing on their 15 minutes of fame for a very long time (see: Christ, Jesus) – the execution and/or business plans of some of these establishments left quite a bit to be desired. Behold:
Dusty Baker, the manager of the currently-first-place Cincinnati Reds, came from a long line of bakers, hence the name. His pastry lineage goes back to the 1700s, and his parents expected him to continue the family business when he came of age. But Dusty had a penchant for baseball, and showed some skill at the sport, so he defied his family’s wishes and signed with the Atlanta Braves. Years later, he tried to appease his father, now on his deathbed, by starting his own bakery. He hoped this gesture would make amends, and repair the relationship broken for so many years.
But there were hundreds of bakeries in Los Angeles, and so Dusty tried to make his stand out by incorporating his name into the theme of the business. It did not work. Customers complained of the air quality, and the atmosphere made all the goods sold taste like a fireplace or construction site, depending on the day. The bakery shuttered a mere two months after its opening. The day after it closed, Baker’s father died of scurvy.
Whitey Ford’s Whitey Ford Dealership (est. 1955, closed 1960)
Whitey Ford was an All-Star pitcher for the New York Yankees. This did not, however, provide him with the luxuries he thought he deserved. Hoping to benefit from America’s new love affair with the automobile, he and his business manager “Racist” Pete Henderson opened a sprawling dealership in Stony Point, NY. Though the clientele was limited by choice, Ford’s dealership did well initially, becoming the best-selling dealership in the county after its first year. They sold a record number of Fairlanes after running ads in the local paper stating “The Ford Fairlane: A Superior Car for the Superior Race.”
Ford’s dealership closed shortly after the 1960 World Series, when the Yankees lost the series to the Pittsburgh Pirates in dramatic fashion. Fans, upset that Ford was unable to relieve in Game 7, blamed Ford for the series loss, because Yankees fans have always been the worst, apparently. The costs to remove graffiti and repair the constant damage inflicted upon his business became too great, and he sold his assets off in November.
Giants pitcher and celebrated fop Woody Abernathy knew he didn’t quite have the stuff to last in the Majors, so he moved quickly to establish his clothier featuring garments made exclusively from wood.
Though he found a modicum of success with a line of underpants made from birch bark, Abernathy ran through his life savings quickly, and struggled to stay afloat. Despite the fact that he was in a great deal of debt, he was lucky enough to be current on his insurance payments, as his shop mysteriously (and quite easily) burned to the ground in 1947. Three casualties were reported as result of the blaze.
Ugly Dickshot’s Ugly Dick Shots (est. ?, closed ?)
No image found since I refuse to do a Google Image Search for Ugly Dick Shot
Johnny “Ugly” Dickshot hardly made any money as a player, but was given coins as charity by people who simply felt sorry for him. He saved his nickels and he saved his dimes, and eventually opened Ugly Dickshot’s Ugly Dick Shots. Little is known about this establishment, including what it actually did. This author provides the three following possibilities:
It was a portrait studio selling photos of ugly people named Dick.
It was a place where one could, if one were so inclined, get kicked in the crotch for a small fee.
It was a film studio, specializing in capturing footage of grotesque male genitalia.
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Though large contracts and sponsorships have curtailed named-based businesses amongst current baseball players, there are still opportunities to be had. Possible endeavors include Andre Ethier’s House of Ether, Hunter Pence’s Fences, and Mikes Trout and Carp’s Mike’s Trout and Carp.
