Our ongoing quest, in the manner of the noble knight-errant, is to assign players to cool nicknames rather than indulge in the tired, shopworn paradigm of assigning nicknames to cool players.

First, though, a brief jaunt through our Nickname Seeks Player Vaulted Halls of Honor:

“Bad Miracle” – Wily Mo Peña
“Captain Black Tobacco” – John Danks
“$45 Couch” – Yuniesky Betancourt
“Liván Hernández” – Liván Hernández

The nickname up for grabs in this episode? It’s “Frog in the Pot”!

“Frog in the Pot” comes to us by way of the most excellent Don Malcolm, who coined it, in passing, over in this BBTF thread. Frog in the damn pot!

Denotations, Connotations, Implications, Intimations, and Incriminations:

Mr. Malcolm used it to refer to James Loney, who is like a Frog in the Pot because he’s “slowly fried to death as his decline (the increasing water temperature) proceeds by increments.” So the “slow boil of failure” is one possible defining characteristic of the “Frog in the Pot.”

It could also be a player who looks or sounds funny because “Frog in a Pot” is funny. At least until the burner gets fired up.

As well, if Arnold Lobel’s “Frog and Toad” series is any guide — and it is — then the frog is a stabilizing, clear-headed entity. So think of a team leader who slowly boils to death.

Failing any of that, think of a player who embodies what we talk about when talk about frogs.

Prototypes from Baseball’s Gauzy Past:

If Bill Pulsipher didn’t slowly boil to death, then I don’t know who did. Don Mossi kind of looked like a frog. So did Wally Moon. And Benjie Molina is pretty clearly what we talk about when we talk about frogs.

Guiding, Determinative Query:

Which current major-league player should be nicknamed “Frog in the Pot”?

The convention floor, which is covered in freshly steam-cleaned Oasis Blue shag carpeting, is hereby open for nominations …

Once again, we were so flooded with nominations that the Executive Royal Council of Elder Governors Men was forced to make some difficult decisions.

Now, Whigs and Bull Mooses, it is time to vote. Which player should be nicknamed “Liván Hernández”? Make with the democracy below …

Our ongoing quest, in the manner of the noble knight-errant, is to assign players to cool nicknames rather than indulge in the tired, shopworn paradigm of assigning nicknames to cool players.

First, though, a brief jaunt through our Nickname Seeks Player Vaulted Halls of Honor:

“Bad Miracle” – Wily Mo Peña
“Captain Black Tobacco” – John Danks
“$45 Couch” – Yuniesky Betancourt

Moving on … The nickname up for grabs in this episode? It’s “Liván Hernández”!

Yes, that’s right: Liván Hernández. We don’t mean Liván Hernández the given legal name, although Liván Hernández the person is certainly eligible for Liván Hernández the nickname. Rather, we pay homage to Liván Hernández the person and his strong yet ultimately failed showings in previous rounds of balloting. As well, we wonder whether someone out there in baseball embodies what it means to be Liván Hernández better than Liván Hernández himself. So this week’s nickname is Liván Hernández.

Denotations, Connotations, Implications, Intimations, and Incriminations:

You might a be large, frumpy pitcher with enough guile, tenacity and Eric Gregg to stick around in the majors until the mountains crumble into the sea. You might be the knuckleballer who never throws a knuckleball. You might be the durable embodiment of average-ness, regardless of role and deployment. You might be a player who, despite that frumpy appearance, for some reason strikes you as a man who makes love like a godhead.

More generally, you might be a ballplayer who readily brings to mind and lips this observation: “This guy seems like Liván Hernández more than Liván Hernández does.” Yes, you might be what we talk about when we talk about Liván Hernández.

Prototypes from Baseball’s Gauzy Past:

Rick Reuschel? Gary Gaetti, who in some ways seems like the position player’s analog of Liván Hernández? Mike LaValliere? Jeff Juden on his best day ever?

Guiding, Determinative Query:

What current major-league player should be nicknamed “Liván Hernández?

The floor, lovesexies, is open for nominations …

So robust was our initial list of nominees that some culling was in order. So the list of final candidates for the nickname “$45 Couch” is the product of some painful yet necessary “executive decisions.” Please direct any complaints to the convention parliamentarian, who neither cares about your complaint nor exists.

By all means, please revisit the nomination thread, which includes some feverish and well-stated arguments for all involved, in addition to the cracking of wisecracks.

Now, however, the question is before us for a final time: who should be nicknamed “$45 Couch”? Vote, beautiful sons and daughters of the Republic!

Our ongoing quest, in the manner of the noble knight-errant, is to assign players to cool nicknames rather than indulge in the tired, shopworn paradigm of assigning nicknames to cool players.

First, though, a brief jaunt through our Nickname Seeks Player Sun-Dappled Old-Growth Forest of Honor:

“Bad Miracle” – Wily Mo Peña
“Captain Black Tobacco” – John Danks

Moving on … The nickname up for grabs in this episode? It’s “$45 Couch”!

The inspiration for the nickname “$45 Couch” comes to us by way of thinking-man’s kick boxer Dan Wade, who, recently over large beers, informed us that he once owned a $45 couch. He prattled on. We, meanwhile, thought about how “$45 Couch” would make a good nickname …

Denotations, Connotations, Implications, Intimations, and Incriminations:

A $45 Couch is not something you want; it is something to which you are resigned. The $45 Couch is a signifier that, in the famous manner of signifiers, signifies something. That something is the plucky region between full dependency on the parental unit and the soulless expanse known as one’s “earning years.” The $45 Couch is the best you can do under the circumstances. And isn’t that — along with putting off death until it’s at least convenient — the point of all this?

The $45 Couch can also be something endearingly serviceable. Although you can afford something better, you stick with the $45 Couch because of nostalgia or frugality or force of habit — even if your significant other forces a “basement/garage diaspora” upon you and your beliked $45 Couch. The people say: serviceable!

Prototypes from Baseball’s Gauzy Past:

In all instances, it is preferable if the player in question at least vaguely resembles a couch. Bob Hamelin felt like the best we could do at the time, and he was large without necessarily being in charge. John Kruk was all serviceable and stuff despite looking very much like a couch. Ditto Dmitri Young.

Guiding, Determinative Query: What current major-league player should be nicknamed “$45 Couch”?

The floor, gorgeous signatories to every important historical document, is open for nominations …

UPDATE/URGENT CALL TO ACTION: You should totally vote for John Danks.

With the confetti-strewn convention floor now closed for nominations, it’s time to cast those ballots. Hanging in the balance? The matter — a matter most vital — of which current ballplayer is to be nicknamed “Captain Black Tobacco.” That is, who will join Wily Mo “Bad Miracle” Peña as one who has been honored, beyond all hopes and estimations, by the NotGraphs hive mind?

Let us proceed immediately to the trustworthy Diebold machine …

Thank you for voting. Please enjoy this patriotic sticker.

Our ongoing quest, in the manner of a noble knight-errant, is to assign players to cool nicknames rather than indulge in the tired, shopworn paradigm of assigning nicknames to cool players.

Last (and first) time out, Wily Mo Peña fought off Milton Bradley and others (with his fists!), scored a narrow plurality and earned the nickname “Bad Miracle.”

The nickname up for grabs in this episode? It’s “Captain Black Tobacco”!

Read the rest of this entry »

The nominations are in, and now it’s time to see to the dirty, foul-smelling business of grassroots democracy. Please and thank you: Vote in the poll below to determine which active player should be nicknamed “Bad Miracle.”

Curious as to the operational criteria or how the nominations unfolded on the convention floor? Then please revisit yesterday’s initial foray into all that is “Bad Miracle.” Now don’t forget to vote as your neighborhood ward heeler has instructed you!

According to sanctioned tradition, the player comes first and then the nickname. That is, when concocting a nom de baseball, we typically ponder the player in question and then assign him a nickname that reflects some native trait of interest or — if we’re feeling galactically uninspired — knock a syllable or three off his actual name and reward ourselves with refreshing liquor. Given the unremarkable catalog of present baseball nicknames, perhaps it’s time to reconsider the process.

And so begins our grand experiment. First, we shall ponder the denotations, connotations, implications, intimations, and incriminations of a given nickname. Then, while balancing these concerns like sexy Lady Justice, we shall consider the prototypes of yore. What baseball-ists from the game’s gauzy past best embody the various denotations, connotations, implications, intimations, and incriminations of the nickname that we are examining like a tireless appraiser of gemstones? And finally, based on the indomitable will of the people, we shall assign the nickname to a current player. Let us begin …

The first nickname held up for scrutiny, ridicule and or clammy embrace is “Bad Miracle.”

Denotations, Connotations, Implications, Intimations, and Incriminations: “Bad” suggests something bad. Or “bad” can also mean “good,” as the kids who need to pull up their pants are wont to say. “Miracle” means something good. Or it can also mean something bad. For instance, the “Miracle on Ice,” was good for the Americans, bad for the Soviets and value-neutral to the Glasnost.

Prototypes from Baseball’s Gauzy Past: Someone like Lenny Dykstra was bad in the sense that he’s a sociopath. He’s a miracle in the sense that he was good at baseball. Our patron saint Dick Allen was “bad” like the kids say, in that he smoked in the dugout and once punched a teammate in the chompers. He was a miracle in the sense that he was good at baseball. Mark Prior was bad in the sense that the outputs of his vast potential are best likened to a murdered body. He was a miracle in the sense that he had that previously mentioned vast potential in the first place. Or it could be someone like Tagg Bozied, who, as a lantern-jawed Son of the Republic with large body muscles that suggest the frequent lifting of heavy objects over his breast, chest, breastbone, neck, and head, looked like someone who would be good at baseball. So: Miracle. Yet he was not, at least by the standards of major leaguers who earn nicknames. So: Bad.

Guiding, Determinative Query: What current major-league player should be nicknamed “Bad Miracle”?

Please, sinewy, glistening readers, take it away …