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Father of Us All Bill James has (a) written a book called Popular Crime and (b) endeavored to promote said book via some kind of American television program.
You fill in the blanks.
Important American Filmmaker (and occasional FanGraphs contributor, turns out) has turned his attention ever so briefly away from DIPS theory and towards the always wholesome field of advertising.
The product he’s promoting? Actually, it’s The Process Report 2011, discussed by our own Jackie Moore in these pages last week.
Little else to add from me — except that I’ve watched the video and have suffered no lesions or other ill effects as a direct result.
For reasons sufficient unto myself, I’ve been ambling through some early 20th-century newspaper archives. The best part of all this has been disinterring the sports prose of one W.J. Slattery of the long-dead San Francisco Call.
Suffice it to say, if a man like Mr. Slattery still brandished his quill (which, I imagine, he did in much the same way that decorated cocksman Aaron Rowand brandishes his bat) then the print dailies of the world would not be in such a state of crisis.
Why do I say this? Please dig his lede from April 8, 1907, in which he mourns a San Francisco Seals loss to the Portland Beavers:
The Seals had enough of the left-over victorious spirit to put it on the Beavers when the teams made their bow to the Oakland fans yesterday morning, but the afternoon mixup before a house that was overflowing was a delusion, a snare, an imposition and a joke to the admirers of the native talent who were rooting for San Franciso. Never was the score a tie.
This “snare” was particularly surprising if you’d seen the mighty Seals go through their warm-up liturgies:
The Seals rushed on to the field with seemingly an overstock of real pepper when the bell rang. They whisked the ball around in practice like a flock of two-time pennant winners. There was confidence in the demeanor of each man; In fact, the entire team made the play so strong that the majority of the spectators conceded them the game before the first ball had been pitched.
And of the villain of this story, the poised Portland hurler by the name of Mr. Groom who vanquished the Seals despite the triumphalist vigor of their infield practice, Slattery writes:
It was his curves that kept the Seals off the bases in virtually every Inning, though the willing fans did the best they could to ruffle the youngster by saying things that only a baseball rooter can say when he feels like talking.
Indeed, the things a baseball rooter will say when he feels like talking.
Yours truly is a baseball rooter, and he happens to feel like talking: Mr. Slattery, we need your like and ilk among us today.
Will McDonald at the Royals Review did it again. His paragraph to Eric Hosmer written in the style of The Golden Bough is brilliant. It’s worth reading the whole thing, but here’s a great excerpt:
A near universal fear existed that Hosmer’s prodigious fly balls would knock out the sun, depriving the world of Spring. In some parts of Eastern Bavaria, each winter Hosmer’s name was forbidden to be spoken aloud until St. Dentlin’s Day in mid-March.
Imitation is flattery, so pardon us for stealing the idea. Here, for you, is a poem about Will Venable, in the style of Walt Whitman. I dunno, maybe it will make sense. It’s just a natural extension of my man crush on the power/speed lefty stuck in a lefty-killing ballpark. Of course, it’s 99% stolen. Mad libs!
With All Thy Tools
WITH all thy tools, mighty Venable,
(Standing strong, serenely confident, overlooking the field,)
Power, discipline, speed, vouchsafed to thee—With these, and like of these, vouchsafed to thee,
What if one gift thou lackest? (the ultimate human problem never solving;)
The gift of Perfect Athleticism fit for thee—What of that gift of gifts thou lackest?
That missing ability to make contact? that swing, hit, fly fit for thee?
Not that swinging, swinging, swinging – strike three.
The Process Report 2011 (available in PDF form or paperback), the new Rays annual from R.J. Anderson, Tommy Rancel, and Nicholas Macaluso is out, and it does not disappoint. The analysis and stories from the TPR writers as well as a host of others (including a foreword from our own Jonah Keri and a chapter from our own Joe Pawlikowski) provide excellent insight into the Rays and their upcoming season.
If today you watch only one profane video of an Ozzie Guillen impersonator explicating a tale of Jazz-Age pathos, then please, please, please make it this one. Believe me when I say this is buffering time well spent.
(Steely yet grateful gaze: Big League Stew)
Albert Lyu and Carson Cistulli are overzealously reviewing colleague Jonah Keri’s forthcoming book, The Extra 2%. Feel free to read parts one, two, three, four, and five of what critics are definitely not calling “late for dinner.”
In what follows, our handsome gentlemen discuss the takeover by Stuart Sternberg and Friends of the Rays — and like 10 other things Carson doesn’t understand.
Cistulli: Chapter five — as you’ll know by now, Albert — concerns the takeover by Stuart Sternberg of the Rays in 2005 and two of his earliest hires: Team President Matt Silverman and Executive Vice President of Baseball Operations (a.k.a. Mega GM) Andrew Friedman. The unique thing about this triumvirate is that the bulk of their pre-Ray experience came not in baseball operations, but in the financial sector — and, specifically, investment banking.
I’m not lying, Albert, when I tell you that a number of my high school classmates are involved in this line of work; nor’m I misleading you even for a second when I suggest that my understanding of i-banking and its attendant culture is limited by a combo package of willful and totally unintentional ignorance.
Really, Albert, my knowledge of professions is limited by a single criterion — namely, if there’s a Lego character for it or not. Farmer? Teacher? Fireman? Io frigging capisco. Consultant? I-Banker? Charlie Sheen?* No so much.
*Note: Relevant pop-culture humor!
Albert: I thought Charlie Sheen wasn’t an actual job anymore. So you’re off the hook, Carson, if you have no idea what a Charlie Sheen does in a typical day of work. As far as Twitter pics can tell me, at the least.
Albert Lyu and Carson Cistulli are overzealously reviewing colleague Jonah Keri’s forthcoming book, The Extra 2%. Feel free to read parts one and two and three and/or four of this literary tour de force.
In what follows, our interlocutors discuss the short, but mostly troubled, episode in history that was the Rays’ performance in the amateur draft before the Sternberg takeover.
Cistulli: Albert, I feel compelled to begin our discussion of chapter four (entitled “New Blood” — a.k.a. almost, but not entirely, the name of the first Rambo movie) by noting that the brief intermission between our most recent and the current posts is not, as a reader might suspect, due to our lack of zeal concerning Mr. Jonah Keri’s book, but actually due to an overabundance of same.
In point of fact, since we finished our exchange last Friday afternoon, I’ve been almost entirely incapacitated by exhaustion, and have just now crawled to my keyboard and typed out this brief message. Am I wearing pants? Hard to tell.
All of which is to say: for those who buy this book, maybe ask your girl* to clear all your appointments for the day.
*Also, make sure you still live in the year 1963 before you refer to your secretary as “girl.”
Albert: Carson, I feel likewise, not that the book has been a toll — it has been a wonderful read thus far, the chapter-by-chapter review — it’s almost like too much vacation, too many Hawaiian sunset beaches, too long of a spring break, too many non-alcoholic Pina Coladas, that you just need to spend a few weeks at home just chilling or playing Pro Evolution Soccer or taking a quiet walk around the neighborhood, just so things are, you know, a little bit different.
Albert Lyu and Carson Cistulli are overzealously reviewing colleague Jonah Keri’s forthcoming book, The Extra 2%. Feel free to read parts one and two and three of the series that’s sweeping — if not the nation — then at least behind the TV where a lot of dust builds up.
In what follows, our intrepid duo attempts to understand the giant and real-life brain teaser otherwise known as original Devil Ray GM Chuck LaMar’s player personnel decisions. Neither Messrs. Cistulli nor Lyu — nor FanGraphs, generally — are responsible for injuries to the human spirit as a result of this discussion.
Cistulli: Hey, Albert, pay attention and stop doing terrible things to that dog. The sound you hear is the people demanding that we continue our sprawling and genre-defining review of Jonah Keri’s book.
Albert Lyu and Carson Cistulli are overzealously reviewing colleague Jonah Keri’s forthcoming book, The Extra 2%. All those interested in L-ing OL would do well to read parts one and two of the series.
In what follows, they examine original Devil Rays owner Vincent Naimoli’s baddest behavior in a manner that critics are describing as “almost intelligible.”
Cistulli: I’m telling you something you already know, Albert Lyu, when I tell you that chapter two of Jonah Keri’s The Extra 2% is dedicated almost exclusively to the very poor behavior of the Rays’ first owner, Mr. Vincent J. Naimoli.
I don’t know for a fact, but I’ll assume, that this was a fun chapter for Jonah to write, as it’s mostly just an anthology of anecdotes — all concerning a man who, while, by all accounts, was a savant of thrift, had absolutely no concept of brand management.
With a view towards celebrating Naimoli’s exploits, allow me to propose a fantasy-type draft, Albert, wherein we select, alternately, our 10 favorite Naimoli-related events.
You find this idea amenable, Albert?
Albert: Amen, Carson. I will assume that this is neither a rotisserie, H2H, or linear weights points-based league and that the criteria is entirely up to our own personal interpretations. Your move, Cistulli.
Cistulli: As you anticipate, I’ll not only take part in, but will also judge the winner of, this faker-than-usual fantasy league (the winner of which will receive an ice sculpture of Michelangelo’s David with vodka coming out his you-know-what).
Also, because I’m the inventor of this idea, I choose myself to draft first… And with pick No.1 of this entirely make-believe draft I’ll take Naimoli Hates Internet.