Archive for Real Talk

It’s his. He brought the monkey to the game. I thought it might be his son’s, or maybe his daughter’s, but it isn’t. It’s his. I’m convinced. You can tell by the way he’s holding it. And you can’t tell me otherwise. Hell, he might watch Rangers games on television at home much the same way: mouth agape, baseball glove at the ready, Texas Rangers stuffed monkey held tight to his chest.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not here to judge him. I don’t know him. Maybe he went to game(s) four and/or five of last year’s World Series in Arlington without his Rangers monkey. Maybe he thought about taking the monkey, agonized over the decision, but ended up leaving it at home. Maybe, sans monkey, he watched Texas fall to San Francisco. Read the rest of this entry »

You see it all the time: professional baseball player A, batting, takes professional baseball player B, pitching, deep to left field, over the fence, a home run. He runs the bases: first, second, third, some love from both coaches at the corners along the way, and, finally, home. But before he steps on the plate, or just as he does, he tilts his head skywards, and points towards the heavens.

Think of Albert Pujols; he does it all the time. David Ortiz, too, after his leisurely stroll around the diamond. But by no means is the salute exclusive to the home run. I remember seeing Nick Swisher do it after he’d walked, once he’d arrived at first base. And, knowing Swisher, it was probably a four-pitch walk, the pitcher’s control long gone, never to return. Hell, maybe it was an intentional walk, but someone up above deserved some thanks, some acknowledgement.

So I’ve been wondering: it’s God these guys are giving props to, right? Some guys are surely saluting a departed family member, maybe a lost friend, but in most cases, I think the answer is, yes, God. Pujols, deeply religious, is definitely praising the man above.

I have so many questions. Well, two, actually:

1. Is God a baseball fan? If he or she is smart enough to have worked their way to the top (no pun intended), to the title of “God,” I’ll assume he or she is very smart, and, yes, therefore a baseball fan. And a sabermetrician.

2. Is God a St. Louis Cardinals fan? I’m sure Albert Pujols certainly believes so. And, the more I ponder it, perhaps Pujols knows something we don’t. Think about it: St. Louis is about to play in their third World Series in eight years. They won the 2006 World Series after winning only 83 games during the regular season. Eighty-fucking-three. The Toronto Blue Jays won 87 games in 2006, and didn’t make the playoffs. (I will never not be bitter about this.) And, finally, think about what’s gone down over the past couple of months in Cardinals-ville: the collapse of the Atlanta Braves; the brilliance displayed by Tony La Russa; someone actually saying, “We couldn’t have done it without Dotel.” I mean, come on, that’s insane. I can’t in good conscience rule out divine intervention in favor of the Cardinals.

Read the rest of this entry »

As an Astros fan, this is the most depressing world series scenario imaginable for me. On one hand, the St. Louis Cardinals: our greatest division rivals, who have already won the second-most World Series titles in history. Everyone hates a winner, right? On the other hand, the Texas Rangers: potentially the first Texas team to win the World Series, a title the Astros obviously covet, and by no objective but by every personal measure deserve. Not to mention that I live in Austin, where the bandwagon is overcrowded with Rangers caps where there once were just ironic mullets and burnt orange.

I’ve come to the inevitable conclusion: instead of watching the World Series, I will commit seppuku.

Read the rest of this entry »

I realized that I felt sorry for CC Sabathia the fifth inning of game three of the ALDS Detroits/Yankees series . He had allowed five hits and walked the same number, and was about to be seen as partially responsible for the end of the Yankees season. C.C. begins intentionally walking Miguel Cabrera in the most awkward game of catch I have ever seen. One of his terrible throws to Russell Martin got away and Ramon Santiago advanced to 3rd base. At this moment, CC had this very specific look on his face in that moment that provoked a visceral, maternal reaction in me immediately.

🙁 🙁

You ever watch a kid try to do something and not be able to work it out? They just watched some other kid do the same thing, but they just can’t get their chubby, tiny hands around the pieces to do the thing themselves” Or when an older woman starts digging for change in a tiny coin purse and she just can’t pull the pennies out because her hands are shaky? That look. Helplessly watching someone struggle with something they know they should be able to do is in my all time bottom five of feelings, right next to when I make a special trip to 7-11 and the coke side of the slurpee machine is broken.

Read the rest of this entry »

It’s been a strange few days. A strange few weeks, actually. I’ve been, for most of September, sleeping with the enemy. Last week, after spending most of the season – the past few years, actually – talking shit about the Baltimore Orioles, I found myself rooting for them. And they did good, so good, taking three out of four from the Boston Red Sox. At Fenway Park. Baltimore! I still almost don’t believe it.

Over the weekend, along with the rest of the universe, I was cheering on the Tampa Bay Rays. Over my own Toronto Blue Jays. Disgusting, I know, unconscionable, but I was thinking bigger picture: The collapse of the Red Sox. Which meant, over the weekend, that I was also rooting for the New York Yankees. I hadn’t wished victory upon the Yankees that much since the 2004 ALCS. I wanted New York to pound the Red Sox, to crush their collective soul, and that of the Massholes’ as well. Over the span of a week and a half, I found myself cheering for every team in the American League East save for Boston. I hate Boston. All the cool kids do.

You see, above all else, all I wanted from September was a race. I knew the Blue Jays weren’t going to give me anything, except for their continued, and now boring, dance with .500, and I wanted some drama. Any drama. And, as unlikely as it seemed at the beginning of the month, how September has delivered. Tampa Bay was 8.5 games back of Boston on September 1. Today, they’re tied. The Rays have closed the gap. Actually, Boston, with their shittacular play, has closed the gap for the Rays. And that’s what’s made the race so bloody beautiful. I don’t know why, but I absolutely love to see Boston squirm. Actually, I do know why: It’s Boston’s sense of entitlement, and, most recently, ESPN Magazine’s Boston-inspired issue, “Welcome to Boston, Loozah!” Ugh.

Read the rest of this entry »

I’m at the Rogers Centre. Section 217, first base side. The lid’s open. There couldn’t be finer weather for the grand finale, the last baseball game in Toronto this year.

Vernon Wells is getting “the business” in left field. An elderly woman to my right booed him when he came to bat in the fifth. She’s merciless. A couple of enthusiastic Blue Jays fans, or, as I like to call them, “clowns,” just started the wave.

There’s an Englishman sitting behind me, at his second game this week. About baseball he said: “I just wish we had this in England.”

Baseball’s the best. It’s going to be a long winter.

ADDENDUM: Edwin Encarnacion — “Double E,” not “E5” — walked it off for Toronto. It was glorious. The Blue Jays made sure that since they weren’t going to the postseason, neither were the Los Angeles Angels. Here’s to playing spoiler.

In the 9th and 12th innings, when Jose Bautista stepped up to bat, most everyone in the building rose to their feet and showered the American League’s Most Valuable Player with applause, and chants of “MVP! MVP! MVP!” This warmed my baseball heart. We might not have given him the many curtain calls he probably deserved, but Bautista was appreciated. His has been another incredible season, one this city won’t soon forget.

I had it all Wednesday night: Great company; delicious sweet potato fries; a beautiful night; a couple of Bud Light Limes; and an extra innings, come-from-behind walk-off Blue Jays win. If that’s the last baseball game I ever have the privilege of watching in person, I’m good. No complaints.

Science has proved that inanimate objects, despite not having auditory systems or cognitive faculties, can hear, absorb and contemplate human expressions of anger. The gentleman rises for his morning ablutions, crunches his toes on the leg of his paramour’s museum-quality antique dressing table, calls the museum-quality dressing table a “!@#$%&$#@!%&” and promises to “!@#$%&* kill you if that ever !@#$%*& happens the !@#$ again, !@#$-face.”

As you will soon see, however, Pablo Sandoval, the only hitter in the entire Bay Area, has discovered that one may also extract favors, graces and happy accidents from inanimate objects by directing a few kind words toward them …

The secret to better results at the office, in the gym and in the bedroom? Desires whispered to things made of the dead and the never alive.

Me too, Mr. Morrow. Me too.

The most excellent quote comes to us from Seattle’s The News Tribune, via the foul-mouthed, but always informative, Drunk Jays Fans. Here’s another:

Some of those [2011] numbers don’t look so hot, but if you look at the nerd stats, I’m having a pretty good year. I’m not always sure how they come to those conclusions, but I like them.

Again: Me too. Math is crazy. And I can’t help but wonder whether Morrow knows he scores a perfect 10 according to the most recent Pitcher NERD Leaderboards of Pleasure.

I can picture Morrow, though, almost vividly, in his downtown Toronto condo, on his laptop, perusing FanGraphs.com.

“Honey, guess whose FIP is now under 3.00, and good for sixth in the American League? Beast mode! And, whoa, my SIERA’s third in the AL, behind only Verlander and Sabathia. Double beast mode!”

Brandon Morrow is one of those guys with electric “stuff.” Now, I don’t know about you, but I love that the word “stuff,” so banal, is used to describe a pitcher who throws a baseball a remarkable number of which ways, who makes a baseball dance, who strikes out the most batters per nine innings in all of the game. But more than just his “stuff,” Morrow, as evidenced, is a highly educated man. He’s like me, like you, like us. He appreciates advanced baseball statistics. He’s a nerd. Brandon Morrow is the thinking man’s A.J. Burnett.

Read the rest of this entry »

I am a Cardinals fan. Our own Jack Moore is a Brewers fan. These are well and good facts and signifiers of a healthy Republic. Still, these allegiances have put us at cross purposes this season, despite the NotGraphs ties — sexy, buckled latex ties — that bind.

Generalissimo Cistulli is fond of calling Mr. Moore “America’s Kid Brother,” but of late I sense a darker side to Jackie Hazelnuts — a side that will be laid bare by the following exchange of Twitter Tweets. I present this unfortunate brannigan with a touch of formality that will call to mind either an Ionesco playscript or Atticus Finch cross-examination of titillating righteousness …

@daynperry Does anyone really doubt that the Brewers will win tonight?

@jh_moore Suck it, Perry. RT @daynperry: Does anyone really doubt that the Brewers will win tonight?

@daynperry @jh_moore I vaguely compliment your team’s hot streak, and that’s the thanks I get?

@jh_moore @daynperry Apparently.

@daynperry @jh_moore You just cost the Brewers the vastly more lucrative People’s Championship.

@jh_moore @daynperry I thought Nyjer Morgan did that a long time ago.

If you know nothing else about our traffic-contriving strategies here at NotGraphs, please know that a Call-to-Action Poll is forthcoming forthwith …

It’s the little things that make baseball, to these eyes, the best damn game on the planet. Like Peter Bourjos catching a fly ball he has no business — none, whatsoever — getting to, one that his teammate, right-fielder Torii Hunter, dove for and missed. Or back-to-back nights of triple plays on the diamond, one a 4-6-3-2 effort, the other an amazing 5-4-3 number. Baseball, man, isn’t she great?

Tuesday night, I was up late on the east coast, watching the Blue Jays play the Mariners in Seattle, and I was struck by more of baseball’s little things. Like the taking over of Safeco Field by Blue Jays faithful from Vancouver, and other parts of beautiful British Columbia. The boisterous — but extremely polite — Canadians got Mike Carp’s attention Monday night:

We were talking about it in the dugout. I mean, it was getting annoying. This is our ballpark.

Read the rest of this entry »