Archive for Real Talk

The Brewers of Hot Hard Milwaukee recently held a contest that allowed the Internetter to design a uniform for said Brewers of Milwaukee. The winner — to the extent that anything is won in the this life — would have his or her uniform brandished for a spring training game.

Therein you’ll find any number of fetching entries — notably one that prominently features Bernie Brewer, that disowned Vuckovich brother …

Most excellent! Most excellent if you cow before the threat of Real Talk, that is …

You see, I have no doubt that the Brewers will find a winner that best represents their preference for varnished municipal lore. However, being as I am nightwatchman at the Museum of Truths, I’ll abet no such myth-making.

Milwaukee, as the name of their hometown nine suggests, is a town for Drinking Men and The Things They Drink. One does not go to Milwaukee unless Men Are About to Drink. Business? Conduct it in Dallas. Cultural tourism? New York and Chicago are there for you. Restorative escape? The Bay Area will see you now. Cocaine in a hot tub? The San Fernando Valley serves no other purpose. But Milwaukee exists for the drinking of drinks. “Let us drink these drinks,” people in Milwaukee say, “and then try to throw this clock radio all the way to Michigan.”

In light of those authenticities, this is my entry, Brewers of Milwaukee.

On the front we have a Milwaukee Journal celebration of the Wisky electorate’s decision, in the late 1920s, to embrace wholesome, nutritious alcohol in defiance of both federal meddlers and awful Protestants. The shoulder patch is the regeneration liturgy known well to the Hands That Built America. On the back we have bon vivant, man of letters and drink and secret native of Fond du Lac Kingsley Amis astride a familiar and always near-at-hand cock-and-tail. The cap? The front boasts a rendering of the hepatic rot that will be the death of all of us at the bar — that bar in Milwaukee. And on the back is the shitty omelet you make after a night in Milwaukee, U.S. the fuck of A.

Take me not for a knave, Brewers of Hot Hard Milwaukee. I know the score, and, yes, I’ll have another.

Something is going to happen tonight. This something will make you want to voice an opinion. Many of you will want to voice said opinion on Twitter. Don’t. It’s not worth it. It will not change the outcome, nor will your quip lead to you being recognized as a cultural luminary or sports-critic extraordinaire.

May I suggest some alternative activities for spending your evening? Oh, I shall.

1. Take a nap. I realize that a nap that late in the day may just lead to extended sleep, but who cares? Sleeping is awesome.

2. Go to Macy’s and get that v-neck sweater you’ve been eyeing. Come on, you know it fits great and that color will really go with those olive green slacks you’ve been waiting to debut. YOLO.

3. When’s the last time you really read Family Circus? They’re touching on important issues over there. Doin’ God’s work.

4. I have it on good authority that baseball writer/National Treasure/degenerate Aaron Gleeman will be on a FanGraphs Audio episode that will drop today. It’s a way to kill time, at least.

5. The way this country’s going in the toilet, you better start learning some Chinese, amirite?

It’s that time of year again. Well, it’s a time of year again. That is, if you subscribe to the idea that time is a constant. This has started poorly. I’m choosing to move on.

Look, the Hot Stove is upon us, and shit’s about to get real. We are about to enter a whirlwind of rumors, financial specifics, rumors refuting rumors, and general discord amongst fan bases. You cannot stop Hot Stove, you can only hope to contain it.

But we here at NotGraphs are on your side, for once. We have provided some helpful tips for navigating and conceptualizing all that is Hot Stove.

1. When a reporter says a team is “interested” in a player, this does not mean the team has aspirations of entering a romantic relationship with said player.  This has more to do with a team having interest in the player’s baseballing services. Once a player has signed, however, if another team still shows “interest,” then they are most likely going to bone.

2. When considering the financials of a player’s new contract, keep in mind that money will be useless when society finally rises up against its oppressors. It is also doubtful that there will be baseball during the Revolution. If there is, it certainly will not be televised.

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I’d been to a game in “o.co” or whatever that monstrosity is called. I’d gotten a sunburn on a free ticket given to me because I spent money (yeah, real money) on a Warped Tour ticket, and I remembered the vast expanses of concrete, the Shea-like feel of a 1970’s-era bunker. I remembered too much sun, bad beer and baseball that felt a mile away from my seat even while my neighbor felt like he was in my lap. I remembered understanding why someone might want a new stadium if this was their stadium.

But fellow FanGraphs writer Wendy Thurm got tickets and couldn’t make every game, so I ponied up and took my Giants-fan father, who said, sure, but only if it doesn’t rain. They’re a fun story, he said. They’ll be excited, they haven’t been there in a while.

Excited. That was a word for it.

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When Endy Chávez was signed by the Texas Rangers in 2011, the Rangers had just become the parent team of Austin’s suburban Round Rock Express (taking over what had been a Houston Astros franchise). Although I was, as an Astros fan, disappointed that the closest ball club to be was now Rangers territory, I tried to make the best of it by getting extremely drunk with my friends at a game during the first week of their season. Endy Chávez was the token journeyman / former major leaguer toiling in the minors, and we briefly entertained the idea of becoming Endy super-fans, making handmade shirts and signs to support what had to have been a tough journey from Mets defensive superstar to bleak Texas suburbia.

“The strength to be there,” indeed.

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In Toronto, Travis Snider is no longer our What If. He’s Pittsburgh’s now. But that doesn’t mean Blue Jays supporters aren’t keeping tabs on Snider. We are. I check his numbers. Every couple of weeks or so.

The Canadian Sports Media knows this. Over the past three days, Sportsnet, a subsidiary of Rogers Communications, who own the Blue Jays, released a three-part, in-depth interview series with Snider, written by Shi Davidi, one of the more respected and well-liked members of the Toronto Sports Media. It’s been almost two months since Snider was traded, but he’s anything but forgotten.

And then, today, The Snider Catch, because we needed another reminder. I watched it. Three times. I enjoyed it — I feel like there’s still some Toronto in Snider. I watched @TaoOfStieb ask for the video you see above to be made. I — we — saw the Internet deliver.

Acute grief lifts within six months, for most people. I read it in The New York Times. I figure it’s a lot less for sports grief, if I can call sports grief grief at all, because all of this is meant only to entertain us. That’s it, that’s all. I’ll be honest, though, I didn’t sleep much the night Snider was dealt. I simply couldn’t believe reliever Brad Lincoln was the end to a story that wasn’t supposed to end for years.

That being said, I want Lincoln to succeed; to dominate. For for the next four years. Life will be easier that way. And I want the same for Snider. He was just a kid, and we’ve all got to fail, at least once, along the way. Yet I can’t shake the feeling that no matter how Lincoln fares, I want the Blue Jays to be wrong about Snider. Everyone’s got a goddamned lesson to be learned.

Thanks to @alextushingham and @TaoOfStieb for the video.

Hi everyone! I have been on a little hiatus from most of my extra-curricular activities for the last month or so, because I have moved to New York City after having lived in Austin, Texas for pretty much my entire life. This move has been a huge adjustment for approximately 80,001 reasons, but one of those is that everyone (okay, well, a lot of people) here likes and cares about baseball! In Austin, where I saw a shoddily-constructed Rangers bandwagon rise over the last few years, only to see it abandoned without a thought once college football season begun, I had become used to wearing my Astros gear with nary a glance from the general populous. Here, it’s different. Here, people give me a hard time about that Astros gear, and rightfully so! The Astros are terrible. I LOVE THIS. There is not a single thing that makes me feel more like I’ve made a good decision than an old man in a Yankees jersey or a Mets cap ribbing me about my Astros sweater.

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Honorable? Yes. Of course. But it’s the timing that bothers me. What if the Mets go, I don’t know, 18-2 down the stretch, and the Cardinals, Dodgers, Pirates, and, yes, even the Phillies collapse, and the Mets and Braves find themselves in a one-game, wild-card playoff at Citi Field. That guy’s going to feel pretty stupid chanting “LAAA-RYYY” then.

Image credit: Getty Images. Obviously.

What if Ricky Romero didn’t have the American League’s highest walk rate, and its highest ERA. What if Romero pitched like he did in 2010. What if the Blue Jays drafted Troy Tulowitzki, and not Romero. (Editor’s note: We use that one every year.) What if Jose Bautista didn’t get off to such a slow start. What if Joey Bats didn’t hurt his wrist.

What if Kelly Johnson didn’t strike out so often. What if the Blue Jays kept Aaron Hill. What if Adam Lind was more than a one-year wonder. What if Yunel Escobar’s .298 OBP wasn’t 56 points below his career average. What if Escobar could be consistent; how good could he be?

What if Dustin McGowan — ha! — and Jesse Litsch were healthy. What if Kyle Drabek didn’t need a second Tommy John surgery. What if Drew Hutchison didn’t need his first. What if Brett Cecil found the two missing miles per hour on his fastball. What if Luis Perez didn’t tear his ulnar collateral ligament. What if Brandon Morrow started more than just 16 games.

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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.

GIF credit: Professional GIFmaker @SAJagfire.