Inspired by this post by Dayn Perry at CBS Sports’ Eye on Baseball — which features not only a partially colorized image of Boog Powell from 1961 but also minimal commentary and effort on Perry’s part — the author submits the present document, a post which features a hastily colorized image of Babe Ruth and perhaps even less commentary/effort on the present author’s part.
Matt Harvey wants to wish you a happy birthday, America. And he kicked off the festivities a little early with his own fireworks show — mainly, his fascism-fighting fastball.
Watch:
Listen:
Despite the fact that we all, each of us, invariably spend our days and nights in pursuit of money and then whores and then more money, rumors abound that, on all of our respective deathbeds, neither money nor whores will be of any great concern. This information might come as a surprise to the reader, who is almost certainly reading this post whilst atop a pile of money and beside a comely whore. However, it’s true: in the throes of death, one is more likely to ask questions like, “Did I exhibit courage?” and “Did I treat my friends and family well?”
As the present author is shuffling off this mortal coil and making an examination of both his works and days, he will undoubtedly have many regrets — like that one time he vomited on his shirt in an Armenian taxi, for example, and also that other time he vomited on his shirt in an Armenian taxi. Anyone who suggests, however, that he didn’t make an effort to record every last one of Yasiel Puig’s televised bat flips, is a goddamn liar.
By way of proof, here’s footage from the seventh inning of Tuesday’s game between the Los Angeles Nationals and Colorado (box):
In the triune interests of baseball, media sociale and dong jokes, I present to you — with minimal commentary — two Tweets that the reader may find of arresting relevance:
and …
It should be noted that neither Tweet is particularly recent, just as it should be noted that each Tweet is particularly timeless.
There’s an inherent and irreconcilable conflict buried deep within the mechanics of every video baseball game, from Atari Baseball to The Show. No matter how immersive and smooth the graphics, how realistic the player traits and statistics, the paradox persists: we want a baseball game which is both realistic and that we can dominate. It’s something boyish within us, a desire to be 2001 Barry Bonds, to break the mold of expectations, to have little nonexistent digital journalists scrambling to explain our greatness.
The concept of challenge in any video game is a fine line. There are games out there that are far too easy (Mega Man 2) or far too difficult (Mega Man 9) and yet are still enjoyable, because they’re superior in control, graphics, or design. Average games that are too far to one side or the other, however, are set aside in neglect or disgust. This is particularly important for a sports game: we want to feel that challenge, of our ability to overcome it, to come out on top. But total victory, as fans of many major teams will attest, is hardly realistic. We as fans have the patience to live through years of futility and struggle for that one chance at glory. We as video game players do not. Gamers don’t enjoy failing seven times out of ten anymore.
Consider being a Mariners fan. If the game were a strictly representative, realistic depiction of the organization in its current state, there’d be no reason to play; you could listen to them lose on the radio and put up some crown molding or something. The baseball simulation faces a tricky challenge: create a universe that looks and feels realistic, but where the Mariners can still believably win multiple ballgames. It needs to challenge us but still, at the end of the day, make us feel like Billy Beane.
Women’s suffrage with regard to the All-Star Game was achieved gradually, team by team, during the late 20th and early 21st century, culminating in 2004 with the passage of the Susan B. “Eric” Anthony Amendment to the Major League Baseball Bylaws, which provided: “The right of live game attendees and Internet users to stuff ballot boxes with their biased selections for the All-Star Game shall not be denied or abridged on account of sex, even if the woman is just voting for the players with the nicest smiles and has no idea what the infield fly rule is.”
The fight began in 1987, when Marge Schott, president and CEO of the Cincinnati Reds, agreed to allow women (and dogs) the right to vote in exchange for the elimination of voting rights for African-Americans, Jews, gay people, anyone with facial hair, and unmarried couples living in sin. After Barry Larkin and Eric Davis were elected to the 1989 All-Star Team, Schott immediately abandoned the women-can-vote experiment and decided to build a time machine and move to 1930s Germany, where she died.
In 1989, there were rumblings in San Diego regarding the lifting of restrictions on women voting, but the fall of Communism in that city and a number of others moved women’s All-Star suffrage to a less prominent place on the international agenda, and little progress was made.
The Bosnian Civil War (1992-95) was fought largely over this issue, and as the battlefields cleared, the world was left with two rival organizations, both seeking female voting rights and larger selections of craft beer at concession stands. The two organizations were the National (League) Woman Shortstop Association (NWSA), founded by Elizabeth Cady “Mike” “Giancarlo” Stanton, and the American (League) Woman Shortstop Association (AWSA), founded by Lucy “Steve” Stone and Julia “Turner” Ward “Art” Howe. Both organizations tried to turn the tide, team by team.
The election of Hillary Clinton to the American League All-Star Team in 1998 was seen as a true turning point, as she played nine error-free innings at second base, hit three home runs, and won the game’s MVP (Most Valuable Princess) award. Following the game, the Yankees, Orioles, Blue Jays, Red Sox, and Mariners all announced that women would be permitted to vote for All-Stars in their home stadiums beginning in 1999.
Over the next three years, more teams decided to lift the ban on women, including the famed Tulsa Menstruators, a team that has since been contracted and removed from the history books. By 2004, commissioner of baseball George W. “Homer” Bush insisted on bringing a bill to the floor of the Winter Meetings, in the hope of creating one uniform policy for all of baseball (not to be confused with the many policies about baseball uniforms).
The bill passed, 2-1, with Commissioner Bush casting the deciding vote, and Supreme Court Justice Clarence “Frank” Thomas as the lone dissenter, citing past troubles with women like Anita “Aaron” Hill as his reason for preferring women not select the game’s starting lineup.
With the measure having passed, the remaining teams installed All-Star ballot dispensers in the women’s bathrooms, next to the free diaphragms, and all was once again right in the world. We now await the introduction of legislation that will finally allow men to vote for the game’s starters as well.
Brian Kenny doesn’t care much for no-hitters.
Yes, I’m saying it: No-hitters, hitting streaks – antiquated notions. From a time where we are baseball values were misguided.
— Brian Kenny (@MrBrianKenny) July 3, 2013
I blame the mainstream media: Headlines of “12-0!” “No-hitter!” So stuck in the past. Think for yourselves! Stop being sheep!
— Brian Kenny (@MrBrianKenny) July 3, 2013
How brave, taking some innocuous thing that people find joy in and calling them “sheep.” On this 4th of July Eve, clearly Brian Kenny has become our greatest hero, and let us resolve to celebrate the 4th as Brian Kenny would have us celebrate it, devoid of more “antiquated” fun. To whit: Read the rest of this entry »
With very little pomp, Donruss recently launched a new line of baseball cards be-branded as the Donruss Youth and Young Manhood, Rookie Fresh and Crisp series. Said series of numbered collectibles promises to be lucrative not only because of the usual rookie-related inducements native to the industry, but also because these doe-eyed rooks embody all that is cherubic and nubile.
No, they are not yet endowed with 50 innings pitched, 130 at-bats or 45 pre-September days on the active roster. What they are endowed with, however, are the hallmarks of an apple-cheeked and puckish whelp. Totems of sinewy promise and sprawling future are what they are! Hope-smiths are what they are!
Opening a pack of the Donruss Youth and Young Manhood, Rookie Fresh and Crisp series is like discovering a new Kennedy. Dawn breaks, the journey has not yet begun, spring blooms eternal upon this, our babyscape! For this is the Donruss Youth and Young Manhood, Rookie Fresh and Crisp series …
It is a dance both proverbial and physical: the jiggle of excitement felt by players, coaches, and spectators alike when a baseball has been made “live” and has not yet come to rest in a “dead” state. The Jiggle acknowledges the moment when something is happening and, simultaneously, that a number of other things — some good, some bad, some neutral — may yet still happen.
As spectators, we might clench our teeth, or have the sensation of going deaf. The more consistently-inebriated among us might shart or pee a little. As for the players, who must be in a ready state both physically and mentally and upon whom many eyes and cameras are fixed in these moments, their enactment of the Great Baseballing Jiggle — a microcosm of the Great & Stupid Jiggle of the Human Condition — is often more obvious.
Such was the case with young David Wright last night. With the score tied 3-3 in the bottom of the tenth inning, bases loaded and two outs, Wright was less than 90 feet away from scoring the winning run for the Mets. Heath Bell threw a 1-2 pitch in the dirt, and Wright was ready to make a break for home, until it was clear that Diamondbacks catcher Miguel Montero had made a pretty nice block.
Hey guys, my name’s Jeff. Football’s awesome! But baseball is my FAVE!!
Aw, give me a chance guys. Come on. You know you want to!
