I saw Tyler Skaggs. He was 89-90 on the fastball, the curve was good, but the changeup sucked. I saw Tyler Skaggs.
What? That’s his changeup now? And he was 92-93? Who’s this?
Munenori Kawasaki is an international treasure. He is the kind of person UNESCO names a world heritage site. He has graced the sport of baseball like a meteorite of majesty and has pebbled our humble earth with GIF, video clip, and quote in his beautiful contrail.
On Sunday, Muni went 3-for-5 with a game-winning, walkoff double against the Baltimore Nonemploying-Kawasakis. A cadre of Toronto Kawasakis met Kawasaki in the middle of the field, and Cananada’s Torontoist city stirred and sparkled with the glory of Muni. For some reason, the television crew elected to interview Kawasaki utilityman Mark DeRosa instead of Kawasaki shortstop and game-winner Munenori Kawasaki.
But DeRosa knew. He had seen the glimmering majesty.
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The ancient solar dish had finally collapsed. Rusted from years of neglect and then welded into barely workable shape after a late resurgence of concern and dependency, the large rotating metal solar panel bent over and cast a plume of moondust three hundred feet into the air.
“That’s not good.” Dexter, who worked the center bunker, watched the plume rise. “Do we have other power sources?”
Michael radioed back from the starboard bunker. “There’s the thermal generator.”
“Will that be enough? Do we need to fix the solar dish?”
“Fix the solar dish!” Rafael’s voice crackled through the radio. It was Rafael’s record on the line. “Low power means low shields. Get some equipment and fix the dish.”
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Both the present author and Brewers reliever John Axford are professionals in their respective fields. As a result, any and all conversations conducted between them are, by definition, professional conversations.
On the one hand, Josh Hamilton’s enthusiasm for swinging — documented in some depth by FanGraphs managing editor Dave Cameron earlier this season — has very likely hurt his ability to produce at a high level offensively. On the other, it allows one to make amusing constellations from the pitches at which Hamilton has swung.
Here, now, we see another entry in what may or may not become an ongoing series — in this case, from Hamilton’s May 22nd game against the Mariners (box). The constellation here bears more than a passing resemblance to a delicious prime rib, such as one might order at a Princeton eating club — or, at least, such as a cartoon character might order in a cartoon version of a Princeton eating club.
Credit to Texas Leaguers for the strikezone plot.
This game. This…baseball, like life itself, can be a harsh mistress. Whether you’re playing and making outs in seven out of ten at bats, or watching your Twins devolve into the second worst team in the American League (hey, thanks for that, Astros), or you’re a vendor who just needs to find a place to poop before you sell your snowcones (again, thanks for that, Astros). Failure is so endemic to baseball that it’s refreshing to see anyone who can take whimsical, unadulterated joy from such cruelty.
That is why, as I slide headfirst into middle age, I’m leavinging my moribund, dumpy Minnesota Twins and getting a younger, hotter baseball team that wants an older fan because it has daddy issues. Someone who can keep up with me and maybe even challenge me a little in the energy department and with their joie de vivre. Someone who is still young and naive, and hasn’t yet learned not to fall for my bullshit. Somebody like the University of Cincinnati Bearcats. Seriously, how can you not love these guys?
Johnny Four Eyes, you are the NotGraphs Fan of the Night!
In the matter of four seconds, you manage to display looks of fear for your well-being, concern for the well-being of Nate McClouth, general confusion, and a firm belief that this was not a catch.
Looks like ducking out early from your world history lecture paid off, Johnny! Congratulations! You win a … I dunno, a Labatt? It’s probably a Labatt.
What was that you just said?
Well, that’s simply preposterous, and B.J. Upton does not believe it.
Oh, it’s not that Bossman distrusts you personally, it’s just that he doesn’t believe much of what he hears these days. Or sees. Or smells. In fact, the only sense that he trusts at all these days is taste. Perhaps if Bossman could have somehow tasted Evan Gattis’s grand slam on Wednesday, he might believe it. If he could but taste the bullshit that you are spewing right now, he might believe you, too (but he would probably barf, if he could taste it).
Bossman has nothing against you, like he said. Bossman is cool. In fact, hey, he’s sorry for referring to what you were just saying as “bullshit.” Unbelievable is a better word, probably. Bossman doesn’t believe much of what he hears or sees or smells, but he is amused and befuddled and excited by it all. He just gets worked up, gets too excited.
So, Bossman is sorry: you’re amazing, you’re unbelievable — but that’s just the thing: Bossman don’t believe you.
Now shut up and have some candy — tastes like Truth.
Atlanta closer Craig Kimbrel, naturally blessed with both boyishly rosy cheeks and lethal competitive instincts, has been called (and more than once) the Baby-faced Assassin. With this epithet coming into wide usage, it is perhaps only a matter of time before an attempt is made — either by Mr. Kimbrel himself, or by arbiters of culture like Baseball-Reference.com — to give it some sort of official sanction. We here at Nickname Watch take a conservative stance on such matters, and have consistently advised that a very high burden of proof be set for those wishing to claim a nickname. In the case at hand, we consider the burden of proof to be especially high, since this nickname has in fact already been used in Major League Baseball: (nick)namely, by longtime Reds reliever Danny Graves. Though it is easily argued that Mr. Kimbrel is a superior player to Mr. Graves — and after all, to employ a reductio ad absurdum, we would certainly not strip the name “Splendid Splinter” from Ted Williams due to the revelation of prior use by some minor player — the seniority of the latter man, I’m sure we can agree, should have some value.