“Nama biru” is Japanese for “draft beer.”

Go to Jingu Stadium in Tokyo for a game — it’ll cost you half as much as the Tokyo Dome, and you’ll get to see the same game.

You know what will stick with you? The little things. You see, they have baseball in Tokyo, but they don’t call it that. They call it basebaru. Same thing, but a little different. Maybe it’s the metric system, or maybe it’s just society.

The beer experience fits right in — baseball with a little dash of shoyu.

Read the rest of this entry »

This video footage of Phil Rizzuto maniacally sawing a live woman in half represents only one of roughly 800 video spots the late Yankee shortstop and broadcaster did for consumer financiers The Money Store in the late 1980s and early ’90s — i.e. at precisely the same time giants of rap N.W.A. very-not-coincidentally released their single “Gangsta Gangsta”.

Next week, we’ll look at Rizzuto’s spokeswork for noted clothier American Apparel.

We have long known that R.A. Dickey and The Marshall Tucker Band occupy an almost identical space in the public imagination, yet few — if any — attempts have been made to make their similarities clear.

Let NotGraphs handles this bidness.

1. They are both going to climb the highest mountain. (Or, at least, highest-ish.)

2. In both cases, women appear to be the impetus for the climbing of said mountain.

3. They both have their names emblazoned in gold thread on the ass pocket of their respective dungaree pants.

Fin.

Howdy, folks. It’s that time of year again, when the BWABBA entrusts me to be one of the proud voters for the Baseball Hall o’ Fame. The ballot instructions are clear: “Voting shall be based upon the player’s record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character, and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played.” Some voters like to assign numbers to each of those categories and do some sort of math thing. Even if I knew how to use a calculator, which I don’t, I don’t think you can decide the value of anything based on a number. That would be like going into a restaurant and choosing your meal based on the price. I don’t want to know what food costs. I just want to eat it. That, my friends, is a J.G. Taylor Spunk Award-winning analogy, which is why I know I’m in line to make it into that Hall one day for my writin’ ablilities. The Spunk Award will one day be mine. Where were we now? Oh, yes, the ballot. Here we go.

A lot of talk this year about BARRY LARKIN. I don’t really understand it. Did he bat .300? Nope. Career .295. I don’t want to dilute my hall with people who couldn’t get a hit at least 300 out of every… wait, how do we do the batting average again? 300 hits out of every 100 times at bat. Yeah, that sounds right. So, .295, which is like 500 fewer hits every season… I say no. Besides, he didn’t even come close to that magic number of 300 wins. He had, um, I think it’s zero. So, it’s a no. Although I will revisit next year if we find out he did drugs or something. That might explain the shortfall and give me a reason to vote for him.

Read the rest of this entry »

As you may have noticed, there is no baseball here. There is, however, baseball’s older, slightly more distinguished and certainly more long-winded cousin. So please go here and watch a video of a rather amazing cricket catch that defies both belief and efforts to embed. Is it a “catch,” or do they have some rather very cricketty word for it like “capture” or “glom” or “Bonnie Prince Ensnarement”?

In any event, if this cricket video sustains even a single base-and-ball fan through this pointless respite, then the entire breadth of British colonialism will have been worth it.

There is no baseball here, but there are things somewhat like baseball somewhere.

Recently, I finished reading The Art of War, the famous work of Chinese general Sun Tzu. Although the goal of Sun Tzu’s writings is to educate the generals of his state of Wu in the art of defeating large armies of people, potentially with deadly force — something not too similar to baseball, given the non-contact nature of the sport — some of Sun Tzu’s thoughts on the competitive and strategic aspects of war actually apply quite well to this fine sport. Here are a few selected items which people in various positions in baseball could find useful.

For the manager assessing his team:

He first of all considers the power of his army in the bulk; afterwards he takes individual talent into account, and uses each men according to his capabilities. He does not demand perfection from the untalented.

It is key both for managers to understand the strength of their teams relative to the league as well as the bits and pieces individual players bring to the table. This passage seems particularly applicable to platoons — the strong manager does not demand each hitter hits lefties and righties equally well, and instead uses two players to the best of their abilities when possible.

Read the rest of this entry »

So the Astros hired this fella, Sig Mejdal, to be the club’s “Director of Decision Sciences.” I hear what you’re probably saying to yourself. “Isn’t that a made-up title?” In a way, yes it is. That may or may not have you asking, “So what other titles were considered?”

Well you’re in luck. I’ve procured a copy of the different titles the Astros were prepared to hand out had this not worked out. Take a gander.

Read the rest of this entry »

From Tom Verducci’s column on his Hall-of-Fame ballot comes this little (Chicken Mc) nugget:

It was not preventing me from voting for Bagwell in 2010, but a development gave me pause just as I was filling out my ballot in his first year of eligibility: a perplexing interview in which Bagwell condoned steroid use and attributed his bulk to “eating 30 pounds of meat every single day and . . . working out,” making no mention of the andro, the beta-hydroxy-beta-methylbutyrate, the zinc tabs, creatine and whatever else.

Once more with the relevant portion in the town-crier’s all caps for maximum emphasis:

“EATING 30 POUNDS OF MEAT EVERY SINGLE DAY”

Like you, I don’t know whether to believe that Jeff Bagwell indeed made a habit of eating the equivalent of four human newborns every day, but I think I shall believe it anyway. Jeff Bagwell ate 30 pounds of meat every day. Thank him for the memories, but pity the hellscape of his colon.

(Nom nom: BTF)

Caravaggio’s The Incredulity of Saint Thomas.

Here are three dreams I’ve had about baseball:

1. I’m at a familiar cafe in Madison, WI. One moment, the barista is there, behind the counter like normal; the next, he’s gone, replaced by Dick Allen. No one seems to notice, except for… no, it couldn’t be… yes, it is… Haley Joel Osment.

Read the rest of this entry »

If there’s one thing we take very seriously  at NotGraphs, it’s bringing to your attention baked delights that are baseball-related. So, look at it. Look at that frigging baseball glove made of cupcakes. Isn’t it amazing? At first, I wasn’t even sure what to say about it. Upon feasting — pun intended — my eyes on it, I was rendered speechless. I may or may not have reached out with my right hand and touched the screen of my laptop; touched the baseball glove made of cupcakes.

(I did.)

But, really, what is there to say? It’s beautiful. It’s freedom. And surely delicious. I may or may not have dreamed of eating it last night.

(I did. And Kevin Mench. Not eating Kevin Mench, you sick bastard. I dreamed about eating the cake, and then, later on, I ran into Kevin Mench. I made sure that he knew I’ll never forgive him for breaking Roy Halladay’s leg in 2005. Strange dream, I know. Very strange. But I guess it’s about that time of year — Januarys in Canada make you question your life choices — when I begin to dream of mediocre baseball players.)

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times, and I’ll say it again: I’m hungry. They’ve thought of everything.

Cupcake glove tap to this Tumblr account.