The image below depicts an actual product available for actual purchase on MLB.com’s internet shop:

This is Cubs Jenga, which is the same game as Regular Jenga, except emblazoned with CUBS all over it.

Cubs Jenga would be a very bad gift idea for Steve Bartman, if you were like a Secret Santa or family member or something where you needed a gift idea. Because, you know, the idea of him reaching out at some Cubs-related thing and seeing it implode before him as a result, that could, you know, bring back some bad memories of that time he did that very same thing to the actual Cubs.

So, guys. Don’t buy this for Steve Bartman. Okay?

“Are we doing anything on Saturday, March 17th?”

“2012, or are we talking even more than three months into the future?”

“2012.”

“Okay, I have no idea.”

“So it’s okay to schedule a fantasy baseball auction for that afternoon?”

“What time?”

“I don’t know yet. Does it matter?”

“Of course it doesn’t matter– it’s three months from now. I was trying to be funny.”

“There’s nothing funny about my fantasy baseball auction.”

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On October 28th of this year, longtime Cardinal right-hander Bob Forsch threw out the ceremonial first pitch for that team’s World Series-clinching Game Seven victory. Less than a week later, Forsch was dead, having suffered an aneurysm at his Tampa-area home. He was 61.

Though his corporeal form has passed, Forsch assuredly lives on in the memory part of the brain of the few Cardinal fans who’ve come equipped with that organ.

He also lives on for those of us who derive some pleasure from the growth and maintenance of superlative mustaches. The image which accompanies these words (courtesy Andy Gray of the SI Vault Twitter feed and clickable for ample embiggening) accounts for about a thousand of the words I would have composed on the matter.

The remaining words are these: Bob Forsch had a mustache… or did he?

To answer that question, follow these instructions:

1. Become a father.
2. Wait until such a time as your child, upon seeing fog for the first time, asks if the clouds have come down to earth.
3. Take note of your answer. It will reveal your feelings about The Forschadow.

Or, phrased differently:

Some days you wake up and the world seems a little dreary — you slept for too long, you have a sink full of dirty dishes, and the drawing you were going to post on Notgraphs today isn’t coming together… Then you remember that we live in a world where sometimes dogs wear baseball outfits. All is well!

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What follows isn’t particularly new, but, other than fresh dimensions of human misery, what really is?

If the Phillies were a nation-state in the literal sense, then what follows would surely prompt the full menu of solemn condemnations on the part of the U.N.:

As grave provocations go, this one is rather nifty. This question, however, is raised: if the Phillies owned the Mets, would they, although brimming with ill intentions and malice aforethought, provide better stewardship than the let’s-set-these-action-figures-on-fire ways of Fred Wilpon and his boy?

In any event, since this shot across the bow has gone unanswered, the New York Mets shall, from this day forward, be known as the Flushing Terms of Surrender. I say it is so; thus it is so.

(Much love: The Mets Police)

Cognitive dissonance is a heck of a thing.

Like, I like Frank Thomas. He got a little sanctimonious at times, and his head was kind of misshapen, but he also was on the front of the first $20+ card I ever got in a pack (1990 Stadium Club, now on sale for $1), and for like seven years at the beginning of the 1990s he was like straight fire unleashed on the league. For those seven years he had a .330/.452/.604 line… 835 walks to 528 strikeouts…

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As every survivalist knows, it’s not always possible to offload your pressing emergencies onto the broad-shouldered likes of John Buck. Sometimes, one must take matters into one’s own hands. So what follows is useful for the fan of base and ball who is also concerned about the rise of a global currency, a resident of any Michigan city center, suspicious that the other shoe is about drop, of the steadfast belief that the Rubicon has been crossed, and or a damned loon:

Post-modern side table or instrument of a homesteader’s righteous and bloody justice? Yes, it would seem.

(Ham radio and canned foodstuffs: Dwell Well)

Since John Buck has the name of a Dodge City sheriff with nothing left to lose, it’s somewhat fitting that he’s a hero in real, actual life:

Buck ran to the overturned car and went to work with two other Good Samaritans.

Buck and a bus driver who stopped to give assistance were able to help the car’s driver crawl out of a window of the upside-down car. Buck and another man pulled the passenger out.

So what does one do when one has nowhere left to turn? Who can save us? To whom should all distress calls be directed? Who will stride loins first into mounting disaster? John Buck will …

John Buck can help.

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Most of us will never make it into the scrapbook stuff of a Tedd with two d’s in his name, nor dine with a woman named Smokey. Vince Naimoli did both in one fell swoop.

In an age where things are built to come and go, Vince Naimoli has come and gone — like so much jowly ephemera. Despite relinquishing ownership of the Rays less than a decade ago, and despite being one of the most inept, curmudgeonly owners of the modern era, I’m betting that many of even the most informed baseball fans (of whom the FanGraphs readership is comprised) had forgotten him until Jonah Keri’s book The Extra 2% dedicated a hundred pages (or so) to him. Or maybe not.

But would you recognize him? Could you identify him above, where he’s pictured with his Eating Club? (The horrible syntax of the primary caption might be of no help.) Read the rest of this entry »

[Read this post from yesterday if you don’t know what I’m talking about, then come back.]

1. Derek Jeter signed baseball.
2. Bottle of Driven, Derek Jeter’s personally-designed cologne, a blend of chilled grapefruit, clean oak moss, spice, pine tar, batting glove sweat, and Jeter’s own urine.
3. Gillette Venus razor, so you can groom yourself to Yankee standards. Come on, you can’t expect Derek to let you stay the night if you have stray and errant hairs.
4. Gatorade, to replenish the fluids you’ve lost.
5. Tide stain stick, to get rid of the fluids you’ve gained.
6. One month’s membership to your nearest Derek Jeter Signature 24 Hour Fitness location, so you look good enough for Derek to forget he’s had sex with you already and invite you back for a second turn.
7. A jar of Skippy peanut butter. Smooth, not chunky. Just like you.
8. Chlamydia