Smooth like milk.

Maybe you’re wondering about Melky Cabrera even though his trade to the Giants has been thoroughly dissected. But, you’re wondering about, well, you’re wondering about his name. You know about his game. Where did he get that name? What does it mean.

Here are ten random (and slightly randy) thoughts about his name:

1) Melky is short for Melquiades.
2) The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada is a pretty good movie.
3) Melquiades means “Rey por la gracia de Dios.”
Read the rest of this entry »

Much like you, I slogged through this day encumbered by the grim assumption that, once again, I would not see the final outs of Dennis Martinez’s 1991 perfect game broadcast in French. Thankfully and mercifully, I was wrong:

The Constitution teaches us that Jesus spoke American and killed the dinosaurs. But French is okay, too.

Sabermetric Good Guy Steve Slowinski, of both FanGraphs and D-Rays Bay, asks in the latter of those two electronic publications, “What would a Matt Joyce Extension look like?”

Presuming that, by “extension,” he meant for a Springfield XDM 9mm Black 19+1 (available at Bud’s Guns Shop for $549) this is the answer:

Noted Italian-American gridiron football coach Vince Lombardi once famously announced “Winning isn’t everything; it’s the only thing.” Less noted — and, it turns out, less Italian-American — baseball writer Carson Cistulli once (less famously) said, “Scotch isn’t the only thing I drink; it’s the only thing I drink after noon.”

To this important conversation, third Italian-American Lawrence “Yogi” Berra has recently added a rich and compelling dimension, stating (according to Jason Gay of the Wall Street Journal) “I’ll have a vodka with extra ice, and the scallops.”

Among the other scraps of wisdom extracted by Gay during his recent trip to Moneyball and dinner with the Yankee legend and his wife Carmen, we learn that:

• Berra’s greatest criticism of the film concerns actor Philip Seymour Hoffman’s portrayal of Art Howe — and, in particular, Hoffman’s girth. “Art’s a good guy,” says Berra. “And I never saw him that fat. He’s thin.”

• Father of Sabermetrics Bill James has “no doubt” that Berra is the greatest catcher who ever lived — even if the career WAR leaderboard suggests differently.

• Yogi Berra is still alive.

Hunter S. Thompson committed suicide three weeks after the 2005 Super Bowl, titling his note “Football Season is Over.” Not to get too dramatic, but I get that feeling of general malaise that creeps in after the end of a sports season. It’s been a little over one week since St. Louie won the World Series, and I must admit I’m already growing restless. No NBA isn’t helping, and surprisingly neither is the start of the Australian Baseball League. That leaves one place to find immediate salvation – To the library!

“Honestly, the plot’s a little slow for me.”

What I’m proposing is a NotGraphs bookclub, but not really, because that would be too much work.  So what I’m really proposing are a few books that I would recommend to this fake bookclub if it actually did ever exist.

The now famous Jonah Keri posted a list of great baseball books many moons ago on NotGraphs, and it is pretty great and a good a place as any to start building your personal baseball library.  My only problem with it, however, is its lack of good fiction books (he includes just one, the albeit fantastic The Iowa Baseball Confederacy) – this list, while not as long, thorough, or as well hyper-linked, is an attempt to rectify this very, very minor literary injustice.  And that’s my preamble.

Book #1 – The Great American Novel, Philip Roth.  A long, well-written joke about our national pastime.  Read this in spurts, or just re-read his best book, the novella Goodbye, Columbus, and call it a day.

Book #2 –   The Universal Baseball Association, Inc., J. Henry Waugh, Prop., Robert Coover.  A weird book by a weird writer, the plot follows the titular Henry Waugh and his devotion to a fictional baseball league he creates and plays by himself.

Book #3 – The Natural, Bernard Malamud.  The best ever.  Better than the movie.  If you haven’t read it, do it today. 

 More to come at some point, probably.

Welcome back to that time of year when we pretend we can predict the future. All rankings subject to change.

1. Rodney Crandall, 2B
The Good: Crandall’s your typical Ryne-Sandberg-meets-Candice-Bergen second baseman, with a huge swing, big elbows, and the glove of a tiger. His ability to put three bats in his mouth at once is legendary. Despite no feet, last season he stole nearly every base.
The Bad: He’s a mass murderer, set for trial in December.
Perfect World Projection: He beats the charges, and comes back to bash his opponents’ heads in, setting him up for another murder trial and then a big debut in 2014.
Scout’s Incoherent Ramblings: “Crandall likes to eat yogurt, if you know what I mean.”

2. Jacob Loring, SP
The Good: Loring throws seven kinds of fastballs and four different sliders, making his games a real chore for the folks in the booth. He also has three glass eyes and is originally from space.
The Bad: He’s been dead for thirteen years.
Perfect World Projection: Biomedical technology takes a leap forward and Loring is back on the mound come spring. Ace potential, if he’s able to regain a pulse.
Scout’s Incoherent Ramblings: “I once saw him eat a coffee table and spit out the nails. Tough kid.”

3. Gordon Clyde, C
The Good: Good hands, tight mask, four teeth. Sprays line segments to every field, and isn’t afraid to touch the foul pole. Can see him as a Steve Carlton Fisk type, with a little bit of Catfish Hunter Pence in there.
The Bad: Mitochondrial disorder means he can’t grip a bat or throw a ball.
Perfect World Projection: Again, biomedical technology is the key. But once we overcome that hurdle, it’s smooth sailing to the big leagues.
Scout’s Incoherent Ramblings: “Reminds me of my wife. My second wife, I think. Or maybe that was my daughter. It all gets a little hazy sometimes.”

4. Sammy Hernandez, OF
The Good: Swims just like a ballplayer. Knows how to count backwards from 100, and can even do it with his eyes closed. Long swing, but short fingers, so it all balances out. Soft feet. Big ears.
The Bad: Utterly and completely incontinent.
Perfect World Projection: Another one relying on biomedical technology to secure a profitable future. But if he can stop dripping urine wherever he goes, he has the potential to be a difference-maker.
Scout’s Incoherent Ramblings: “Hate him. Don’t know why, maybe it’s because I never met him. But I can’t stand that kid.”

5. Greg Rossi, 3B
The Good: In a system loaded with lefties, his ambidextrous skill set is the perfect fit. He’s the tallest player in organized baseball, at 8-foot-4, and has the belly button to match.
The Bad: He’s bulimic.
Perfect World Projection: He’ll recover from his eating disorder to take his place at the Hot Corner. Hey, he might even become the next George Brett Lawrie Metcalf over there.
Scout’s Incoherent Ramblings: “I got so messed up last night at Foxwoods that I don’t even remember whether I’m a baseball scout or a guy who does color commentary for ballerina recitals on public access cable television.”

Best of the Rest:
6. Sanjay Gupta
7. Ruth Bader Ginsburg
8. Mr. Mister
9. Gary Sinise
10. Bryce Harper

Young Lance Berkman, although generally quite happy, affects for all photos a look he calls, “brooding teenage thunder.”

Young Lance Berkman is wearing a paisley cummerbund (not pictured).

To Young Lance Berkman, the paisley cummerbund is not “novelty”; it is merely “sweet.”

Young Lance Berkman, in the summer ahead, will touch boob at the snack bar at the water slide.

Young Lance Berkman owes his hair to L’Oreal sculpting mousse.

Young Lance Berkman tells people he owes his hair to used Valvoline.

Young Lance Berkman, despite impassioned claims to the contrary, did not rip his Girbaud jeans on a nail.

Young Lance Berkman dreams of making urgent, forbidden love to Heather Thomas.

Ideally, Young Lance Berkman will make urgent, forbidden love to Heather Thomas on top of the snack bar at the water slide.

More ideally still, Young Lance Berkman, while making urgent, forbidden love to Heather Thomas on top of the snack bar at the water slide, will sprout wings not unlike those of the Pontiac Firebird.

Young Lance Berkman will use those wings to get Heather Thomas out of this dead-end town.

Young Lance Berkman will figure this thing out yet.

(HT: Snakkle and Todd’s championship Twitter feed)

A couple of months ago, our own Dayn Perry made a well-reasoned, excellently-worded argument as to why God Bless America should not be played during the seventh inning of every single baseball game ever, as has been the case for a decade now.

I agree with Mr. Perry, but I wouldn’t simply cut GBA and simply play “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” all by its lonesome. No, we still need a reminder of what country we are in when we are thirteen-eighteenths through a baseball game. As such, I suggest the following song, a much clearer and simpler reminder of yes, this is in fact America.

Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4tDP-yMwXI

When we think of Washington Nationals prospect Bryce Harper, we usually think of this mug:

Well, prepare to have that little world rocked like an infant in a cradle built out of a pure dose of Alice Cooper’s aura. Behold:

Not only is this 19-year-old outfielder sporting some early-career facial hairz, but he his also being penciled in by some as the starting center-fielder for the Washington Nationals. That’s a lot of awesome for a fella two years younger than the drinking age.

Oh.

And he might be Zorro. Just — please — don’t tell Sgt. Gonzales…

Your Daguerreotype of the Evening is perhaps fraudulent. But this space is not a bastion of quality assurance, so we don’t much give a shit about that. All we know is that artistic renderings of Morty Klaus Robbman’s uniform have been leaked, and we are absolutely a vessel for leakages …

Geography teachers the world over refer to Florida as “America’s tired-yet-sexless pecker.” The above image has nothing to do with that fact.