A h/t to @iracane on Twitter for the scintillating image.

Bless the fine people at SB Nation for sharing this beauty with the world:

Not only do we have an excellent motion-picture story of the 2011 World Series Game 5 goings-on, we now have an appropriate GIF at the ready for all of life’s crap!

Forgot to take the tin foil off the ding dong? larussa-game5-worldseries.gif

Loaned $10 to Bernie Madoff? larussa-game5-worldseries.gif

Accidentally watched an episode of Two and a Half Men? larussa-game5-worldseries.gif

Drove two towns over to secretly exchange documents concerning the layout of certain intricate and highly sensitive government buildings, documents paid for by the highest price and sold at a price even higher, only to have left them in the car with the windows down during a torrential thunderstorm, and though the documents were safe, the care smelled like wet alley-cat for weeks? larussa-game5-worldseries.gif

Although they didn’t know it at the time, when Scott Feldman, Ian Kinsler, and Mike Napoli made their respective ways to the pitcher’s mound at Rangers Ballpark in Arlington last night, they were fashioning the set-up to a hilarious, and only probably slightly offensive, street joke.

The set-up to said joke definitely goes like this: “Two Jews and an Italian walk up to a pitcher’s mound.”

As for the premise and punchline, I know less about those, but I’m guessing it has something to do with their mutual admiration for pastrami.

Chris Carpenter, who cusses at everyone all the time more than you’ve cussed at anyone anytime, was at it again last night. His most recent victim? Besides pearl-clutching lip readers everywhere, it seemed that People’s Champion Mike Napoli was the target of Mr. Carpenter’s maledictions. At this point, we must roll tape …

But first, an urgent word of caution: This going to be loud, and this is going to be dirty. So unless you have a pair of Gentleman’s Headphones at the ready or unless your place of work is dedicated to accommodating the whims of the Internetting Gentleman, you should hold off. Again: Loud. Dirty. Forthwith:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T9Dnj-5KGe4&feature=colike

Well, Mr. Carpenter, I never!

This has not been the work of the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team, but it totally should’ve been.

A very lucky person’s backyard.

Men’s Health magazine went and ranked the luckiest cities in America earlier this month. Spoiler Alert — San Diego won, joining Baltimore as the only two cities in America with A+ luck. They defined luck as:

the most winners of Powerball, Mega Millions, and Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes; most hole-in-ones (PGA); fewest lightning strikes (including the fatal kind) and deaths from falling objects (Vaisala Inc., National Climatic Data Center, CDC); and least money lost on lottery tickets and race betting (Bureau of Labor Statistics).

Really, now we know that people in San Diego are rich enough to ignore lotteries, play a lot of golf, and stay indoors during the rare thurnderstorm. Is it really luck if San Diego is where people go after they win lottery?

Read the rest of this entry »

We have a category called “Great Moments in Spectacles.” What follows is a picture of the late, great Dave Ricketts, the man who won the category called “Great Moments in Spectacles”:

This has been Dave Ricketts and his faultless, unequaled spectacles. This has been your Daguerreotype of the Evening.

The Buckner ball is up for sale, and apparently current owner Seth Swirsky’s asking price is in the neighborhood of $1 million (he bought it in 2000 for $63,500 from Charlie Sheen, who paid $93,500 in 1992).  It’s easy to get why it’s valuable, but I don’t know how easy it is to justify it.

There’s a great moment during the second season of Mad Men when Bert Cooper explains to Harry Crane why he purchased a Rothko painting (in the clip it’s around the 2:45 mark).  “People buy things to realize their aspirations, it’s the foundation of our business.”  He pauses.  “But between you and me and the lamppost that thing should double in value by next Christmas.” 

It’s kind of a funny moment because of how true it is – in the art world, that’s basically how things work.  People buy paintings either because they like the aesthetic or because they think it could double by next Christmas.  But a baseball?  It’s become pretty commonplace to bash on nostalgia (a recent, pretty-great book by Simon Reynolds called Retromania talks about it fairly well), but that argument seems like it might make sense here.  No one would buy a Picasso because of it’s ties to the past, but someone might buy a signed Mickey Mantle baseball for just that reason.

This particular baseball has some obviously strange vibes surrounding it. It is steeped in significance and meaning, but it’s a little different for everyone.  Semiotically, when I say ‘tree’ we all see in our mind’s eye some similar version of what a tree is, but when I say ‘Buckner baseball’, a Red Sox fan is going to feel differently then my 87 year-old grandmother, who probably has no idea who Bill Buckner is.  What I don’t get is why anyone would feel good owning this?  It’s cool, sure, in the way that having something that no one else has is cool, but it doesn’t really say anything more than ‘I like things that are expensive and identifiable.’  It’s connotations, if anything, are mostly negative. 

Comic book artist Todd McFarlane famously bought Mark McGwire’s 70th home run ball for $3 million in 1999.  I understand that a little more, but it’s still a lot of money for a baseball.  Someone’s going to buy this ball, maybe around the million dollar asking price, and they’re going to be happy they bought it, and they’re going to take it home and tell all their friends, but I wonder where, in three or four or twenty years, that ball will be.  On the mantle?  A safety deposit box?  In a dresser drawer?

According to ESPN, the Mets are set to announce “substantial” changes to Citi Field to make it friendlier to hitters. The article says that there will be a new (shorter) left field wall, and the fence in right-center field will be moved 250 feet closer to home plate. Oh, sorry, 25 feet. I misread that.

Other changes not mentioned in the piece:

• A sinkhole near the visiting team’s on-deck circle. You mean you didn’t see it? And now Albert Pujols is missing? Oops. Read the rest of this entry »

Last night, the Appreciator of Things no doubt appreciated the valor and excellence of Mr. Derek Holland, thief of hearts. We learned that beneath the wispy curlicue of a Camaro owner’s mustache beats a mighty heart and will. We also learned that excellence is possible despite a subversive rendition of the Pitcher’s Glare. Bear handsome witness:

While Bob Gibson’s glare made you want to quake and Andy Pettitte’s made you feel as though you needed a safe word, Holland’s says to the recipient, “I dunno, man. Maybe after ‘Adult Swim’ is over.” Or, alternatively, “Ah, f*ck it.” Or, more alternatively still, “Hey, dude. Watch this sh*t.”

To you, Holland may be a country

between Belgium and Germany.

Wooden shoes and Amsterdam benders

with booze, hashish, and prostitutes.

To me, Holland is a lefty;

fastball between 93 and 96.

Baby faced, with a pubescent ‘stache

sitting atop his lip like a caterpillar.

Is it just his hipster-ironic statement

on how “uncool” he thinks mustaches are?

Or does he drink chocolate milk in the dugout?

(Is Hamilton allowed to have chocolate?)

Oh, Mr. Holland, Sunday was your magnum opus.

But all I want to know is

why I expect Chris Hansen to emerge from the ‘pen

whenever I watch you pitch?

Perhaps you just rebel, earnestly,

against the restraints placed on you by nature.

Break free from your genetic shackles.

The razor is merely a social construct!

Which is only to say:

when life gives you lemons,

egg yolks, and butter,

make Hollandaise.