As any good parent knows, there are things in this world very much worth the price, even if that price is the pain and suffering of one’s spawn. Among those things? Hot, delicious pizza. A candlelit evening with Cheryl Ladd. Fist-pumping rock music. And, of course, a cowhide orb freshly smote over outfield fencing:
Suffer the little children? Yes, please.
Not technically a graph.
At Bluebird Banter this morning, real-live Dutchman and Pitch F/x understander-er Woodman663 published some notes on the movement of various right-handers’ fastballs. Almost without exception, said fastballs occupy the top-left quadrant of the Pitch F/x graph — which is to say, they all feature arm-side run and “rise” relative to a spinless ball.
Jimmy Piersall utilized “kicking” more often than is usual in the sport.
As noted by Dayn Perry earlier today — and the whole internet over the past 12 or so hours — a squirrel found its way onto the field of play and into our hearts yesternight during Game Four of a heated NLDS battle between Philadelphia and St. Louis.
While last night’s sequence of events certainly has its owns charms, it’s hardly the most notable instance of an animal making its way onto the baseball diamond. Some research in the Annals (that’s with two Ns, reader) of Base-and-Ball reveals the following, entirely unfabricated instances of animals on the field.
1921: In an effort to address poor attendance numbers, Detroit fields a team of all actual tigers. Eight fans are mauled — seven of them, it turns out, by Ty Cobb.
Baseball, and life, can sometimes devolve into a spiral of sounds and colors. Drunken sailors on this choppy sea, we try to find one thing to hang on to before it slips away again and leaves us bewildered. In and out and up and down and yet we try to come back to that one, stable anchor in our vision. Your own hand at the bar. That woman’s foot. The gleaming brass doorknob. That white pillow. But it’s folly — you’ll eventually end up rolled up in a ball in the bathroom, screwed up and hurting, recounting the moments that led you down this path. How did this happen?
If you missed last night’s rather taut Game 4 between the ST. LOUIS CARDINALS 🙂 and the philadelphia phillies :(, then you need but three pieces of information to consider yourself fully apprised and in good standing …
2) In the early innings, Shane Victorino encountered was long been known as the Gentleman’s Pratfall and then compounded miseries by indulging in what has long been known as the Gentleman’s Tippy-Toss-Silly. Click! (HT: Dan McQuade):
And 3) In the middle innings, Roy Oswalt’s engagement with a batsmen was momentarily made more delightful by the appearance of a puckish forest dryad hellbent on giving Skip Schumacher a hitter’s count:
And that, doe-eyed schoolchildren, is how America was saved.
It is known among the genteel that occasionally a gentleman prefers to take in a game of base and ball not with his wife and progeny, but rather with a paid Detroit whore. And for this very reason, Patrick Henry invented Craigslist. So it is not surprising that a certain well-bred, monocled spice trader recently took to the List of Craig in search of a female companion not necessarily averse to breathy sexual congress in a darkened Comerica Park utility closet:
looking for a reasonably attractive, relatively promiscuous, 23+ yo woman to accompany to ALDS game 4 tonight (10/4) at Comerica Park.
From relatively mediocre looking bald 33 yo man
Section 140, Row 8.
Face value plus sliding scale discount based on attractivenes and entertainment value.
PS – must have driver’s license, breakfast skills optional
True, the “mediocre looking bald man 33 yo man” bit is perhaps not the savviest example of targeted messaging, but, in his defense, those sound like pretty good seats. As well, kudos to this discerning patron for realizing that there is a time for the “relatively promiscuous” (e.g., at a ballgame) and a time for the “unthinkably promiscuous” (e.g., at a Dave & Buster’s in the suburbs).
(Consensual sex: SportsGrid)
While the word sin is commonly understood to mean “an offense against God” in modern parlance, the corresponding words in the Greek and Hebrew versions of the Old Testament (hamartia and chet, respectively) actually both mean something closer to “missing the mark” — the way, for example, an archer might miss a bull’s eye. The suggestion is not that one has purposely aggrieved God, but has, instead, fallen short of imitating Him.
As the attentive reader will note — either by using his memory or peering deeply into the footage embedded above — Milwaukee right-hander Shaun Marcum sinned the crap out of a 1-2 fastball to Arizona first baseman Paul Goldschmidt Tuesday night. Nor did this particular sin go unpunished, as Goldschmidt smote (a) Marcum’s offering into the right-field stands and (b) Milwaukee’s probability of victory by about 15% (the largest single play of the game).
To his credit, Marcum is instantly aware of his error, tossing his glove air-ward in a manner that one might refer to as “disconsolate.” In truth, the Brewer should take heart: sin is inevitable. It’s how one reacts to same that is meaningful.*
*Note: may (a) not be theologically sound and/or (b) be totally fabricated by heathen author.
“Why the eff not?” says Mets owner Fred Wilpon, all the time, before doing anything.
At Mets Police on Tuesday, Shannon Shark asked the readership which statue they thought might be most appropriate — and most representative of the team’s history — to greet fans outside Citi Field.
Just today, the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team has learned that the Met front office has not only considered such a project, but has actually devised a list of five “finalists,” as it were, for the hypothetical statue.
The five approved concepts are as follows:
1. William Shea, his hand raised — as if to say, “My bad, New York.”
I break no news when I tell you that the sign of a successful and vigorous gentleman is a carefully cultivated smoking habit. The modern gentleman does four things daily and with tidal regularity: ties a flawless double-windsor on the first attempt, makes love to ladies, conducts business, and smokes delicious cigarettes.
Given these incontrovertible facts, it should come as no surprise that the mellow, rejuvenating taste of Camel was central to Joe DiMaggio’s lionized hitting streak. Indisputable photographic evidence:
If the reader of these panels is left with the impression that Mr. DiMaggio’s choice in cigarettes had much to with his fame and material uplift, then that’s because Mr. DiMaggio’s choice in cigarettes damn well had much to do with his fame and material uplift.
It strikes me — as it surely will all sensible, right-wise folk — that, so long as we’re in the business of making schoolchildren memorize and recite things like the Pledge of Allegiance and various series of Arabic numerals, the Sons and Daughters of America can surely spare the time and brain space to commit to memory these sacred utterances:
My cigarette is the milder brand with less nicotine in the smoke — Camel. I’ve smoked them for eight years. They always taste great.
Remember, Sons and Daughters of America: You don’t have to smoke Camel, but you do have to smoke. That is, if you want nice things.
It’s with some hesitation that the author has given the present post its entirely sophomoric title. The achievement that is Justin Verlander’s curveball deserves heroic couplets, not thinly veiled references to the male anatomy (itself consisting of couplets that are, generally speaking, considerably less heroic).
However, it’s also the case that (a) more people will click on articles with thinly veiled references to the male anatomy and (b) Verlander’s curveball ought to be viewed by as large an audience as possible. Furthermore, much like Walt Whitman and our country’s worst public schools, NotGraphs is large and contains multitudes.
