Jeff Francoeur throws out Michael Taylor at first base from right field.
Your second major league hit was denied by getting thrown out by the right fielder. Yea… that sucks. I bet he remembers that one for a while. At least it wasn’t going to be his first major league hit.
No doubt roused to action by our new “Cakes” category, reader Yirmiyahu, wearer of monocles and four-button spats, calls the writer’s attention to this, which is a surely delicious gingerbread rendering of Sandy Koufax’s 1965 perfect game …
If you’re interested in answering questions like “Why would someone do this?” and “Why wouldn’t someone do this?” and “Was graph paper involved at any point during the planning stages?” and “Did the light towers at one time look like tensed and determined phalli?” then please do go here.
As part of our ongoing effort to aggregate all animal- and baseball-related hilarity in one central internet location, NotGraphs presents the abovely embedded video — a video, specifically, in which Cleveland reliever Chris Perez hunts, but fails to kill, a squirrel.
Owing to the lack of urgency in Perez’s gait, one can safely assume that, so far as Perez’s Oregon Trail-related skills are concerned, he skews much more strongly to the Banker from Boston side of things — as opposed to, say, a Farmer from Illinois.
“But he’s not trying to kill the squirrel, you a-hole,” the reader is possibly saying at this moment. “He’s only trying to capture it.”
To which charge I reply: “For one, there’s no Animal Rights Activist from Anna Maria Island in any extant edition of Oregon Trail. And, for two, if what you’re suggesting is true — i.e. that Oregon Trail is not a comprehensive and totally factual guidebook for masculinity in the 21st century — then where is this Indian guide leading me, and why I have just given him my pants?”
Video courtesy Guyism, via Outside the Box Score.
The thinking man’s neo-Agrarian theorist will tell you that before industrialization, people, quite joyfully, walked around with dog heads. We know this because we know this, and not just because Aldo Leopold and Wendell Berry insist it’s true. That’s why it was nice to see Braves second baseman Dan Uggla succumb to ancient ethnobiological urges and sprout a pug’s melon atop his muscled, hitting-streaky shoulders. And so, courtesy of Citizens Bankers, comes your Daguerreotype of the Evening, which is of Dan Puggla …
In other Tribe of Uggla news, Deadly Don Hammack, America’s leading Nats fan, calls the writer’s attention to one Magnus Uggla, who exists and actually has that name. As well, Mr. M. Uggla’s Wikipedia page contains this championship description:
He is a member of the Swedish nobility and a descendant of several European rulers, among which John III of Sweden and Gustav Vasa.
Forgive the clunky translation and instead regard again: “[A] member of the Swedish nobility and a descendant of several European rulers …”
That may not describe Dan Uggla, but it describes Magnus Uggla. And it absolutely describes Dan Puggla.
For those of you (like me) into the aesthetics of athletics, the uniforms worn by the University of Maryland Monday night where a largely discussed topic. Many — like the afore-noted Jay Bilas — were all verklempt, in awe at how the Terrapins ‘ football team could wear such an ugly outfit. Others, like me, were confused at first, but have turned over to the dark side of the weird jerseys.
Enough talking. Observe:
Take it in. Form an opinion. Ready? Okay.
Now, back to Bilas’s tweet. “The 1970’s Astros wouldn’t be caught dead in those uniforms.” Rather than make some sort of judgment of what the 1970’s Astros would or wouldn’t be caught dead in, let’s just take a look at what they were definitely caught alive in, via Dressed to the Nines:
So, what do you think? Which were worse? Or, if you’re crazy, which was better (better as in “more good,” not “less bad”). Personally, I think I can appreciate both. Even though I probably won’t be caught dead in either.
Last night, in the second inning of the Giants-Padres game, San Franciscan Brett Pill hit his first major-league home run in what was — if you can frigging believe it, reader — his first major-league plate appearance.
There was a lot of what you might call joie de vivre, esprit de corps, and other useful French expressions unfolding up and down the length of the Giant dugout in the aftermath of little Brett Pill’s accomplishment.
Perhaps no one felt this joy so acutely, though, as Giant first baseman-cum-elder statesman Aubrey Huff, who, if appearances are to be believed, is, in fact, the birth father of the young Pill.
While there is no conclusive information as of yet regarding Huff’s paternity, the reader should know that our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team has recently acquired a DNA sample from Huff in what is frequently referred to as “the hard way.”
There’s something beautiful about it — something haphazardly Van Gogh-ian. It may have been made by someone who had never decorated a cake before or perhaps an experienced pastry chef newly encumbered by hot-dog fingers. Lo, the pastiche!
Were it not so rough-hewn, were it more touched by choosy artifice, then it would not be what it is, which is Your Johnny Damon Cake of the Day …
Even though I don’t need to tell you that NotGraphs now has a category called “Cakes,” I am nonetheless going to tell you that NotGraphs now has a category called “Cakes.”
(Cake smash: She Walks Softly)
I tried. I really did. I tried my best not to laugh. I told myself, “No, that’s not funny.” But it’s totally funny. I laughed. And then I watched it again. And again. And another time after that. I mean, it’s only 10 seconds long. And I laughed some more.
I even e-mailed the video to a friend of mine. I wanted to gauge her reaction, you know, as someone without the average Canadian male’s sense of humor. Her response:
Watched it 4 times. hahahahahaha
All I needed was the “hahahahahaha.” Validation. She was judge and jury, and the verdict was in: Funny.
It’s hard to say really what’s best about this photo. First of all, let me set the scene. It’s a Marlins game, sometime between 1993 and now. Not many folks showed up.
With the scene sufficiently set, let’s turn our eyes to what exactly makes the picture great. The black cat no doubt is the focal point. No word yet on if he was tased or tazed or tasered, or however you spell it, but I’m guessing not. Chances are, the right fielder was late in coming out for the top of the inning, and the impressionable youngster was just trying to lend a hand to the homestanding Fish. What a trooper.
The face of the young boy is noteworthy, though I can’t take my eyes off his plunging neckline. Who lets their kid out of the house in such an outfit? (Columnist note: Probably the same ones who let him sit at a Marlins game unattended in the front row.)
The man in the middle acts unimpressed; he’s a Marlins season ticket holder. NOTHING impresses him anymore. Besides, if this cat is any good, he’ll be dealt to the American League in six years for a fishing license and a couple of lures.
That brings us to the woman on the right. Yep, she’s the one that makes the photo. It’s hard to tell if possible she’s having a laugh, throwing a piece of popcorn down the old hatch, or having a coronary, but one thing about photography that is great is that it doesn’t matter. The look on her face is hilarious.
And for that, ma’am, we here at NotGraphs salute you.
(Props to MLB’s Facebook page for the photo)
Science has proved that inanimate objects, despite not having auditory systems or cognitive faculties, can hear, absorb and contemplate human expressions of anger. The gentleman rises for his morning ablutions, crunches his toes on the leg of his paramour’s museum-quality antique dressing table, calls the museum-quality dressing table a “!@#$%&$#@!%&” and promises to “!@#$%&* kill you if that ever !@#$%*& happens the !@#$ again, !@#$-face.”
As you will soon see, however, Pablo Sandoval, the only hitter in the entire Bay Area, has discovered that one may also extract favors, graces and happy accidents from inanimate objects by directing a few kind words toward them …
The secret to better results at the office, in the gym and in the bedroom? Desires whispered to things made of the dead and the never alive.
