For most of the season, 35-year-old Phillies journeyman bench bat Ross Gload has been nursing a bum hip which has severely limited his ability to play the game of baseball competently. He has walked in 2.4 percent of his plate appearances while striking out in 22.6 percent of them. Of his 19 hits, four of them have gone for extra bases (none of those four extra base hits were triples or homers). He currently sports a .238/.256./.288 slash line in 84 plate appearances. All of this he has done with a .311 BABIP. Yes, compared to his career norms, he has actually been a bit lucky on balls in play.

The solution would appear simple: put the aging, injured, and ineffective player out to pasture. It is something the Phillies could have (and should have) done over the last four months with precisely zero negative consequences. And yet, there he still is, on their major league roster. It is something that has puzzled me every time I’m watching a game and see him preparing to make one of his likely unsuccessful pinch hitting appearances. “Holy shit!” I exclaim. “Ross Gload is still payed paid (ed. note: derp) to play baseball for my favorite team. How can this be?”

Just yesterday, after watching Gload go 0 for 4 in a rare start at first base in place of Ryan Howard, I realized that the answer to my question has been staring me in the face all along:

Just look at those eyes! How can one possibly DFA a man who is so clearly anguished by a past of abuse and rejection? His face would not be out of place in one of those Sarah McLachlan “save the animals” commercials. If he were smart, Gload would use his sad eyes for coercive purposes. I can only conclude that Phillies General Manager Ruben Amaro, Jr. has on numerous occasions attempted to cut Gload loose, only to face a crisis of conscience upon looking him in the eyes. Here’s how I imagine the conversation going:

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First, click to embiggen and then regard and drink deeply of …

I’ve checked with the jurisdictional authorities, and you are permitted to choose one of these ladies for an evening of Chablis, board games and necking. And remember that a gentleman never does two things: use “party” as a verb or discuss the clap.

I choose them all.

As a Dodger, Ausmus would often accidentally freeze mid-swing.

Fans of the Astros might’ve have been very ready for catcher Brad Ausmus’s departure from that team. The available numbers from Ausmus’s last six seasons in Houston all point to the aging catcher as something like replacement-level.

That said, he was excellent for a number of seasons, was always highly regarded for his ability to work with pitchers, and — as you might expect from a grad of even a lesser Ivy like Dartmouth — is rather articulate.

All the reasons in that second paragraph are reasons the curious baseballing enthusiat might care to listen to Ausmus’s recent appearance on NPR’s Fresh Air. The full audio is available at the NPR website, but you can find some excerpts from the interview transcript below.

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Who’s the real Aqua Velva Man, Steve Garvey or Pete Rose?

Is it more Aqua Velva Manly to call time out at the plate because you’re not finished talking about your cologne and then, upon homering, vaguely insult the Brooklyn-born catcher’s ways with the ladies?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXVwzpd99Mc&playnext=1&list=PL745CA8E459F589D0

Or is it more Aqua Velva Manly to quite possibly make Aqua Velva-smelling love to the media just after taking a few cuts?

Only you, readers, can decide who wins this Aqua Velva Men Showdown.

Francoeur is as Francoeur does.

The informed reader will no doubt have learned by now that the Royals have extended Perpetual Sabermetric Talking-Point Jeff Francoeur for two more years. The news has sent ripples of self-righteous pleasure through the baseballing nerdosphere, nor is such a reaction wholly unjustified: despite his decent 2011, Francoeur probably isn’t even an average major leaguer. To their credit, the Royals aren’t really paying him like one, either: the reported contract of two years and $13.5 million suggests something like a 1.5-win player — something that Francoeur is probably capable of being.

For the present, though, we’ll put aside contractual matters and turn our attention to another thing for which Francoeur is known. For it was in a May 2009 piece by ESPN’s Jerry Crasnick regarding plate discipline that Francoeur famously asked the question “If on-base percentage is so important, then why don’t they put it up on the scoreboard?”

Some pointed out at the time (and rightfully so) that it’s not really the responsibility of a club’s scoreboard department to paint a precise portrait of a player’s value. Others — like Craig Calcaterra, for example — noted that OBP actually is on the scoreboard.

What if we took Francoeur’s comment literally, though? If we were to use importance as the only criteria of what should appear on a stadium’s scoreboard, what information would most likely appear there?

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In last night’s Royals-Yankees tilt, there was a bit of controversy surrounding a home run hit by the Royals’ Billy Butler which shouldn’t have been a home run (it hit a padded railing which is in play. Or something). Of course, demonstrating such technicalities is best used with the use of the telestrator, perhaps the greatest piece of modern broadcasting technology. And oh, did they use it well in Kansas City last night.

I would describe what is going on here, but luckily Answer Man Dave Brown (who originally uploaded the picture, thanks Dave!) already did us this solid:

PHOTO: KC broadcast uses telestrator for disputed Butler HR, makes it appear guy w/ beer is peeing blue: http://t.co/5DgW7ym #juvenile

He’s peeing! And it’s blue! On TV! Ha ha! And I must say that’s quite a stream he has going. Don’t even act like you’re not impressed. A big time salute to whoever in the Royals’ booth was operating that telestrator. I know I speak for all of us when I say we couldn’t do it (i.e. life) without you.

Dude I’ve got great tickets for the game tonight.
Sweet! When are you picking me up.
Well, uh…
Dude. You are NOT bringing Nick. He doesn’t even like baseball.
Yeah, well, you like it a little much.
Whatever. What time are you picking me up.
I was thinking about asking Jen.
She’ll hate you for it.
Fine. I’ll get you at six. Be out front.
Thanks dude. You won’t regret it.
I already do.
…
Look, I can see the pitches man. Right down the pipe.
What are you taking out of your – No. Put that away.
Steeerike one.

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Out of the chaos of the convention floor comes your list of nominees, whittled down by the Maximum Exchequer and a certain oversexed sergeant-at-arms. Who — who! — should be named forevermore “Frog in the Pot”? (As always, please refrain from voting unless you’re a property-owning Episcopalian.)

Conflicted? By all means, read over the convention minutes and let the delegates persuade you with their Hot Parliamentary Action!

I am a Cardinals fan. Our own Jack Moore is a Brewers fan. These are well and good facts and signifiers of a healthy Republic. Still, these allegiances have put us at cross purposes this season, despite the NotGraphs ties — sexy, buckled latex ties — that bind.

Generalissimo Cistulli is fond of calling Mr. Moore “America’s Kid Brother,” but of late I sense a darker side to Jackie Hazelnuts — a side that will be laid bare by the following exchange of Twitter Tweets. I present this unfortunate brannigan with a touch of formality that will call to mind either an Ionesco playscript or Atticus Finch cross-examination of titillating righteousness …

@daynperry Does anyone really doubt that the Brewers will win tonight?

@jh_moore Suck it, Perry. RT @daynperry: Does anyone really doubt that the Brewers will win tonight?

@daynperry @jh_moore I vaguely compliment your team’s hot streak, and that’s the thanks I get?

@jh_moore @daynperry Apparently.

@daynperry @jh_moore You just cost the Brewers the vastly more lucrative People’s Championship.

@jh_moore @daynperry I thought Nyjer Morgan did that a long time ago.

If you know nothing else about our traffic-contriving strategies here at NotGraphs, please know that a Call-to-Action Poll is forthcoming forthwith …

It’s the little things that make baseball, to these eyes, the best damn game on the planet. Like Peter Bourjos catching a fly ball he has no business — none, whatsoever — getting to, one that his teammate, right-fielder Torii Hunter, dove for and missed. Or back-to-back nights of triple plays on the diamond, one a 4-6-3-2 effort, the other an amazing 5-4-3 number. Baseball, man, isn’t she great?

Tuesday night, I was up late on the east coast, watching the Blue Jays play the Mariners in Seattle, and I was struck by more of baseball’s little things. Like the taking over of Safeco Field by Blue Jays faithful from Vancouver, and other parts of beautiful British Columbia. The boisterous — but extremely polite — Canadians got Mike Carp’s attention Monday night:

We were talking about it in the dugout. I mean, it was getting annoying. This is our ballpark.

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