Part the thickening gossamer of times bygone and remember, two days ago, when we asked you to declare, from on high and with a patriot’s starch, your second-favorite team. Lo, the results are in, and the second-favorite team of the NotGraphs collective (and, by extension, the world about us) is …

The Toronto Blue Jays.

Indeed, the Jays fought off stouthearted challenges from the likes of the Dodgers, Mariners, Cardinals, and White Sox, but in the end we had the warmest feelings for Canada’s last squad standing. So exult, Jays fans: The rest of us do not love you, but we do like you.

And here, Jays fans, is your handsome reward …

Please imagine the preceding as a Canadian flag, and then commence rallying ’round it.

We know baseball players have feelings. And we know we have feelings about baseball cards. Maybe it’s not so far-fetched to think that baseball cards themselves have feelings.

We know that baseball players are competitive. And we know that we baseball fans are competitive, even about collecting. So maybe it’s not so far-fetched to believe that if baseball cards have feelings, one of the feelings they have more often than not is one of competitive fire.

All of this necessitates a competition between baseball cards. A seeded tournament.

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Astros hurler Brett Myers (Throws: Right; Bats: Right; Breathes: Mouth) has a bobblehead. The discerning observer who discerns will notice that Myers and his totem-self share the innermost wrath that makes the larger, more ambulatory Myers at once an intimidating hurler and smoldering menace. Absorb:

As renderings go, it’s impressive. Also impressive is this sneak preview of the forthcoming Ryan Theriot Bobblehead:

Bobble of head: Alyson Footer

The learned reader will likely be aware that, as part of our ongoing effort to become the new face of masculinity, we at NotGraphs have slowly but surely taken to cataloging the very best both of mustache- and spectacle-wearing from baseball past and present.

Accordingly, it makes sense that we would be interested in those rare cases where mustaches and spectacles — like two hypothetical trains in an elementary logic problem — meet at a single point.

Thanks to the giant knowledge of reader/commenter/shoulder-brusher-offer Yirmyahu (during today’s occasionally meandering, ever insightful NotGraphs Chat) we are now treated to such a meeting in the person of former major-leaguer Lee Tunnell.

A brief tour of Tunnell’s player page reveals that he was just a moderately successful swingman over parts of six seasons in the 1980s. His life achievements very clearly don’t end there, however.

Image courtesy of Topps via The Baseball Cube.

This very reputable psychologist contributed to our report.

In a piece from yesterday’s Times, John Branch documents — and, one might accurately say, mourns — the disappearance of great nicknames from American sport.

On one level, Branch’s point stands so far as baseball is concerned: relative to generations past, fewer current players today possess colorful sobriquets. There’s Kung Fu Panda, obviously — along with Big Papi and Pronk and some others — but the data show that a lower percentage of players have nicknames.

Branch, however, fails to make a distinction, it seems. For while, yes, there are fewer well-known baseballing nicknames, it’s come to the attention of our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team that, instead of disappearing, the art of nicknaming has merely gone underground. In fact, it appears as though the practice is as robust as ever.

“It makes sense,” said a totally credentialed psychologist who preferred to remain nameless, “that, as media more completely documents and pervades the lives of players, that they would develop mechanisms for fostering a team spirit. The secret nickname is one such device.”

With that, we present here — for the first time ever — some secret nicknames from around the majors. In most cases, there are no explanations for the names — although many of them are self-explanatory.

Regard:

Casey Blake: Business Time

Todd Coffey: Heath Bell*

Ryan Doumit: Pizza Butt

J.D. Drew: Jimmy Smiles

Adam Dunn: Sexual Chocolate**

Adam Jones: Quinoa Jones

Jason Kendall: Uncle Stinky

Carlos Marmol: Prison Shank Marmol

Mike Stanton: Leopard Pants

Ryan Theriot: Merde Hands

* This is a bit embarrassing, actually: when Nationals GM Mike Rizzo acquired Todd Coffey, he actually thought it was Heath Bell he was getting.

Tip of the double-flapped batting helmet to my old, and now totally famous, friend David Modigliani.

Yes, Jayson Werth, he of the lycanthrope’s beard in Philly and the turgid contract in D.C., once allegedly looked like this …

My only hope is that Detective Edmund Exley, that crass careerist, redeems himself by the end of the movie …

While we fans spend a fair amount of emotional currency on our favorite teams, many of us also adhere to a more leisurely form of tribalism. I speak of that thing called “The Second-Favorite Team.” It is liberating, this thing. While the fates of Cardinals can drive me to behave like a colicky infant or street murderer with nothing left to lose, my Second-Favorite Team inspires in me no such moron’s inclinations.

So without further throat-clearing: My Second-Favorite Team is the Pittsburgh Pirates. Why? The stovepipe hats of my youth helped, as did the dancing on the dugout during the ’79 run at the belt and the title, as did Pops Stargell, who is so cool that he simply must be the eldest son of the Statue of Liberty. Also entered into evidence is the fact-pinion that PNC is the best ballpark around. As well, longstanding is my weakness for cocaine-dealing bird-men.

And now I yield the floor to you, page viewers. What are your Second-Favorite Teams?

Second-Favorite Teams! Let us loosen these, the chains of giving a shit!

Continuing this site’s very obvious Middle West bias, it’s with no little pleasure that I submit to the NotGraphs readership A Thing I Just Found on the Internet.

Specifically, the thing is an announcement — an announcement, dating from April 25h, by State Senator Tim Carpenter (D–Milwaukee) that each January 26th will now officially be Bob Uecker Day in the State of Wisconsin.

Regard, plagiarism:

“I was deeply honored this Saturday to deliver the official resolution to Bob Uecker at his radio booth at Miller Park. Bob’s famous ‘Get up, Get up, Get Out of Here, Gone’ signature call has marked thousands of Milwaukee Brewer home runs to every fan’s delight,” said Carpenter.

“Bob Uecker has been calling play-by-play radio broadcasts for the Milwaukee Brewers for 40 years. I grew up listening to Bob Uecker’s broadcasts with my parents and his great enthusiasm helped spark my love of baseball. He is a beloved figure in Wisconsin baseball,” said Carpenter.

There’s no mention as to whether state employees will receive the day off from work, although Carpenter did go on to implore everyone to enjoy a Usinger’s sausage “with some crisp kraut.”

Pair your media experience with Trader Joe’s Mediterranean Hummus.

A teacher of mine in high school — one who was very enthusiastic about what I’m almost certain is called “experiential education” — had a number of guiding principles by which he conducted his pedagogical self. Of these, one he’d repeat pretty often concerned the idea of “authoring” one’s education. “A student,” this teacher would say, “needs to become the author of his education — of his experiences, in general.”

Though I’ve likely fallen short of this ideal — too many “experiences,” it seems, involve swimming nude in a public water source, an activity which I regard as indecent on multiple levels — it’s an idea with merit, this. The passive consumption of experiences/ideas/media is wrong not on a moral level, as many hippies/communists/Portlanders would argue, but on an aesthetic level. Which is to say, it’s imperative that we tailor our experiences to our own specific preferences and talents; otherwise, said experiences will surely underwhelm.

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