The 19th century was marked by much unpleasantness in these United States that would have been ideally avoided. Like widespread outbreaks of diptheria among children, for example. Or like the conception — if not necessarily the birth — of future (and now late) senator Strom Thurmond.
This just in: Stung by accusations of racism and yet sensitive to the appeal of nostalgia, Indians officials are attempting to replace Chief Wahoo with a less incendiary but similarly named ambassador by field-testing a variety of applicants.
The results thus far:
Well. That’s going to make it hard for him to contribute this season.
Plus, the problem is likely to be exacerbated by the raw sewage in the O.co Coliseum. From The New York Times:
The pipes backed up three times last season, once flooding the visitors’ dugout with brown water and another time forcing sewage out of the clubhouse sinks.
That stuff’s flammable, right?
Anyway, Addison Russell on fire, and the A’s playing in a flood of excrement. Fun times in Oakland.
UPDATE:
Fire is really terrible.
Brethren and sistren, behold! Today I bring you the latest Internet creation, which debuted and made its rounds just this week. This new innovation, my friends, is the Ron Gardenhire Nickname Generator, a website that will take your last name and magically transforms it, through the power of Technology!™, into the shitty nickname that the manager of the Minnesota Twins would provide you in lieu of the grand nicknames of baseball’s past, such as “The Reading Rocket”, “The Commerce Comet”, and “Lumpy”.
This’ll be great. Let’s try it together. My nickname is below:
And baseball-savant David Cameron:
And ne’er-do-well David Temple:
And put-upon gentleman of the night Dayn Perry:
Huh. I have to be honest, guys and gals; I’m kind of underwhelmed by this pattern. It’s ok, I guess, but hardly justifies even the minimal time and effort I have invested in this post thus far. Is there not anything we can do that will render this project worthwhile? We’ll try one more:
Never mind. This is fantastic. Congratulations, Cistsy!
“Hey, baby. What’s going on?”
“Yordano Ventura appears to be getting strikeouts via a good changeup and a very fast fastball. That’s what’s going on.”
“Is that a baseball thing?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, OK.”
“What’s going on with you?”
“Well, we don’t have practice space tonight, so I’m putting on outdoor wheels so we can skate on the paths.”
“Is that a roller derby thing?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, OK.”
Let’s take a nostalgic look back.
Contrast that with:
Mike Moustakas really is not off to a confidence-building start.
— Dan McLaughlin (@baseballcrank) April 6, 2014
Julio Teheran is a better hitter than Moustakas.
— Matt Salais (@juliokcmo) April 6, 2014
I do think Moustakas will get a hit this season. #Royals
— Matt Davis (@KCRoyalFan) April 6, 2014
@royalsauthority A friend texts me every time #moustakas makes another out. I should block him now, right? #OhFer2014
— Monte White (@nomototo) April 5, 2014
There are no words to describe how horrible Moustakas is #royals
— coachdicarlo (@DManEnterprises) April 5, 2014
Things Mike Moustakas has done well this season: Didn't trip walking down to 1st after drawing a walk
— Brandon H. (@BHIndepMO) April 5, 2014
Not that we can or should judge anything by (as of this writing) 15 hitless at-bats, but I have replaced him in my fantasy lineup with James Loney.
In his Discourses, noted Roman Stoic Epictetus proclaims that, to live a life free from anxiety, that each of us must become like a “spiritual athlete.” To that end, NotGraphs presents this exercise, with a view towards helping to tighten and tone the spirits of the readership.
That these bears are feasting on these children’s entrails oughtn’t be regarded as objectively unfortunate.
Notes
In his season debut this past Wednesday, Cleveland right-hander Corey Kluber — in celebration of whom an eponymous Society exists, not for nothing — was decidedly ineffective, producing the highest single-game FIP among his 40-plus major-league appearances. Said performance created a pall of melancholy over those who derive some pleasure in Kluber and his success.
It’s not probable, but certainly possible, that German filmmaker and ubermensch among just regular menschen Werner Herzog has written a guide to baseball.
It’s possible, if not necessarily probable, that what follows constitutes brief excerpts from that selfsame text.
It’s not unusual for men, the majority of whom proceed through life under the influence of meticulously cultivated delusions, to find themselves consumed by sick horror when compelled finally to confront the reality of the human predicament. The batter’s experience of a well-thrown changeup is a microcosm of this nauseous epiphany.