If NotGraphs exists for one reason, it’s to propagate the spread of Joe West-related art throughout the country, world, and universe. But if NotGraphs exists for two reasons, the second of those is to celebrate what is Good about baseball and the internets.
Thank you, Grant Brisbee, for doing the thing you do.
First things first: Yes, that is the least nefarious looking Old Man Winter in the history of Old Man Winters. Not that Old Man Winter’s nefariousness matters to Joe West, one way or the other.
But look at him, Old Man Winter. Look at that smug smile on his face, as if he thinks he might actually tamper with Opening Day, this most holy of afternoons. Downright defiant is what Old Man Winter looks to me, and The Great Ejector won’t stand for it.
Old Man Winter, you’re gone! And you can take Spring Training (look very, very closely at the picture, near first base) with you!
Play ball!
Thanks to steex for the Spring Training Photoshop which blessed my email inbox. And, yes, I did squeal with delight after typing “Play ball!”
Thanks to reader and soon-to-be fantasy baseball nemesis Matthew Watts for the graphic. Thanks to yours truly for the team name.
NotGraphs continues to spread the good news, via its critically acclaimed feast-day series.
Life: Baseball fans will remember Incaviglia as a hirsute, impossibly sweaty, and — as he entered his 30s — replacement-level power hitter. Fans of college baseball, however, likely know him as The Greatest Hitter Ever. In three seasons at Oklahoma State, he amassed a (still) record 100 home runs*, hitting an (also still) record 48 in his junior year alone. Entering the draft, Incaviglia demanded to forego the minor leagues entirely and eventually landed with the Texas Rangers, for whom he hit 30 homers and slashed .250/.320/.463 (108 wRC+) in his rookie (age-22) season. Unfortunately, his approach at the plate failed to develop any further and, though he ended his career with 206 home runs, finished with just a 12.2 WAR over parts of 12 seasons. In 1999, Baseball America named Incaviglia the College Player of the Century.
*Making this record more significant is the fact that, while four-year players are eligible, Incaviglia left OSU after his third year there.
Spiritual Exercise: 
While Incaviglia, as a 22-year-old, was certainly capable of not failing in the majors, we can also probably take for granted that he would have benefited, at some level, from a certain amount of minor-league service time. Was it his responsibility to recognize this, or his organization’s? When, generally, is it best to recognize — or alternatively, ignore — one’s limits?
A Prayer for Pete Incaviglia
“Get your meathooks off of her,”
is something I’d yell at you
only after a great deal
of nervous introspection
and probably liquor.
It’s been three weeks since the FanGraphs staff — some of the coolest mother you-know-whats on the planet — descended on Phoenix, Arizona, to revel in the sights and sounds of Spring Training. And I can’t get her out of my mind.
Salt River Fields at Talking Stick. Now that, friends, is a name for a baseball stadium. Nay, a baseball complex. Say it: Salt River Fields at Talking Stick. Say it twice. Not only does the name roll off the tongue, but the brand-spanking new facility — home to both the Arizona Diamondbacks and Colorado Rockies — is a stunning example of why Florida’s Grapefruit League just might be on baseball’s list of endangered species.
The jaunt down to Phoenix was my first ever to watch Spring Training’s fake games. And Salt River Fields at Talking Stick, which opened its doors for the first time on February 11, 2011, and hosted its first game two weeks later on February 26, was everything I imagined Spring Training to be.
Lest you think, even for a second, that George Radbourn (no relation to Old Hoss) was not a man of his century, please inspect the image above (salient points noted) and then think again.
Image taken from the very useful BR Bullpen.
Yesterday, I gave the people what they have long demanded: the opportunity to receive a nickname befitting the 19th-Century Baltimore Orioles. The problem, though, is that too many of you received duplicate nicknames. Too many of you received my nickname — “The Salty Bronco.” Clearly the fix was in, and I’ll not abide such sullying of my honest toil.
So what to do? As ever, the impulses of Nyjer Morgan provide the blueprint for success in life and in business. If Morgan can call himself “Tony Plush,” which is the greatest presently extant baseball nickname, then why can’t you, page viewer, roll yer own? You can.
Below, after the jump, I’ll list the complete menu of nickname choices — many of them buried by the name-generator interface in the service of its sordid intentions …
As I cycle through my favorite sporting color schemes in my head, I notice that many of my favorites include the color yellow. However, at the same time, I notice that so few teams are willing to use it as a primary color. This comes from an already thin crowd which dares to use yellow in the first place – to the point where the only two teams that pop to my mind with primary yellow jerseys are the Los Angeles Lakers and the Michigan Wolverines men’s basketball team.
There are only two real candidates in Major League Baseball to use yellow jerseys: the Pittsburgh Pirates and the Oakland Athletics. The Pirates really, really need to make a yellow jersey in much the same style as the above (think a color swap of these jerseys, which are awesome by themselves). The A’s finally brought back a modernized version of the classic 70s (and early 80s) alternates. This jersey immediately becomes one of my favorites in the league. Huzzahs to those around the Athletics for making this happen.
Today’s feast day requires no money down and even less commitment.
Life: While never expressly a superstar, Daniel Joseph “Rusty” Staub was a consistently above-average player for the better part of his 23 seasons in the majors, slashing .279/.362/.431 (122 wRC+) for his career and posting a 56.6 WAR. Staub had the distinction of spending his early years with not one, but two, expansion teams — joining the Houston Colt .45’s, as a 19-year-old, in their second year of existence, and then the Montreal Expos in their inaugural season. Though generally liked wherever he went, it was by Expo fans that he was truly embraced. Dubbed “Le Grand Orange,” Staub made no little effort to learn the French language with some depth. His number 10 was retired by the Montreal Expos in 1993.
Spiritual Exercise: As you watch baseball games this season, mentally note all of the instances in which a broadcaster says of an ex-player “there’s not a nicer guy in baseball” or “he’s the nicest guy.” Ask yourself: “Is that guy talking about Rusty Staub?” If no, then he (i.e. that broadcaster guy) is very possibly lying.
A Prayer for Rusty Staub
French, the Rusty Way
is the easiet way to learn
what has been called by dignitaries
and assorted neighbor children,
“the hardest language to speak
while drinking milk.”
Visiting Paris
and need to talk filthy
about Edith Piaf?
French, the Rusty Way!
Someone gazing lustily
at your brand new
croque-monsieur?
French, the Rusty Way!
Just woke up in North Africa
entirely sans pants?!?
French, the Rusty Way!
French, the Rusty Way
is conceptually perfect
and bigger than all of us.
It’s effective as hell
but makes some guys
ambidextrous on accident.
Buy French, the Rusty Way
this instant and raise
your confidence by fifty!
Buy French, the Rusty Way
and divide all your sorrows
by zero!
