Fantasy baseball players are comfortable with the idea. We often root for a player above all else – we need those statistics, even if it means that Nick Swisher hits a home run against our beloved Sawx. But this, this group of “McCann’s Cans,” this is a horse of a different tune. This looks a little bit… crazy. Maybe something’s in the water in Atlanta, because Gary Sheffield also got the fanatic treatment.

It’s not all Atlanta’s ‘fault,’ though. Check out this lovely section dedicated to Kevin Maas, called the “Maas-tops,” highlighted in this descriptive quote from Wikipedia.

“Like Mattingly, Maas was a left-handed batter. As a result many of his home runs went into the right field stands. About halfway through the season a group of a dozen or so young ladies began wearing “Maas-tops” to Yankees home games and sitting in the right field stands. Whenever Maas hit a home run to right, the girls would get up, remove their tops and jump up and down until Maas finished circling the bases. However after a few home runs the women were banned from entering Yankee Stadium.”

Ah, stupid Yankee Stadium security guards. If only there were photographic evidence of this group. Then again, this sort of player-based fandom could actually be coming from Atlanta. Here is probably the high-water mark, the moment when wave broke and returned home to wash the makeup off.

Did Kenshin Kawakami know this group even existed? Not quite “Frenchy’s Franks,” was it? I suppose this next one counts, although they never adopted a clever moniker.

All this next group needed was a little shoe polish. Instant fun!

Who could forget the ConeHeads? All sorts of fun. Let’s humbly suggest some more fangroups, in case someone out there enjoys getting dressed up, shall we? Apologies up front, but I’ll try to get this started: Adrian Beltre‘s Bell-Trees? Eh, what is a Bell Tree anyway. Robinson Cano’s Canoes? Might be a tough costume. Shin-Soo Choo’s Choo-Choos? That’s a winner.

Photo H/Ts: McCann’s Cans Facebook Page, Atlanta Journal and Constitution (Sheffield), Talking Chop (Kawakami), Polar Bear News (Pandas), The700Level (Fasano).

On Sunday, Americans celebrate a cherished national holiday: Repeal Day.

That’s right, on December 5 the Republic will once again fondly recall the downfall of Prohibition and its meddlesome enablers. Suffice it to say, the best way to honor this holy day of obligation is with some wholesome, nutritious alcohol!

Baseball, of course, has a long and bountiful relationship with drinking, and it’s only natural that the game takes part in Repeal Day exuberance. So since we can’t hang the bunting and play ball in December, we’re going to get in the Repeal Day spirit by naming the All-Time All-Drinkers Team …

C – Josh Gibson

Gibson may have been the greatest catcher ever to squat behind the dish, but he also had a legendary weakness for self-medication. Most notably, he missed the 1938 Negro League All-Star Game because he drank too much the night before and missed his train.

1B – Ed Delahanty

There are Drinking Men, and then there those, like Delahanty, who get drunk on a train, threaten to disembowel other passengers with a straight razor, get kicked off said train, and walk into Niagara Falls and die. (Yes, Delahanty was predominantly an outfielder, but for the sake of the narrative I’m deploying him at first base.)

2B – Billy Martin

While Martin’s strongest body of drinking work came as a manager, he was quite fond of the sauce in his playing days. The Copa incident, brawls too numerous to chronicle in this space, broken marriages, an affair with a 16-year-old when Martin was, oh, 50 … Hmm, turns out it’s possible to drink too much. “He’s got a good heart,” drinking buddy Whitey Ford once said of Martin, “but I can’t say much for his liver.”

3B – Wade Boggs

Perhaps it’s a tale that skews apocryphal, but … 64 Miller Lites on one cross-country flight? Even if the story’s not precisely true, it’s safe to say that Boggs embodies the Platonic ideal when it comes to choking down domestic swill.

SS – Swede Risberg

While I have a serviceable command of the sprawl of baseball history, I’m not a Bill James or a Rob Neyer or a John Thorn. As such, I had trouble coming up with a hard-drinking shortstop of renown. So the honor falls to Risberg. Why? Well, he spent a goodly portion of his baseball career in indulgent Chicago, he was one of the driving forces behind the Black Sox Scandal, and he owned a bar after his banishment from the game. Sounds like a Drinking Man!

OF – Babe Ruth

Like Ruth, many of us while thwockstoggled (I just made up a synonym for “drunk”!) have eaten too many hot dogs or submitted to some base urge or another. But how many of us have gotten plowed and, perhaps in a syphilitic rage, heaved a piano into a pond?

OF – Mickey Mantle

I’ve heard it said before that Mantle drank a lot.

OF – Hack Wilson

Lore has it that Cubs manager Joe McCarthy, in an attempt to persuade his star slugger to stop marinating himself in drink, dropped a worm into a glass of whiskey. McCarthy and Wilson both looked on as the worm writhed, squirmed, screamed undetectable worm screams and submitted to a fate far worse than the mockingbird’s beak.

“Now what does that prove?” McCarthy supposedly asked him.

“It proves that if you drink whiskey,” Wilson said, “you won’t get worms.”

Snare drum.

SP – Grover Cleveland Alexander

When it comes to tales of Ol’ Pete’s imbibing, truth and myth mix like, um, gin and tonic. What’s known is that Alexander returned from World War I with a severe case of PTSD, and drinking was the only way he could abide it. Whether or not Alexander actually pulled off this or that great moment while crocked is probably lost to history, but when in doubt bet on “crocked.”

RP – Ryne Duren

Duren makes the team for this quote alone: “I never really knew what it was like to pitch a sober inning.”

MGR – Bob Lemon

Managers who drank too much? Talk about wandering into a cornucopia … Lemon loved scotch more than most of us love oxygen or pizza. He was once asked whether he drank after losses. Lemon replied: “I drink after wins, I drink after losses, I drink after rainouts.”

Cheers, readers.

We’ve all been there: In a text message exchange, with no idea how to end it. Do you respond to the smiley face? With a smiley face of your own? Do you show some teeth? What about the smiley face wearing a party hat? Or the one wearing sunglasses? A thumbs up? What’s the bloody protocol? It’s all very confusing.

At least it was, until Wednesday. Until the one and only Cliff Lee showed us all how it’s done. Prompted repeatedly via SMS by his former teammate Ian Kinsler to “Just sign it,” the Texas Rangers’ contract offer, Lee responded by sending Kinsler a photo of a deer shot on Clifton Phifer’s estate by a friend.

Brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?

Anyway, the electronic banter between buddies Kinsler and Lee got me thinking: What have Derek Jeter’s former — for now — teammates been texting him? Thankfully, we here at NotGraphs have immeasurable resources, and were able to find out.

Mark Teixeira, Nov. 20, 2010, 8:48 pm:

I can’t believe they’re offering you less per season than Burnett!

Andy Pettitte, Nov. 22, 2010, 3:37 pm:

Tell CASHman you’re thinking about retiring. Works. Every. Time.

Mariano Rivera, Nov. 22, 2010, 9:07 pm:

You know Derek, 3 years and $45 million isn’t so bad. Jesus is everything!

Alex Rodriguez, Nov. 23, 2010, 4:31 pm:

Cameron Diaz. Your move, Captain.

C.C. Sabathia, Nov. 26, 2010, 9:32 am:

We gotta talk. Free for lunch? Buffet! I’m buying.

A.J. Burnett, Nov. 28, 2010, 10:01 pm:

I can’t believe they’re offering you less per season than Burnett!

Nick Swisher, Nov. 30, 11:42 am:

WHAT UP BRAH?

Alex Rodriguez, Dec. 1, 3:11 am:

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Brian Cashman, Dec. 2, 6:21 pm:

No hard feelings?

The New York Yankees: One big, happy family.

Two posts into my not-so-illustrious NotGraphs career, and they’ve both been about Derek Jeter. I’m sorry. For your sake and mine, let’s pray this gets resolved before next Tuesday.

If you need me, I’ll be in my backyard, hunting.

Image courtesy Greg Schmigel.

Yesterday, at his blog, Friend of NotGraphs and All-Around Ubermensch Rob Neyer — responding to this list of the 50 best baseball movies — both provided his own dozen favorite baseball movies and bemoaned the general lack of quality within the genre.

Be that as it may, some investigation within the film industry reveals quite a few potentially interesting baseball-related films that haven’t, for one reason or another, made it to theaters. Below are five notable and super-factual examples of such cases.

Working Title: The Fresh Kills Nine
Synopsis: A typically whimsical Wes Anderson project in which Owen, Luke, and the seven other Wilson brothers play a 19th century barnstorming club from Staten Island. The screenplay was very well-received within the industry and included what would have likely been a memorable cameo by Bill Murray as a New York City machine politician. Unfortunately, the project stalled when it became clear that more tweed was required for it than had ever been made in the entire history of the world.

Working Title: Rod Carew: A Serious Man
Synopsis: This Coen Brothers’ script was an early version of a film the pair actually made — i.e. 2009’s A Serious Man. Like that film, this iteration also takes place in the Coens’ native Minnesota and also explores the Coens’ Jewish faith. The difference is, of course, that the story revolves around not Michael Stuhlbarg’s physics professor, but Minnesota Twin hiting-machine Rod Carew. The baseball narrative was ultimately dropped when musician and Minnesota-native Prince refused to play the part of Carew.

Working Title: Papi
Synopsis: Papi was written and developed in late-2004 by Disney’s Pixar Studios in an attempt to capitalize on the popularity of Sox DH David Ortiz in the wake of Boston’s thrilling playoff run. The project was sure to create much in the way of cross-promotional and merchandising opportunities; however, copyright issues became unavoidable when animators were unable to render a version of Ortiz that didn’t resemble almost exactly DreamWorks’ property Shrek.

Working Title: Casey Jones at the Bat
Synopsis: A project originally conceived at the height of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles‘ popularity, Casey Jones at the Bat never really progressed past the earliest planning stages, but promised to include a lot of made-up, and vaguely African-sounding words..

Working Title: The Bear Jew
Synopsis: Not, as you might expect, a fleshing out of Eli Roth’s character from Quentin Tarantino’s 2009 war film Inglourious Basterds, The Bear Jew is actually just a biopic of Boston corner infielder and on-base machine Kevin Youkilis. Filming is going on now, and it is happening everywhere.

Dood, Jetah has weahd ahms.

This item broke pre-Thanksgiving, but sports card publication company Beckett Media recently posted some mocked-up images of Derek Jeter in all 30 MLB uniforms. (“Mocked-up” describes the fact better than the effect, but this is a family-friendly blog.) The creator of the images sportingly notes that some of his results were not strictly rigorous proportion-wise.

Actually, the best images are eerily convincing (Red Sox, Athletics) and thrill the viewer with a momentary trip to an alternate universe — for one split-second, some part of your brain actually perceives Derek Jeter as a BoSock or an Athletic. The tastefully decorated upper floors of my intellect were warmed by this.

However, the well-lived-in lower floors of my intellect, which are usually set to smoking by the Jete-dog, were left fully aflame by the less carefully-executed mockups. These caused me to perceive Derek, in turn, as having a VERY large head, using some kind of reverse-Sosa skin-darkening cream, and sitting in a way that Derek Jeter would never, ever, ever sit.

I am not particularly a fan of Derek Jeter. But even I have little stomach to further explore these dark and perverse parallel realities.

Ever since “Mad Men” and, more relevantly, those Fred McGriff/Tom Emanski spots nudged their way into the Zeitgeist, I’ve been ruminating at length about baseball’s place in the culture of advertising. And by “ruminating at length about baseball’s place in the culture of advertising,” I mean, “contriving a way to post a couple of YouTube videos that I think are pretty funny.”

Anyhow, how has our beloved sport been best used in the service of selling crap? I would submit that the two spots that follow are examples of the sub-genre of baseball advertising at its most penetrating, its most hauntingly excellent. Come with me, won’t you?

First up, Mark Littell for the “Nutty Buddy” …

Money quote (among many): “You don’t feel it directly in the, uh, testi-cleez.” – Chris Sabo

And next up, Bronson Arroyo for some perhaps still-solvent Ford dealership trapped (shielded?) within the loving arms of greater Cincinnati …

Money quote: “!@#$, would you believe a double?” – Bronson Arroyo

Can these be topped? Your move, readers …

This is a day late and, depending on your spelling preferences, maybe a letter short, but let’s do it anyway: Happy Hanukkah, Baseball!

I’d originally planned to present each of our Jewish readers with enough oil to light their lamps for just one night, but then somehow make it last for eight nights. Unfortunately, that appears to require some sort of “divine miracle,” so instead I give you this — i.e. three pictures of Jewish baseballer Kevin Youkilis wiping sweat from his sweat-soaked brow.

A frustrating thing about being a curious person who’s never played baseball at the highest levels is that it’s impossible to know with any sort of precision what the most pressing concerns are of the typical Major Leaguer.

Moreover, perhaps because they’ve spent most of their lives trying to be excellent at the sport, most baseballers aren’t particularly adept at articulating these concerns.

These two facts conspire occasionally — and, perhaps, more than occasionally — to create a disconnect between those who analyze the sport and those who could, potentially, benefit from such analysis.

Of course, there are exceptions. Like Morgan Ensberg, for one. And Doug Glanville and Brent Mayne, for two others. If you haven’t investigated their blogs, you’re invited to do so.

And, while you’re at it, please consider Matt Antonelli’s blog, as well. Unlike Ensberg or Glanville or Mayne, Antonelli lacks a substantial Major League resume, having compiled only 65 plate appearances while navigating a couple season’s worth of injuries.

That said, the Padres farmhand possesses a couple traits necessary for good writing — including self-awareness, for example, and, it seems, a sympathy for the difficulties of being a reader. He also is pretty adept at articulating experiences that are totally unique to his status as Professional Baseballer.

Read the rest of this entry »

Because you, reader, are the attentive sort of person this country needs more of, you’ll undoubtedly recall how, two days ago in these electronic pages, I, Carson Cistulli, invoked the name of Chicago White Stocking Ross Barnes — i.e. progenitor of the home run in organized baseball.

Because you, reader, are also the curious sort of person this country needs more of, you probably thought to yourself something like, “I wonder what it might’ve been like to actually have witnessed that historic event.”

Luckily, this is an area in which I’m able to offer some assistance. For, after a combination of database-searching and barely ept cut-and-pasting, I’ve managed to include in this post some excerpts from the Chicago Tribune’s report of the historic game (from the May 3, 1876 edition of that paper).

The image that introduces this post is the headline for the Tribune’s sporting coverage for that day.

Read the rest of this entry »

Please indulge me for a moment. I’m a new contributor to NotGraphs, and I’d like to — briefly but not briefly enough — introduce myself.

My name’s Dayn. I’m a regular contributor to FOXSports.com (much like Yahoo!’s sacred exclamation mark, the capitalized “FOX” is a non-negotiable flourish), and I’m the author of two books. This one isn’t very good, but this one isn’t half-bad (evidence: my mom and wife are both fond of it). I can also be found in this space, spit-balling about this and that before a rapt audience of two or three.

As for the sport that binds us, I’m a St. Louis Cardinals fan, but I’m fully capable of putting on my big-boy, objectivity breeches when talking about them in a professional context. I also enjoy wood-fired pizza, alcohol and naps.

But enough about me. I’m honored to be here, and already my love for you, gentle reader, is both boundless and without bound. And with that, I leave you with this …