If you have not looked at Alex Rodriguez’s Facebook page recently, a) why the devil not?, and b) you may not have seen this photograph, taken on a recent trip to the Dominican Republic, that features Our Hero alongside fellow baseballists Joseph Bats and Señor Octubre.
Due to cropping, though, we are missing out on who else is in the photograph. We have also missed out on THE FULL STORY. As an Artist, I am here to fix that for you.
Have you seen this new Royals billboard? Shameful. Not only are they cheap with their payroll, but apparently they’re too cheap to afford to cover an entire billboard. This is ridiculous. What’s next? Hot dogs at Kauffman Stadium with a bite taken out of them? Seats with no backs? Beer with no foam?
Oh, it’s supposed to be like that?
Then, actually, I kind of love it.
I have long graced these pages with the undeniable truth that democracy stinks like the cheeses in Cistulli’s beloved France. When the unwashed masses are prompted to express themselves via a voting mechanism, we wind up with Taylor Hicks as our American Idol, a fourth Transformers movie, and Paul Goldschmidt beating Mike Trout in the Face of MLB contest (seriously). It is inexcusable that, despite its almost constant failure, we keep turning to this outmoded form of decision making thrust upon us by the most conquerable ancient Greeks and a bunch of Founding Fathers who were never around while we were growing up.
As ever before, would we just put ourselves into the hands of a benevolent despot, all would be incense and peppermints.
Alas, my message seems not to be penetrating your stupid eardrums. Even my colleagues, like very important Internet baseball writer and editor of The Hardball Times Paul Swydan, have turned against me. Today, Swydan advocates that you use your sausage-like fingers to caress your oily mouse (note: not a euphemism) in order to navigate your browsers away from the images of sausage-like fingers caressing an oily mouse (note: euphemism) to vote for the SABR Analytics Conference Research Awards:
REMINDER — Vote for @fangraphs & @Hardball_Times writers for the @sabr research awards: http://t.co/TRsUkkmjqB
— Paul Swydan (@Swydan) February 5, 2014
Not only does Swydan want you to exercise your questionable judgment to distinguish between five different articles in three distinct categories, none of the fine work you see in NotGraphs has been chosen for this year’s conference.
The author cautions the following before clicking “Read the rest of this entry:” Nothing good happens after midnight on the internet, particularly after writing about the Cubs.
You’ve been warned.
What I remember was sheer adulation. There was one girl who worked in the Kansas City Royals office who had what we would now call a large reaction to George Brett. Her eyes melted just gazing at him. He had star power.
Does the mere sight of George Brett cause you to develop hives, wheezing, or hot flashes? Do you have to leave the room during reruns of the 1985 World Series? Does the mention of “pine tar” induce an unaccountable burning in your loins? If so, you may suffer from LRGB (Large Reaction to George Brett). The good news is that you are not alone: LRGB afflicts an estimated 15 million Americans! Though some display no visible symptoms and can be treated with simple lifestyle changes, for others life with LRGB is a continual battle and requires careful, vigilant attention.
Earlier today, managing editor Dave Cameron published a post entitled Revisiting a Blockbuster That Was Actually a Heist, in which he (i.e. Cameron) examines the trade that sent Ken Griffey Jr. from Seattle to Cincinnati in exchange for Mike Cameron and other assorted pieces.
Greg:
Greg with a miniature head:
… and trapezius implants.
…and clear, shameful evidence of amateur photoshopping.
All four burners are on, so it’s an exciting day here on the Hot Stove Report. In a non-stick pan on the front left burner are three thick-cut slices of brioche, dipped in an egg batter enriched with milk, sugar, cinnamon, and just a splash of vanilla extract. In a pot right next to it, a cup of raisins being plumped up in a maple-fortified sugar syrup. We’re letting that reduce while we deal with some sides in the back. On the left rear burner, some spinach is being wilted down with butter, a pinch of nutmeg, and — secret ingredient — a tablespoon of miso paste. And on the back right, carrots sliced on the bias, glazing in some of that very same raisin-maple mixture cooking down just in front of it, with a handful of chopped pickled chili peppers for heat and some basil and a handful of roasted pecans thrown in at the last minute.
Now did someone say something about Emilio Bonifacio, or should we just eat?
Baseball, streaming live and in Technicolor.
Probably like how Wallace Stevens was always of more than one mind anytime he saw some blackbirds in a tree, so the reader, provided he or she is a reasonable sort of person, is of more than one mind every time he or she considers MLB.TV.
Reports from the weekend suggest that recently retired NBA player Tracy McGrady has no little interest in playing professional baseball — and is likely to do so this season for the Sugar Land Skeeters of the independent Atlantic League.
