Archive for A Picture and the Amount of Words It’s Worth

Which Photo Best Describes NotGraphs’ Future?

There’s a chance this could be my last post for NotGraphs. And though it has been easily the best place I’ve ever written for, I am kind of glad to see it die. It is like a great painting in my life, a great painting I will smooth down with epoxy and other preserving agents, and there will be no memories of burnouts or angry commentors or mean bosses. Just the beauty of trying to be funny and sometimes succeeding.

So it’s in that context that I encourage you, dear readers, to tell me which of these freely and legally available photos best represents the Post World Series, or if the Royals wins, Post Apocalyptic NotGraphs?

A Ghost Town in Utah

Frisco, or Utah is a Helluva Place
Credit: Michael Gäbler
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Oh, Here’s Those Don Sutton Wallpapers You Wanted

It’s 1981. A dapper, 36-year-old Don Sutton appears on the The Match Game. He sports a fluffy, brown afro and a winning smile. He’s still got another half decade left in his Hall of Fame career.

Now it is 2014. You’re living maybe not the live your dreamed, but a life nonetheless — and likely a more practical, more quietly excellent life than you expected. And you need a desktop background for your 1920 by 1080 monitor.

Don Sutton has finally found that match. And it’s us. Today, that match is all of us.

Sutton Wallpaper Basic

Sutton Wallpaper Fantastic

Fantasy Baseball Advice

Ho boy! Looks like somebody has a case of the Mondays!

Fantasy Advice

Click and watch it grow!

This Is an Ice Cream Sandwich Festooned with Tiny Jesus Montero Heads

In the dual interests of news cycle observance and amateurish, hot dog-fingered use of photo editing software, I present to you — without pride or any sense of agency — an image of an ice cream sandwich festooned with tiny Jesus Montero heads …

Delicious concession item

This has been what it has been.

An Island Where a Baseball-Like Sport is Played

On a small volcanic island, about 200 miles off the coast of somewhere or other, two teams played a game. Essentially, that game was baseball. But with elevated base paths. After he crosses the fourth base, some 40 feet above home plate, the runner would leap and grab onto a rope suspended between wooden pillars, and slide down, out over the ocean, and at the end of the rope, the player would leap into a rubber ring target.

The game we see in progress is between two teams called FanGraphs and NotGraphs. This is purely a coincidence and not related to the popular baseball-related Web sites with similar names. It’s the top of the 9th. FanGraphs are batting, and have already scored one run this inning, tying the game at 2-2. They have a runner on 3rd, and two outs.


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Cleef Van Lee

Last week, it doesn’t matter when or how many hours before midday, I was drinking. In a bar where the mesero brought me a menu with several parts, including a laminated photograph of the establishment’s dog with text telling patrons that while the dog would dearly love some of your food, please don’t give him any. The venue for my drinking had a logo with a cowboy hat on it. Then it came to me: that is what I can do for my NotGraphs post!


Why Is This Mets Prospect So Emotional?


Vicente Lupo, the Mets prospect pictured in the right part of this picture, is exhibiting considerable emotion. Is it because:

  1. He realized only after waiting in line at the DMV that he’d neglected to bring either his checkbook or the requisite amount of cash to renew his license; or
  2. His parents just related, in unnecessarily graphic detail, the circumstances leading to his conception; or
  3. He accidentally read a James Joyce novel; or
  4. His hands, which are transplants from a deceased murderer, are attempting to strangle him; or
  5. His hands, which are transplants from a deceased murderer, smell terrible?

Note, of course, that there’s no correct answer. Indeed, there’s no answer at all. All human endeavor continues to be an exercise in futility.

Credit to handsome entrepreneur Jeffrey Paternostro for bringing this image to the author’s attention.

Codpieces and Wetsuits: A Look at MLB’s Newest Uniforms


After Eden and beyond Hedonism II, people are supposed to wear their laundry. Generally speaking, clothing-optional is not an option. What is an option, at least if you aren’t Prisoner #30976, is the kind of clothing with which you adorn your form, be it a rhinestone caftan or a CSI: Miami nightshirt, with David Caruso’s sunglasses featured prominently in the area of the sternum.

With regard to baseball, perhaps no figure has celebrated this vestiary freedom with greater panache than former White Sox owner Bill Veeck. Indeed, 38 years ago last Friday, it was Veeck who perpetrated either a) the greatest sartorial misdeed in the annals of modern sports or b) the finest display of stylistic self-rule in the history of all history. On that afternoon in Chicago, in the first game of doubleheader at Comiskey Park, the White Sox took the field in uniforms that gave them the distinct appearance of misbehaving English schoolboys.

Now, in honor of that historic day, Major League Baseball is introducing 10 new uniforms, each an heir to the liberties that the Sox so bravely modeled. It is expected that each team will wear at least one of the uniforms during every homestand in September, and then again at Halloween.


The uniform: a flag-colored Speedo of the type that Mark Spitz wore in the 1972 Summer Olympics, matched with a Molly Hatchet concert T-shirt (Fredericksburg Fairgrounds, May 30, 1983) and a Nehru jacket made of heavy merino tweed. The hat is a traditional Tam o’ Shanter stained with day-old haggis.
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The Curse of The Chicago Cubs


Click to view in a different size. More specifically: bigger.

Terrible Photos of Ballparks from the Interstate: Volume II

At the end of last week, the author introduced not merely to the readers of this site, but also to citizens of the entire world, a new genre of artistic expression — namely, terrible photos of ballparks from the interstate.

To say that enthusiasm has abounded with regard to these poorly conceived images would be to repeat a lie that I told my parents just a few hours ago in response to their suggestion that my life is little more than a collection of poor decisions, one after the other, not unlike soldiers on the front lines marching to their certain, respective deaths.

Whatever the case, it does appear as though more than zero other people had already been participating in this practice of hastily photographing ballparks while in transit — even without recognizing the possible implications of that practice to art history. What follows is the work of one such reader, Ms. Rachel Monroe. Coliseum Coliseum is located in Oakland, California, and serves as home to the Oakland Athletics. Here’s a terrible photo of it from (what is presumably) the interstate the nearby BART station, BART itself often being referred to as “an interstate on rails”:

Monroe Oakland

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