Archive for Actual Thing

Puig Derangement Syndrome, etc.: The Clinical Descriptions

As a completely rational and acutely astute baseball fan, you are no doubt aware (and a bit frightened) of the psychiatric disorder known as Puig Derangement Syndrome, or PDS. Afflicting bitter white men between the ages of 65 and Jurassic, PDS is characterized by an extreme psychological response to Dodgers outfielder Yasiel Puig and often manifests in these symptoms: throwing a Budweiser against the wall and immediately referencing DiMaggio whenever Puig misses a cutoff man; writing a barely decipherable screed on whenever Puig is thrown out while trying to stretch a single into what is otherwise a hustle double; phoning a peer and sneering, “You watchin’ this?” whenever Puig celebrates a home run by “doin’ all that celebratin’;” and snarling something about the “right way” and “that ain’t how we do things here” whenever Puig rides in a nice car to a local restaurant.

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Thing That Doesn’t Exist: A Vineyard Next to Coliseum

It’s important, in this life, to recognize that certain things do, while other things don’t, exist. A thing that does exist, for example, is your in-laws. Just sitting there at home, they are, judging you for how your job is 90% just producing sophomoric Photoshop images for mindless internet consumption.

A thing that doesn’t exist, on the other hand, is a vineyard along the banks of San Leandro Creek, right beside the home ballpark of Major League Baseball’s Oakland Athletics.

Were such a thing to exist, however, the image below is an image of the sort of wine such a vineyard would likely produce. (Click to embiggen, naturally.)

Cotes du San Leandro Creek

On Yordano Ventura and the Dynamics of My Marriage



“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?”


“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?”


“Oh, OK.”

Adam Dunn: The Quiet Angst of a Big Donkey

A recent and actual baseball headline:

The Quiet Angst of a Donkey

“Adam,” said Colette. “What ever is the matter? You are more distant and brooding than even your usual distant, brooding self.”

Adam Dunn stooped to extinguish his cigarette in an exquisite coil of hound poo. Ce que je viens de faire est le seul art dans le monde, he thought to himself. “Colette,” he said. “The boulevards at once console and mock me.”

“I have a searing love for you,” she said.

“Meaningless,” said Adam Dunn. “Let us make love for no other reason than force of ritual.”

The Quiet Angst of a Donkey II

(Curtsy: @LukeHoekstra, for bringing the abovely linked dispatch to the author’s attention)

Image: Symptoms of Symptoms of Jeter News

Symptons of Symptons


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Alex Cobb Proposed via Dolphin; Your Romance is Invalid

True story, I proposed to my now-wife whilst sitting in a booth at Waffle House. I asked her to prom — our first date, many years earlier — on a TI-82 calculator.

We can say one thing: Rays pitcher Alex Cobb does not have the brand of Sexy we here at NotGraphs look for in our writing staff or in our readership. A proposal via dolphin in some stone-strewn alcove as loved ones watch with rapid, thrumming hearts? Pfft. Where’s the character? Where’s the self-loathing lack of confidence? Where’s the syrup?

The fact that Mrs. Future Alex Cobb said yes to this obvious attempt at lifelong memories and romantic foresightfulness further suggests that she too is not material suitable for a NotGraphs writer.

Thanks to DRaysBay for going high school girl on me and sharing this video.

Kenesaw Mountain Landis Is Filling Out His Profile






Leaderboards for Communists: Pitcher Velocity by KM/H

A typical, run-of-the-mill European.

Living in Europe, the author has become acquainted with a population of this world for whom baseball, strangely, isn’t a daily concern. Because they’re otherwise occupied with punishing the most ambitious and ingenious of their race, is perhaps one reason why. Because they haven’t been properly introduced to the sport, is another possible reason, however.

With a view towards addressing the latter contingency, the author has produced below the top-10 leaders in baseball this season by velocity — as rendered in kilometers per hour, however, so that the European mind might more readily comprehend it. What else the author has done is to capture video of Dodger relief prospect Jose Dominguez throwing a fastball in June at 163 km/h to then-Phillies outfielder Delmon Young.

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Sour Grapes Taste Good

First came the vote for the American League Rookie of the year.


Fine. Maybe they just didn’t feel comfortable voting on a guy they didn’t see before voting. It’s pretty hard to call up a stat sheet, maybe call a friend covering the Rays, and hey Cody Allen did have a great season. Position players are over-rated.

Then came the vote for American League Manager of the year.


Well, now that’s a little peculiar. Could it be?

Hey now.

Reminds me of the time I offered to get the table beers while losing at poker. Winner got my twenty bucks and a warm skunked Heineken I found downstairs. Or the time I convinced the scorer — she liked me — to change Carson Cistulli’s hit to an error because Cistulli played more often than I did on our JV squad. Or the time I bid all of my free agent budget on Travis d’Arnaud just because I knew Mike Podhorzer needed a catcher in our TOUT league. (He won anyway.) Or the time I traded Adam Wainwright because he struck out Carlos Beltran like that. Or the time I kicked my nineteen-month old son’s ball over the fence because he scored a goal on me.

Sour grapes taste good.

Head of Rob Ford Lazily Placed on Body of Eddie Gaedel

I recently Photoshopped the head of Toronto mayor Rob Ford — who’s better known in proper circles as “Melvin Nosotros Good Times” — onto the body of famed baseball halfling Eddie Gaedel. I surveyed my work and thought it stupid.

But then David G. Temple, the handsome Muay Thai expert with wind-swept hair and a far-off look in his eye, posted some Photoshoppage of a pizza on top of Tropicana Field. Upon viewing Mr. Temple’s contributions, I thought, “My dumb work has been sanctioned.”

Here, then, is Toronto mayor Rob Ford’s head sloppily placed on Eddie Gaedel’s body:

Melvin Nosotros Good Times

At this point, the reader will note that, unlike Mr. Temple and his post, I can scarcely be bothered to construct a false meta-narrative around my lousy photo. For I am Dayn Perry, practitioner of lassitude.

In the interest of redemption, though, I leave you with one of the sky-scraping tweets of our century — one that carries with it the whiff of our baseball …

#Hero #NeverForget