Archive for Naming Names

New Billy Hamilton Seeking to Replace Old Billy Hamilton

Those in the know know that Reds prospect Billy Hamilton is not content with merely pilfering bases and scampering home. Rather, it is his roguish aim to scrub from history the other, older Billy Hamilton, who toiled from 1888 to 1901 (i.e., Back When God Liked Us). Those ill intentions are ill enough, but now comes the clearest sign yet that he’s winning …

Billy Hamilton, scrubber of histories

As you can plainly see, New Billy Hamilton has now placed himself athwart and astride the fellow travelers of Old Billy Hamilton — many of them Irish, all of them racist.

It is now New Billy Hamilton who is hoisting poisonous toddies with Ed Delahanty. It is now New Billy Hamilton who worries about the croup, hardening of the liver and vaguer body troubles. It is now New Billy Hamilton who motivates himself with a fear of old-country famine. It is New Billy Hamilton who has agreed to marry the Colonel’s daughter for the sake of appearances. It is New Billy Hamilton who, upon entering the confessional, says, “Get comfortable, Padre.”

Thenceforth, New Billy Hamilton will entertain comparisons to only New Billy Hamilton.

Found: Player Who Did Not Play in the 19th Century

Internet Hot Link confirms the existence of this player of baseball

Man Born Out of Time

Thaddeus Philyaw played baseball, but he did not do so in the 19th century. Despite a name that, in Ohio Valley Protestantese, translates as “He Who Vacantly Surveys That Which the Colonel Has Raped,” Thaddeus Philyaw was not born in the 19th century. In point of fact, he played baseball in the 1970s, when we danced until the herpes overtook us …

Lo, Thaddeus Philyaw played baseball! That much is not surprising. What is surprising is that he did not play baseball in the moments before and after beating back an Indian raid in Lincoln County, Kansas.

What is surprising is that he did not play baseball in the moments before and after conceiving an heir on the hide of a coyote (read: “KAI-yoat”).

What is surprising is that he did not die of consumption while rounding third.

Player Whose Name Was a Sentence: Steve Sharts

Because he never made the majors and because he was out of affiliated baseball by 1990, Steve Sharts does not have a player page at FanGraphs. What he does have, though — by virtue of his amusing name, if nothing else — is a place in the heart of most every male in the coveted 18-34 demographic. Plus the author’s colleague Dayn Perry, one assumes, who’s not between the ages of 18 and 34 but who is contemptible and of low breeding.

Action-News Photo: Heath Bell Boiled in Oil

In a recent podcast with Carson Cistulli — whose surname’s middle syllable is in fitting homophony with a synonym for foulest poo — I was forced to bail out the host and his inability to deliver neither Hot Sports Opinion nor Five-Alarm Sports Opinion nor anything at all that could plausibly be Served Up Hot. These Job- and Frodo-like burdens led me to bellow that Marlins reliever Heath Bell should be boiled in oil on account of his being too promiscuous with his grievances.

Did I sincerely mean this? As is the case with all Piping-Hot Radio Men, I’m merely saying what more measured types lack the courage to say BUT ARE SURELY THINKING. So it is with a swollen and veiny pride that I present the image that follows, which was lovingly crafted by abiding reader/listener Kyle

Thank you, Kyle, you Internetting Gentleman of Distinction. There is yet hope for those whose Hot Sports Opinions stand athwart the milquetoasty tides of Radio Infirmity.

Young Charlie Manuel

Young Charlie Manuel fills his shotgun shells with dried black-eyed peas. That way it just stings a little.

Young Charlie Manuel once benched all of West Virginia for not hustling.

While Loretta Lynn is rightly known as the “Coal Miner’s Daughter,” Young Charlie Manuel is just as rightly known as “Damn Good Buddy to the Shenandoah Valley.”

Thanks to Young Charlie Manuel’s soothing presence and weather-predictive hinge joints, he remains to this day the world’s only certified Tornado Whisperer.

Young Charlie Manuel walked into one of Tokyo’s finest restaurants, and the staff knew immediately to prepare him an off-menu dish of squirrel meat and dumplings. He said upon sopping up the last swaths of gravy with a flaky buttermilk biscuit, “では、神を恐れるチャウチャウ、小さい相棒をありがとうございました。 y’すべての右である、知っているya’llですか?”

When Young Charlie Manuel needs to clear his head, he takes his black, street-illegal 1955 Olds 88 — the one with the aftermarket Piper J-3 Cub engine, which he and Rebel Dabney towed out of the junkyard with a battleship chain — out on the rural route and opens her up just a bit.

Young Charlie Manuel would probably be able to relax a bit more if he didn’t have a vast haul of corn liquor in the trunk and strap-bolted to the undercarriage of that black, street-illegal 1955 Olds 88.

Prolly be okay, though, since Young Charlie Manuel is deputized in every county that the creek runs through.

Did you see that shit? Young Charlie Manuel gunned her at the crest of that hill and easily cleared that doe and that opossum crossing the road. Woo-wee shit.

Young Charlie Manuel has, for several years running, been voted Meanest Sumbitch and Nicest Sumbitch in the Valley. Which one he presents you with pretty much depends on you.

Young Charlie Manuel would punch his way out of this dead-end town, ‘cept Young Charlie Manuel has always had thing for dead-end towns.

The next time someone in authority doesn’t survey a mounting disaster and mutter, “God Almighty Damn. Better call Charlie,” will be the first.

Ideally, he knows that the only way to get aholt of Young Charlie Manuel is by CB radio.

What Jack Chick Tracts Teach Us About Carson Cistulli

Evangelical patriot Jack Chick has admonished us against, among other things, Halloween and dirty Catholics. That much we know. What you may not realize is that Mr. Chick has of late undertaken the necessary business of warning the world about the wicked and iniquitous Carson Cistulli, who roams this earth spreading clap and bad ideas.

What, according to Mr. Chick, do you have to fear from this epicene waif who prefers fever-dreams of privilege to honest toil? Much, it turns out. For soul-thieving instance …

Carson Cistulli, upon threat of discipline from a dark force, encourages drug use among at-risk youths.

Carson Cistulli gives syphilis and AIDS to pregnant innocents.

Carson Cistulli, sub-rosa product of public schools, had a Wiccan teacher and from her he learned black arts and the finer points of animal torture.

Carson Cistulli, besides advocating a weak and mewling foreign policy, once murdered his own brother. This was the only act of anything resembling physical courage in Carson Cistulli’s foul-smelling life.

Go and tell others what Jack Chick has taught you about Carson Cistulli.

Phillies Press Release Calls to Mind Imaginary 1970s Buddy-Cop TV Pilot

Something rolled, not unlike waves of grain, into my inbox:

First of all, congratulations to Messrs. Cloyd and Ruf for what’s a genuine honor. Second of all, thank you to Messrs. Cloyd and Ruf for giving one the occasion to imagine new dimensions of the hard-nosed procedural …

Greatest Full Name in Baseball History?

You were no doubt roused from fat sleep this morning by an urgent thought: “Who, prithee, has the greatest full name in baseball history?”

Because I am a man who knows things but not people, I have an answer — quite possibly the correct one:

The first thing you’ll notice is that Mr. Partenheimer’s head shot is actually an Instagram of Craig Biggio, which is fine. The second thing you’ll notice is his full name: Stanwood Wendell Partenheimer. Rogue scientist? Deep-cover assassin? Outrigger canoeist with a sex addiction? Yes. He is these and all things.

And he is nicknamed “Party” not because of phonetic similarities to his surname; rather, it’s because Stanwood Wendell Partenheimer uses the word “party” as a verb, as do all base-jumping surgeons.

Rapper’s Relative or Baseball Player

Frank Mathers
Frank’s nickname is “Slim” because he’s fatter than his brother Marshall, not because he’s shady or anything.

Read the rest of this entry »

Can You Do What Shaq Green-Thompson Has Done?

Via thief of hearts Yirmiyahu comes urgent breaking news regarding the stat line of Red Sox 18th-round draft choice Shaq Green-Thompson. Mr. Green-Thompson is currently plying his trade in the rookie-level Gulf Coast League, and his bestowals to date defy belief, explanation and one’s capability to impart basic facts:

Woo, shit. Look at that.

We are doughy. Often — disconcertingly often — our flatulence is so severe that we require a nap in order to prepare ourselves for our regular nap. We have lost weight just twice in our lives: once when we got food poisoning after eating Gaines Burgers at the movies and once when we slept for 96 straight hours after walking up the street to Baskin-Robbins and back. We are barely ambulatory. We manage to combine scarcely prehensile hot-dog fingers with wrists as reedy as reeds. We are not athletes, unless drawing 30 wheezy, loaded-chili-cheese-fries breaths per minute while taking up the entire sofa counts as a jockish endeavor.

So this brings us to a necessary and urgent query: Could we, in such foul-smelling disrepair, replicate Mr. Green-Thompson’s performance to date? That is, could dumb, ugly we strike out 25 times in 26 at-bats, ground out weakly once and back into five walks? Or would we fare even worse?

Call-to-action Internet poll!

Thank you for exercising the franchise. Also, thank you for yelling for your wife to come downstairs and hand you the remote.