A must for the Leisured Gentleman.

It’s $348, and Coach is, frankly, ridiculous, but having a wallet that looks and feels like a baseball glove just make sense, dammit.

H/T: It’s a long season.

This past weekend at the FanGraphs gathering in Phoenix, Mr. Carson Cistulli stated that he had never seen the George Brett-poops-himself video. I couln’t believe it, so I decided to hook him up. In case some of our other readers have also been deprived of this video, “enjoy.”

[Ed. Note: contains a wide and winning variety of explicit language.]

Original Version

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If Batting Stance Guy thought his job was safe, he was wrong; he’s got company. Witness:

J.P. Arencibia’s OBP leaves a lot to be desired, there’s no doubt, but he brings the laughs. And, sometimes, that’s enough. I’m with Tito: I hope JPA wins the MVP.

H/Ts: The one and only Buster Olney, and the equally one and only Emma Span.

Step 1: Even (especially*) if you are at work, turn up the volume on your computer.

Step 2: Open the following two links simultaneously:

-One

-Two

Step 3: Bask in the glory.

*Disclaimer: NotGraphs accepts no responsibility in the event that you are fired from your job.

Presented without comment:

Actually, I do have a comment: Long live Tony Plush.

H/T: @TheRealTPlush.

At times and perforce, the homilist’s greatest rhetorical device is knowing when to fall silent and allow the miracles to unfurl in that silence, like an abundant dong released from its underthings. Now is such a time …

Now go and live this day as though it be your last.

(A Minnesotan’s passion: @ratsoff)

I normally make a point to avoid spiders, mostly because I have it on good authority that they want to kill me. But this spider?

This spider is different. This spider could knock on the oaken door of my boudoir, and I would open it and, while wearing something uncomplicated, invite him in to ravage me. Baseball Spider, I would say, do with me what you will. Go Twins, I would also say.

(Image and underlying genius courtesy of 365 Spider)

In the first of a series of posts on ye old minor league teams, I’d like to examine some of the players associated with The Houston Buffaloes of the Texas League. The Buffaloes were originally founded in 1888 — although they were called the the Babies, the Mud Cats, Red Stockings, and Magnolias, and the Wanderers before settling on the Buffaloes around 1903.

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Thanks to the presumably fine folks at Rising Apple, I have learned of the existence of pop artist David Kushner. I surveyed his Etsy page in the manner of a man about to spend money on things his wife will neither understand nor outwardly countenance, which, it turns out, is precisely what I am. Why am I so tempted to part with U.S. currency that would be better deployed in the service of things known widely as “basic essentials”? Eyeballs awake:

And …

I loathe the Mets of the 1980s, but, as with Goya’s macabre explorations of the Inquisition, sometimes sanctioned repugnance of awful scale yields pretty pictures. So it is with all of this.

And now I shall sell whatever copper plumbing I can find in order to commission a portrait of Ted Simmons necking with Lola Falana.

As you may have noticed, there is no baseball here. There is, however, baseball’s older, slightly more distinguished and certainly more long-winded cousin. So please go here and watch a video of a rather amazing cricket catch that defies both belief and efforts to embed. Is it a “catch,” or do they have some rather very cricketty word for it like “capture” or “glom” or “Bonnie Prince Ensnarement”?

In any event, if this cricket video sustains even a single base-and-ball fan through this pointless respite, then the entire breadth of British colonialism will have been worth it.

There is no baseball here, but there are things somewhat like baseball somewhere.