Typically, at this point in the day – at this point in the week – I’d introduce a column in which I offer ten thoughts on some of the newsier items around baseball. I like doing it because, well, I really like baseball, and I really like sharing what I think about baseball. In this sense, it’s not surprising that occasionally my thoughts will admittedly drift toward becoming self-indulgent.

In fact, the whole premise of offering up my thoughts as something that others NEED to read – and promoting it through social media as “my thoughts” – has always felt a little bit too suggestive of megalomania to me. My greatest fear is that someone reads through TSTOAF and counts the number of times I used “I think …” to start a sentence. Nonetheless, the response for the weekly feature is usually pretty good, and the conversations in the comments section tend to be opinionated in the good way – respectful of the perspectives of others, while still offering insight that causes points of view to be questioned.

This is what makes the column worthwhile to me.

Today, I’m going in the opposite direction of the one toward which I’d like to move. I’m going to be self-indulgent, and it’s probably going to seem as though I think my experiences are more important than they are. I don’t feel this way. In fact, my hope is that my experiences are common. That you’ll recognize your own experiences in mine, and that you’ll be able to walk away after reading this with the ability to express something that you felt but couldn’t articulate before, or that, like our comments section does to me, you’ll question your own perspective.

I’m going to write about the ten most influential moments in my own baseball fandom.

I’m almost already regretting that declaration. For the past few months, I’ve been writing over at Fanatico about things that don’t really get much attention elsewhere on theScore website: social issues, corruption, hypocrisy, golf, etc. It’s a deliberate hodge podge of what I feel are important stories, personal essays, video clips and capsuled moments that make people smile. Through this array of subjects and styles, a single theme continues to emerge: the fan experience.

It’s fascinating to me that we can be reasonable people in so many different elements of our lives, and yet we can completely suspend that reason in order to enhance the visceral experience of being a sports fan. We embrace a very strange relationship when we cheer for a sports team, and we do it so willingly and without much consideration. It’s largely rewarding, even when it doesn’t seem to be, but there are moments of misery that come with our decision to watch sports and become active in our role as spectator.

This fascination was emphasized this week by the San Francisco Giants coming to Toronto to play the Blue Jays. I’ve recently taken to liking the Giants. So much so that my allegiance to their brand of baseball has become stronger than the one I maintain with the team I’ve supported throughout most of my life, the Blue Jays. I didn’t feel conflicted with the two teams playing against each other. I very clearly felt on the side of San Francisco.

This forced me to reflect.

September 21st, 1984

I had turned four-years-old two months earlier. I went to my first ever baseball game. The Blue Jays were playing the Milwaukee Brewers, and I only know that now because of Baseball Reference. I remember it for Dennis Lamp warming up right in front of me. I watched a young girl, a few years older than me, ask him for a baseball. When he threw one over, my dad reached in with his glove and snagged it. He gave me the ball, and when the girl complained, my dad told her he’d throw another one over, which he did, while shaking his head.

I only remember two other things. I asked the Blue Jays mascot, B.J. Birdie, to sign the baseball my dad had procured. The person in the costume complied, despite my dad loudly questioning my request, telling me that it was probably just a teenager dressed in a bird suit. I also remember that I loved being there, so much so, that going back was all that I’d ever ask of my parents for the next few years.

October 5th, 1985

My parents took me to a number of games in 1985, which seems remarkable now, considering that we lived an hour and a half away from Toronto, and we were poor. I remember realizing we were poor when the poor kid in my class – who wore overalls every day – moved into the town house unit next to ours. It was a sudden realization: “I guess we’re just as poor as Willy’s family.”

I can’t remember a single thing about any of the games I went to that year before the one on October 5th. I do recall being at exhibition stadium earlier that season when my dad bought me a framed picture of Damaso Garcia who was my favorite player. Anyway, I was there when the Blue Jays clinched their first American League East pennant. I don’t remember very much about the game, and what I do remember has since been perverted by the hundreds of times I’ve seen the replay of George Bell catching a fly ball in left field where we were sitting.

A week later, my dad would get a pair of tickets to an ALCS game between Toronto and the Kansas City Royals. He’d take his friend Boyd instead of me, and our relationship would never be the same. I cried myself to sleep that night with the game on the radio.

August 6th, 1986

It was picture day at Exhibition Stadium. My mom took me to the game to get my picture taken with Damaso Garcia. I played second base in tee-ball because of Damaso Garcia. I wore the number seven because of Damaso Garcia. I would feel nervousness over at bats involving Damaso Garcia. I would be terrified of Damaso Garcia messing up. I loved Damaso Garcia.

Picture day at Exhibition Stadium was set up so that the players sat about a dozen feet away from the wall along the third base side – at least this is how I remember it. Parents would stand at the edge and take photos, and they might have had a media relations person snapping pictures, too. I was hoisted over the wall, and I went up to Garcia who didn’t have a lineup of kids, and very clearly didn’t want to be doing what he was doing. He stood beside me, and my mom took several pictures. He didn’t smile. He didn’t do anything. Just stood there. And once my mom had finished, he walked away from me without saying anything.

I don’t know what I expected to have happen when I met Damaso Garcia, but it was more than that. I can still feel the tears starting in the back of my throat, as I looked straight at my mom and began walking toward her, focused on her face so that I wouldn’t embarrass myself with tears in front of the other players and children. That’s when Garth Iorg, who maybe had an inkling of what had just happened, hollered at me. He ignored the lineup of kids who were supposed to take a picture with him next, and he told me to come over. He picked me up, put me on his knee, and my mom snapped away. He asked me if I played baseball. He asked me what position. He told me that the most important thing was having a strong arm. He asked me to show him my muscles. And I remember flexing for him the way that six-year-olds flex their muscles. And then he told me that there were home runs in those biceps.

Garth Iorg probably saved me as a baseball fan.

October 24th, 1992

It was the first autumnal Saturday night in the history of our household that wasn’t dedicated to the Toronto Maple Leafs. My dad had invited what seemed like the entire neighborhood over to watch Game 6 of the World Series. We had two rooms with big screen televisions showing the game, a stereo system pumping the commentary from the broadcast, and half of all the beer available for purchase in the Peterborough, Ontario area in refrigerators and coolers located throughout the house.

The list of invitees wasn’t without some controversy, as my dad, never one to exclude, offered hospitality to our next door neighbors who were single-handedly driving the property value of the homes belonging to all the others assembled into the ground. Their house had it all

• A legendary stack of unreturned beer bottles? Check.
• An unmowed, never-raked lawn with an unmoveable Toyota Tercel ever-present? You bet.
• A recently paroled head of the household? He’d brag about it.
• Kids who could buy cigarettes from the corner store without a note from their mom and seemed to know more about sex than I do even now? Uh-huh.

I wasn’t quite old enough to completely comprehend the tension when everyone arrived. Learning that not only was “Bob” out of prison that week, but that they had unknowingly volunteered to spend the next three hours of their lives with him, his wife and alcohol must have caused some concern. However, I did possess a limited understanding of my dad, who had faith in very little except that the unifying power found in cheering on the same sports team.

And his faith wasn’t misplaced. Before too long, the petty neighborhood squabbles had been transported to the back of everyone’s mind and high-fives were being offered almost as frequently as Labbatt’s Blue.

When Otis Nixon hit a single off of Tom Henke in the bottom of the ninth to bring Jeff Blauser home, Bob’s repeated, angry cries of “Fuckin’ Henke,” (which was hollered in the exact same tone as he had used every day previous (when not incarcerated) to yell “Fuckin’ Rocky,” at the pitbull chained in his backyard) didn’t seem too out of place. Then when Dave Winfield doubled to left in the top of the eleventh we were all one big happy family, unified in purpose and collectively willing those final outs of the season.

I’ll never forget that turnaround, not so much in the game, but in people’s attitudes toward one another.  For those four plus hours of baseball, the characters that life had forced individuals to become were thrown by the wayside, and age, circumstance and bank balances didn’t matter. We were all Blue Jays fans, and nothing more, and we didn’t want to be anything more.

Our team had won, and in addition to maximizing baseball’s visceral experience, we had embraced each other in communion as well. This is the good that sports can do, and it’s never been better exemplified for me than in that baseball game that occurred twenty years ago today.

October 23rd, 1993

My parents separated, and then they divorced. It’s obviously a lot more complicated than that, but a year after the epic World Series party, I was a teenager with a younger brother and sister living with a single mom. Among the things that my mom didn’t have the means to provide on her own was cable television. Even as a horrible 13-year-old creature, I had enough sense not to complain about being unable to watch the World Series. Somehow, my nana must have picked up on the situation in an intuitive manner that I will always lack because she invited me over to her apartment to watch the game despite thinking sports to be among the stupider things one could possibly spend time and energy.

She got into the game, and cheered alongside me as the Toronto Blue Jays won in the most dramatic of fashions. She did so, without a doubt, as a sacrifice,  solely to enhance my own experience. After Joe Carter’s home run  I remember looking out her window, high up in downtown Peterborough, and watching cars driving around honking their horns in celebration. It was all very wonderful, not just because the Blue Jays had won again, but because I shared the moment with my nana, who selflessly thought of me at a moment in time when things were kind of rough, and potentially could have been much worse.

The 1994 labor dispute combined with the weird cocktail of chemicals that coursed through my blood and mingled during my teenage years took me away from baseball. I still followed it, but it was never the same for me. I wasn’t obsessed with it in the same manner. I didn’t care about individual players, and the Blue Jays were consistently terrible anyway, ridding themselves of players that the fan base liked in order to create room for players that the owners liked, which just so happened to cost them significantly less.

After my parents got divorced, my grandpa and I would go to Opening Day in Toronto for several years in a row. We broke our streak in 2006, buying tickets for the second game of the season, when we expected the newly acquired A.J. Burnett to pitch. He didn’t. He was injured in Spring Training. Instead, Josh Towers pitched. If you’re familiar with Josh Towers pitching, you’ll understand that a 13-4 score line in favor of the opposition wasn’t out of the norm.

The second game of the season also marked a massive shift in dynamics. For the first time ever, I bought our tickets for the game with my hard earned money. I was incredibly lucky to fall backwards into a great job right after graduating from university. I was also fortunate enough to have no responsibilities whatsoever for which I’d have to pay anything. It was all disposable income.

Throughout university, my grandpa would help me out here and there with a few hundred dollars at a time. I remember being in high school and thinking that once I finished, I’d really find myself in university. Then in university, I remember thinking that once I graduated, I’d really find myself in my first job. Then, with my first job, I realized that you don’t ever really find yourself. There aren’t any of those moments you read about in novels or see in movies where you definitively arrive at the next stage in your life.

I think that buying baseball tickets for us was the closest I’ve ever come to a real fiction-like coming of age moment.

December 27th, 2006

I received an email from my friend Andrew Stoeten. I wasn’t alone in entering the job market. I also wasn’t alone in having a desk job with an abundance of down time. My friends and I spent every day emailing each other in an enormous email thread. We were dumb, which only made it worse that we were making money for the first time in our lives. We’d get drunk or high five times a week, obnoxiously try to pick up girls and then write each other about it the next day while at work.

Stoeten and I, in particular, would often find our conversations in the email thread drifting toward baseball. This drove the other participants to vulgar language and the questioning of our sexuality. Seriously, we were scum back then. Then, while I was working over the Christmas holidays, I received an email inviting me to participate in a blog. Stoeten had christened it Drunk Jays Fans, and we began writing about getting drunk and watching the Blue Jays, more to each other than any other audience. There were no ambitions attached to it. We just wanted a place for the two of us to talk about baseball without annoying our other friends.

It was a necessary hobby for me. A year earlier, the woman I’m now engaged to marry had broken up with me. I was a wreck because of it. Angry. Incredibly sad. And desperate to think of things other than her. I understood something important immediately following our break up: the person that you first fall in love with does a very good job of informing the characteristics that you find attractive for the rest of your life. I think they refer to this as “imprinting” in the Twilight book series. Anyway, the awful thing about it is that everyone you meet afterwards that’s the least bit interesting to you is only interesting in the feature that shadows the one that you really love.

I could never just “get back out there,” and so instead, I wrote a baseball blog, and I followed baseball obsessively, and I let that take the place of the person I loved, and partially replaced her in my life.

Eventually, people would start reading the blog, even the pieces that were little more than thinly veiled cries for help. Then more people would start reading it. Then more. And more. And more. And then, a couple of years later, I’d get asked at work about it by a boss who didn’t particularly like the idea of me writing both speeches for the government and content on a baseball blog where four-letter-words were the least vulgar things you’d read. I was given a choice at the end of a series of contracts: sign a new deal and quit the blog or keep writing the blog and not get renewed.

I chose the blog because I was familiar with what it was like to have something missing from your life . . . and because I was completely unfamiliar with unemployment.

May 18th, 2010

This is where it kind of goes dark. Well, it goes dark only by comparison to the rest of my life, which went fairly well up until this point. There were no real tragedies. Nothing beyond what people who really experience pain would roll their eyes at. Nonetheless, it was my darkness, and when it’s the darkest you know, it seems pretty dark.

I worked a series of jobs after not having my contract renewed. I eventually landed a job with a software startup that was then purchased by a big company. The big company got rid of all of us, but delivered tidy severance cheques to go along with our dismissals. While this was happening, the Blue Jays were having a terrible season.

In a way that made me feel so very common and cliched, the misery of my life mirrored their misery on the field. Just like the team, I needed to shake things up. You can see it in my writing at the time, or at least, I can see it over at Drunk Jays Fans. Things were negative, and not in the funny provocatroll way, but in a misanthropic joyless fashion that was boring and pathetic.

I used my newly found nest egg to fund a cross-country trek with the plan of eventually flying somewhere else. Anywhere else. I spent that winter in Banff, Alberta. I went skiing and snowboarding, and completely withdrew myself from most of what I’d known. Of course, the Altered Life Fund began to dwindle much faster than I expected, and so I went to Vancouver, British Columbia, and took a job with a consultancy group that specialized in government relations. I avoided my aimless misery by working hard. Incredibly hard. I spent more time working than doing anything else, all combined together.

It was a drowning. I was flailing in the water of my own sorrow, and I didn’t even have baseball to hold onto anymore. By the time I was done with work on the West Coast, the Blue Jays had already finished playing on the East Coast. Meanwhile, San Francisco Giants games were just getting started. My interest wasn’t immediate. Over the first month of the season, it was a matter of convenience and coincidence. I would go to a bar after work. They’d be playing Giants games on television.

After one particular game, the three year anniversary of which is tomorrow, I realized that the Giants were something that I could get behind. It was sweet torture. San Francisco beat the San Diego Padres 7-6 in extra innings. It was a fairly innocuous extra innings game. The Padres almost tied it back up in the bottom of the twelfth after the Giants went up by two in the top half, but the team’s weirdo closer managed to shut the opposition down. It was tense. And it caused such a wide range of emotions. After that, I was hooked.

I began to love the broadcasters, the people on Twitter who followed the team, and the bloggers who wrote about the games. It was like falling in love with baseball all over again, and it coincided with little joy from elsewhere in my life. And that’s not all that happened at the same time. As I began watching the Giants and rooting for them through their back and forth battle with the Padres in the National League West that year, I was contacted by someone at the Score, who had originally invited Stoeten and I to do the DJF Podcasts years ago. He offered me full-time employment writing about baseball on the sports network’s website.

Not even considering what the salary might be, I agreed. I knew that something was still missing from my life, and it wasn’t being fulfilled – even with the Giants playing well – in my current state. I returned to Toronto, and then, the Giants won the World Series. The parallels of misery that I had experienced with the Blue Jays had transformed into parallels of happiness with San Francisco. I had a job writing about baseball. I was living in Toronto again. This team that I really liked had won the World Series, and I had even reconnected with the woman I loved, who broke my heart years ago. It all happened on the Giants’ watch.

Whether it’s reasonable or not, I associated the good things that happened in my life – the positive turn – with a change in the club I followed, and the team for which I cheered.

October 28th, 2012

These feelings were all reinforced in 2012, when I began to be seen as a representative of sorts for the Giants among Getting Blanked readers and DJF Podcast listeners. Until then, I hadn’t really thought about why an interest in one team would lessen my allegiance to another. It happened though. As 2012 progressed, and I began taking more of an interest in the success of the Giants, and less of an interest in the failures of the Blue Jays, a switch occurred. Cementing that switch was San Francisco’s playoff run, and the World Series victory in late October.

My mother had me when she was very young. My understanding is that she was a fairly typical person, back then. She drank and smoked and lived like I assume the majority of people do in their early twenties. In her early thirties, as a single mom with three kids, she found Jesus. She credits this discovery for altering her life from one that hung around bars and did things that damaged her body to one that didn’t, one that adopted more mature values.

As an unbeliever, I’ve always dismissed this change in her life as merely her growing up, getting older. However, I understand why she’d associate this change with the introduction to religion. In a similar sense, good things started happening to me when I started cheering for San Francisco. This, too, occurred at a similar point in my life as the one when she found Christianity.

It’s therefore kind of humorous that on October 28th, 2012, a couple of hours before Game Four of the World Series was set to begin, I got hit by a car while walking across the street with my fiance and our two dogs. It was a slow moving car, wrapping itself around a stop sign. I wasn’t badly hurt. But it was frightening for what it might have meant.

For the first time in my life, I realized how much I loved my life, and how much I wanted to continue living it. Of course, this has little to do with the San Francisco Giants, and a whole lot to do with having someone I love very much wanting to spend the rest of their life with me, and having a job that allows me to express myself in long, and self-indulgent ways like this, and growing older to the point of understanding what you like in life, and the importance of surrounding yourself with those things.

Once again, watching my favorite baseball team win the World Series that night, even as my right knee swelled up, wasn’t the source of my overall happiness, but it was as much of a representative of it as anything else, and that association was something to celebrate.

Tuesday and Wednesday

I thought about these things a lot this week, when the Giants came to Toronto, and played a two-game set against the Blue Jays. San Francisco was destroyed by a combined score of 21-9. I went to both games and cheered on the Giants’ losing efforts, without much conflict or drama. I still hope for the Blue Jays when they’re not playing the Giants. I still cross my fingers for their success. It’s not nearly as important as it once was to me. But I still feel that urge.

Canadian author Hugh MacLennan wrote in The Watch That Ends The Night:

There is no simple explanation for anything important any of us do, and that the human tragedy, or the human irony, consists in the necessity of living with the consequences of actions performed under the pressure of compulsions so obscure we do not and cannot understand them.

I’m a different person, now. And as much as I like my life, I also like the alteration that led to it. This, to me, is sports at its best. The vicarious experience is a measuring stick of sorts, a way to remember how far you’ve come. My life needed an alteration, and if part of that was prodded along by finding a different team and cheering for it, then that’s okay. Sports, or more specifically the Giants, have helped me to understand this transition – from a timid child whose dad steals a baseball to someone in their early thirties about to get married to the love of his life – in a way I’m not sure would otherwise be possible.

Sometimes, sports let’s us understand ourselves.

The Getting Blanked podcast for a Friday! We grab the old standings and decide, definitely, which teams playoff chances are dead and which are still alive. It’s very scientific and totally binding. As for the sock? You have to wait for that one.

Listen to the podcast directly here.

Subscribe to Getting Blanked on iTunes to ensure the podcast, daily video show and other life-changing materials goes straight to your device of choice each week. Or, you can hook up the RSS feed here if that is more your style.

Some (underlined) Mint Musical Interludes courtesy of The Constantines and Arts & Crafts Records and Deathwish Records. Check out the full catologue and buy what you like. It’s the right thing to do.

The languid pace of these slightly bizarre Rockies marketing videos is almost refreshing. Though, without any actual game footage to lean on, what else was the ad company going to use to sell the team? Ummm, rocks! And height! And the height of rocks! It’s all deadly, really.

Just think about creating a similar piece now. It would be all smash cuts and WUBWUBWUB dubstep beats and that infernal dinosaur making children cry and haunting the dreams of young and old alike.

For fun, hit the jump for a more EXTREME video of extreme sports in action. Rockies baseball, just like base jumping (except significantly more religious.)

“I was really excited and then I felt like it was a dream”

This is nothing if not incredible. A heart-warming reunion between a US service member and his adolescent daughter. Delightful. Enjoy and then hug somebody who matters to you.

…And just like that, your browser collapsed. Here’s your roundup of GIFs from around Major League Baseball (and Taiwan). Ian Kinsler leads off this slide heavy edition with a bit of misjudged attempt at diving headfirst into third base. We can only applaud.

MOAR GIFs after the jump

The curious case of Daniel Murphy’s disappearing double

…And you will know his name is Juan Lagares

Mike Trout’s longform slide

Jeremy Guthrie’s awful night part I

Jeremy Guthrie’s awful night part II

Manny Ramirez and the most Manny Ramirez slide ever

Know who’s pumped about Jason Grilli’s save? Jason Grilli’s dad

Yu Darvish makes Miguel Cabrera look silly

The exception of the week

It was bound to happen eventually. Even with the Nationals’ natitudinal meddling, Stephen Strasburg is simply too talented to go his entire career without pitching eight complete innings. He’s a power pitcher and a strikeout guy who racks up big pitch counts, which simply doesn’t gel with the Nationals persistent fear that one day he might just fall apart before their eyes.

After 53 starts, over which he amassed more than 360 strikeouts, Stephen Strasburg finally did the impossible: he went eight strong innings in a Nats win. Rejoice!

It wasn’t exactly a prototypical Strasmas, with ample strikeouts and swinging strike piled upon swinging strike. This was the new, “improved” Stephen Strasburg. Pitching to contact. Coaxing weak-contact ground balls out of hitters. Managing his pitch count. Waging a one-man war on fun.

Just under 10% on the swinging strike rate but a 65% of his balls in play went for grounders? RIP Stephen Strasburg, we hardly knew ye. As an added bonus, here is a cool graphic from the Washington Post’s Nationals Journal:

Quibble and tease as we might, this was an excellent start by a great pitcher, one which happened to come in his hometown in front of 50 friends and family members. Which is fun and all but, more importantly for the Nationals, it represented their ace showing he was just that. He still threw the most pitches in a single start this season, but it looks more like the guy Stephen Strasburg believes he needs to be: going deep into games by pitching more efficiently.

Letting Strasburg loose was the Nats promise in 2013, one the team (with help from an ineffective pitcher battling his mechanics) did not deliver. It might just be one random start against a bad team in a good pitchers ballpark with his family and friends on hand, but if this is the future of Stephen Strasburg, I’m sure the Nationals will gladly take it. He didn’t even let an error behind him derail him, as was the concern after his last outing.

At the end of the day, nobody can really complain about eight innings of two run ball. Even if the final product isn’t as sexy or exciting as the pitcher he used to be.

And the reset

Most importantly: it the Getting Blanked podcast #129 from yesterday! We talked about Shelby Miller, made fun of the Giants and rode upon a great train.

Or download the mp3 link directly right here. To avoid these delays in the future, subscribe on iTunes or add this RSS link to your podcast machine.

Jim Leyland. JIM LEYLAND [Baseball Nation's Hot Corner]

From the GIF master DShep, here is Ian Kinsler doing his very best Kelly Gruber impression.

Speaking of DShep, he gives Mariano Rivera the overlayed GIF treatment [Fangraphs]

Vance Worley, sneakerhead. [Pioneer Press]

Ben Lindbergh’s tour de force on pitch framing [Grantland]

Related: pitch framing from before the Pitch F/X era [Baseball Prospectus]

My Approach: Tim Lincecum [Getting Blanked]

Speaking of Lincecum, pondering his fate and thinking this impossible: this could be his final season in San Francisco [Sports on Earth]

Yes.

Many of them starting pitchers. RT @dodgerspr #Dodgers became the first @mlb team to go over the one million mark in attendance this season.

— DodgerzGM (@DodgerzGM) May 16, 2013

Braves reliever Jonny Venters underwent his second Tommy John surgery yesterday, which is a huge bummer. [AJC]

Speaking of surgeries, Roy Halladay had one yesterday as well. Full oil change, gasket replacement and neuralnet OS update [High Cheese]

Way back in 2002, when Jason Giambi was in his first season with the Yankees after signing (for the time) a huge free agent contract, people doubted him. Filling the Super-Big Shoes of Tino Martinez is a bid deal; a core Yankee and close personal friend of Derek Jeter, after all.

Giambi got off to a slow start in New York in that first season. Well, “slow” being a relative term. Giambi was hitting “only” .282/.378/.456 (126 wRC+) at the end of April, which spelled disaster for many scribes following the Yankees. Of course, Giambi ended the season with at .314/.435/.598 (175 wRC+)… but midway through May (and he killed it in May, anyway, with a 206 wRC+) people were grumbling.

Then came the May 17 game against the Twins in New York. In bottom of the 14th inning, late at night with the rain coming down and very few people left in the stands, the Yankees were down 12-9. The bases were loaded as Giambi (already 3-7 on the night) came to the plate. Giambi drilled the first pitch from Mike Trombley over the wall for an extra-innings, come-from-behind, walkoff grand slam. The “Giambi has finally earned his pinstripes” stuff started right away, naturally. I am not sure it took, given that Giambi would be the subject of grumbling over the next few years with injuries, PED stuff, and, of course, the Yankees failure to win a World Series with him on the team. Never mind that he hit .260/.404/.521 with 209 homers with the Yankees (Don Mattingly himself only hit 222 in his own Yankees career, and in about twice as many plate appearances). Whether or not it finally took, at the time of the grand slam, at least, it was hyped as Giambi’s Big True Yankee Moment, one which still has resonance.

Although it was not nearly as dramatic in just about any dimension: expectations, contracts, or game situation, but last night, shortstop Stephen Drew may have become a True Red Sock in somewhat similar fashion with a grand slam. Sure, it happened in the top of the third with the Sox already up 4-0, but it still generated a reaction.

Drew’s revival with the bat the last couple of weeks has started to garner “maybe we were too harsh on him” buzz. Drew started the season poorly and hurt for the Red Sox, and some were ready to “call it” on Drew and install Adeiny Hechavarria‘s twin brother, Jose Iglesias, as the everyday shortstop in Boston. Drew, of course, is the younger brother of former Red Sox “choker” J.D. Drew, who never really caught on with the Fenway throngs. Maybe if he’d hit a big homer himself in the playoffs or something…

After a disappointing end to his time with his original team, Arizona, Drew signed a one-year deal with Boston for $9.5 million, and looks like he is filling his role nicely. It’s early and sample size and so on, but it is worth taking a look at his numbers so far anyway to see to what extent Drew may or may not be back in his pre-2011 form, and how he fits into the Red Sox situation.

Stephen Drew comes from quite the baseball family. His older brother J.D. is (in)famous, for many reason – not the least of which occurred when was drafted second overall in 1996 by the Phillies but didn’t sign. Drew was eventually drafted fifth overall in 1997 by St. Louis and signing, forever earning scorn and derision from the Phillies faithful. In that same 1997 draft, another Drew brother was picked at the end of the first round, and although Tim never panned out, he was a Baseball America’s number 91 prospect in 2000. When Stephen was taken 15th overall in 2004 draft by the Arizona Diamondbacks, the Drews became (and remain) the only three brothers all drafted in first rounds of their respective drafts.

Stephen, then, had quite the baseball pedigree, and certainly seemed to be living up to it in the minors. Baseball America ranked him as their number five overall prospect in 2006, and he had quite an impressive Major League debut mid-season, hitting .316/.357/.517 (114 wRC+) as a 23-year-old while playing shortstop. The 2007 Diamondbacks surprised just about everyone by winning the National League West, but Drew had a poor season, hitting .238/.313/.370 (70 wRC+) while playing questionable defense. Although the 2008 Diamondbacks returned to earth, Drew regained his form in a big way. Although he walked less and questions about his defense remained, his power returned to 2006 levels, and he finished the season with a .291/.333/.502 line (109 wRC+) — very impressive for a shortstop.

The ups and downs continued for the next few years in Arizona. While no one has ever been blown away by Drew’s fielding, he seemed to get things together to be close enough to average so that questions about moving off shortstop calmed down. But his bat was frustrating. In 2009, his power dropped again, and while .261/.320/.428 (87 wRC+) with average-ish defense is fine for a shortstop, the expectations were higher. Then Drew turned around and had his best season in 2010, fielding decently and hitting .278/.352/.458. Things were looking up going into 2011, but he was hampered by injuries (capped by a nasty, season-ending broken ankle) limiting him to just 86 games, although his performance overall was decent — he hit about as well as he did in 2009.

Things really fell apart last year for Drew. Not only was he struggling to return from his ankle injury, but one of the Diamondbacks owners publicly complained about Drew taking his time coming back from that injury, going so far as to question Drew’s integrity. Drew did play about 40 games for Arizona, but was horrible, (.193/.290/.311, 59 wRC+) and was unsurprisingly traded for next to nothing to Oakland, where he was better if not great (.250/.326/382, 97 wRC+).

Drew was a free agent this past off-season, and the Red Sox needed a shortstop, apparently not having that much faith in Iglesias for the time being and (snicker) having traded Mike Aviles for John Farrell. Although they are obviously very different players in terms of style and overall quality, Drew’s contract with the Red Sox is reminiscent of Adrian Beltre‘s one-year deal with them for the 2010 season: a player who had previously had some impressive years coming off of a down year and looking to re-establish his value. It certainly worked out spectacularly for Beltre, who subsequently signed with Texas and now may be underrated and one of the best players in baseball. Again, Drew is no Beltre. But is is showing signs of recovering the form of his good-season self?

After 113 plate appearances with Boston this year, Drew’s line stands at .245/.336/.418 (102 wRC+). Nothing mind-blowing in itself, but nice for a guy who is probably close to average as a shortstop at this point, if no better. It does not appear Drew is benefiting from the biggest Hot Streak Generator, BABIP — he currently sits at .313, which is not that high in general, and his career BABIP is .305.

One area of concern for Drew is his strikeouts. While in his earlier days in Arizona it was not much of a problem, and one would expect strikeout rates to rise slowly after player’s mid-20s (Drew is 30), from about 17 percent in 2010, Drew’s strikeout rate has jumped to about 21 percent in 2011 to 23 percent in 2012 all the way to almost 26 percent so far this year. Now, all three of those seasons are partial due to injury or just to being the beginning of the 2013 season, so it has to be taken with a grain of salt and regressed. However, the there is a pretty clear drop-off in Drew’s contact rate starting in 2011, and both strikeout rates and contact rate (which, naturally, correlates strongly — that it, the more contact the less a player will strike out) require smaller samples to stabilize than just about anything else. On the bright side for 2013, though, Drew is making about the same rate of contact now as he did in the previous two seasons, so while his contact skills have probably eroded, he is probably close to his 2011 strikeout rate than his current 2013 level.

While strikeouts are quite important as as a peripheral skill indicator for hitters, they are not the only one, and can be made up for with power and patience. As for the former, Drew’s isolated power (which also becomes relevant fairly quickly, if not quite this quickly) is currently .173, his best since his last good season in Arizona back in 2010. On the positive side, he is hitting home runs on contact at the best rate of his career. Still, even leaving aside sampling issues, the speed and standard distance of those (three) home runs is not any better than in other recent seasons, according to ESPN Home Run Hit Tracker.

Drew’s isolated power is currently boosted by two triples. That can be seen as a good or bad thing. Obviously, they are good in themselves, but as an indication of where Drew is at currently, it is a mixed bag. On the bad sad, the rate of doubles and triples on hits in play is very subject to random variation, so they maybe giving a false idea of Drew’s true talent extra-base power. On the flipside, pre-2011 Drew hit a lot of triples, hitting 35 from 2008-2010, and being on a similar pace in 2011 prior to the ankle injury. That ankle injury and general aging may have slowed him down, so the old Drew should not be expected, but he still may have something there.

If the strikeout issue is mostly bad news for Drew and the power is ambiguous, there is one positive development on offense for Drew so far this season: walks. Already in his disastrous 2012, his walk rate was the best of his career by far at just over 11 percent. So far this year it is over 12 percent. While walk and strikeout rates are their own best predictors, once again his plate discipline peripherals bear out an improved approach the last couple of seasons. Starting in 2012, Drew is swinging at significantly fewer pitches than in the past, which correlates with improved walk rates — even better than O-Swing (swings at pitches outside of the strike zone as defined by the metric), although Drew’s O-Swing is also better the last two seasons than those before. As with strikeouts, walks also go up as a player ages, although that is generally a good thing. Still, it is a pretty big jump, and walk rate correlates strongly.

Stephen Drew has never really been a superstar, and was more of a “low floor” than “high ceiling” guy from the start. He also needs to stay healthy. Drew has shown that he can handle shortstop at least adequately, though. It is early, and the strikeout rate is at least something of a troubling sign. However, perhaps taking time coming back from his ankle injury, no matter how angry it made the Diamondbacks (and they sure settled Justin Upton‘s hash, right?), may have been the right choice in terms of helping him get back to himself at the plate and on the bases. Whatever his physical problems, Drew has also made improvements in his plate approach that can offset his patience. If he can maintain those improvements and stay healthy, he should do well in free agency in the off-season, as even average shortstops are always in demand.

As for the Red Sox, things are working out well for them, too. They needed a stopgap shortstop, and while every team could spend $9.5 million on a stopgap, Boston could have (especially after dumping so many big salaries), and did. They have Iglesias waiting in the wings, if they believe in him, and in the meantime, have a pretty risk-free player in Drew holding down the fort as they are surprisingly in contention. As with stuff the Mike Napoli deal, the Red Sox are utilizing their budget to make short, low-risk commitments to keep the team at least respectable until the farm starts producing. And hey, if they manage some contention in the mean time, so be it.

How well the Sox manage to maintain this in what looks to be an AL East year-long dogfight is worth watching, as is Drew’s bat.

Well, those weren’t his exact words but that is the sentiment, an awesome one indeed. David Ortiz is kind of a little bit the best and he is running a promotion on his website bigpapi.com benefiting victims of the Boston Marathon bombing.

A $500 donation to The One Fund earns you an autographed custom red, white, and blue Marucci bat bearing one of Papi’s now famous slogans.

You can choose between two custom slogans: the more genteel “Nobody’s going to dictate our freedom” or the spectacular “This is our f@#%ing city”, your choice.

Obviously a great cause and a great gesture by a local legend. If you have the cash handy, toss some down, would ya?

It is tough to establish new ground when discussing Tim Lincecum. The two-time Cy Young award winner has been analyzed, dissected, and scrutinized to within an inch of his life over the past three years. What is wrong with Tim Lincecum? What will become of Tim Lincecum?

While he isn’t the pitcher he was in years past, he is still a very good and very exciting starter. Only four other qualified starters manage his strikeout, ground ball, and swinging strike rates this season. Each pitcher on that list can play for me any time.

Despite his unorthodox mechanics, Tim Lincecum was a very conventional pitcher when it came to his plan of attack. He blew hitters away with his mid-90s fastball and sat them down with his swing-and-miss changeup (which looks an awful lot like a splitter but ISN’T). As he ages, Lincecum keeps learning what it takes to make it work and how to adopt to his changing body and arsenal of pitches.

It’s a slightly different edition of My Approach with San Francisco Giants starter Tim Lincecum.

Getting Blanked – How do you go about drawing up your game plans and preparing for a start?.

Tim Lincecum – Before every start, I sit down with my pitching coach and catcher and go over what we think the game plan should be, especially based off what we’ve been doing as a staff. If I start later in a series, I get to see the way our pitchers were pitching to them and what was working.

GB – As you map your plan of attack, how much do your weigh your strengths versus what the hitters do well – and have done well recently?

TL – You go off what the hitter’s been doing lately. You try to give him something he’s not necessarily looking for. Something he can’t exactly put it in play the best. The pitch that has the most room for error.

GB – What are the differences between your two types of fastball?:

TL – I grew up throwing a two seamer. Four seamer has been a pitch to kind of equalize that. A pitch I try to throw for strikes and it has a little bit more life on it, too.

GB – Like most pitchers, you work off the fastball (throw it early to get ahead in the count)?

TL – Most pitchers would have to, especially if you’re a starter. To establish the strike zone, everything has to work off that pitch.

GB – When the situation arises, do you work backwards (throw off-speed pitches in fastball counts and vice versa)?

TL – I do, depending on how I feel or what my gameplan is that day. You have to watch the team you’re coming up against and see how they’re hitting it before you can do that. You try to stick to your game plan, stick to your strengths. Obviously I have the changeup and, sometimes, an erratic fastball can work to my advantage. I let those key into the game as much as I can.

Erratic is an interesting choice of words from the 2013 version of Tim Lincecum. He certainly can get away with missing his spots while ahead in the count, provided he’s out of the middle of the plate.

It is crucial, for Lincecum and so many pitchers, to throw his fastball for strikes early without hanging it up there for hitters to bang. If only it was so simple.

GB – How have you changed your usage of your curveball and slider? It is a confidence thing?

TL – I feel confident in all my pitches equally. Something might just be working more that day, causing me to fall onto that pitch more than the other. I’ve been trying to utilize all my pitches equally more often compared to the pitcher I was which was heavy changeup and fastball. Trying to fine-tune those things and keep from becoming a one-dimensional pitcher.

There was a time when it was very easy for Tim Lincecum to rely on his fastball and changeup almost exclusively. His fastball is an evolving offering, as he dropped significant velocity off his fastball over the past few years. It happens to all pitchers, it just seemed to happen to Timmy all at once.

Courtesy of Baseball Savant.com

He can survive without his fastball touching 94. The home runs will come with greater frequency (and they have) but minimizing walks and using his strikeout ability to strand runners is key. It all comes back to his devastating changeup.

GB – The changeup is your strikeout pitch. Can it be difficult to command at times, given its movement.

TL – At times it can be tough to command but that’s one of those things you work on in between starts. You’re not going to have great command every start but you try to work around that and try to make those mishaps, the walks, hurt you too much.

Not only is Tim Lincecum’s changeup one of the best in the game, it sets up his entire plan of attack. The pitch moves so much and earns so many swings-and-misses out of the zone, hitters have a hard time laying off even when they know its coming. His recent strong start against the Padres is a great example of his changeup working wonders and getting swinging strikes, especially with two strikes

Buster Posey called for this fastball down and away, steering clear of Justin Upton‘s prodigious power. Timmy nails his spot and Buster frames it up good. Down and away like that, it is so, so tough for a hitter to pull the trigger. Unless you’re Miguel Cabrera, you can’t do much with that pitch even when you aren’t plagued with thoughts of the changeup disappearing in the dirt.

It appears catcher Buster Posey wanted this pitch up. Timmy doesn’t get it there but he still keeps it safely down (though pretty much right down the middle) and Evereth Cabrera simply couldn’t get the bat off his shoulder. A better hitter might turn this around but Lincecum’s changeup had to feature prominently in Evereth (who nobody will mistake for Miguel) Cabrera’s mind.

GB – Many of us who watch the game don’t have the same appreciation for the value of “feel.” How and when do you start to get a sense for your feel during a given outing?

TL – Sometimes you can can feel great in the bullpen and then come out and not feel great on the mound or vice versa, you just try to take it with a grain of salt and remember to focus on the keys you worked on beforehand. So when stuff does goes awry, you know you have a little crutch.

GB – Is there a guy you like to watch, based on his stuff or his approach?

TL – I’m lucky that I get to watch (Madison) Bumgarner right now. The stellar season he’s having is really fun to watch. I continue to say, when he comes into the dugout, I tell him “this is just fun to watch you play, man.”

GB – Guys like him, with that crazy command…

TL – You know those guys are the tough-to-hit ones because hitters know they’re going to be around the zone but they still can’t get hits. They’re not getting as many hits and they’re not manufacturing runs. The guy throws two quality pitches and he’s worked in a third, that changeup – he has four pitches with his curveball, too.

He gets a little happy with that slider but he gets a lot of outs with it. It’s one of those things, like (Greg) Maddux said: if they can’t hit it, I’m just going to keep throwing it.

Sounds a little bit like Lincecum and his own faithful offering. Keep his fastball out of harm’s way and keep burying that change and Tim Lincecum can be effective. Not what he was but still much more than it seems.

Some stats courtesy of ESPN Stats & Info

Sometimes, finding nothing is interesting. It’s obviously not exciting as finding *something*, but it’s not a waste of time.

For example, Blake Murphy went looking for an expected walk rate for pitchers given different plate discipline peripherals. You’d think, if given a pitcher’s percentage of pitches in the zone, and batters’ propensity to reach (and miss) for pitches outside the zone, you might be able to get a sense of their future walk rate. After all, not walking a guy is as simple as throwing the ball in the zone, and getting batters to turn a couple walks into strikes for you, right?

Guess not.

Murphy couldn’t predict walk rate any better than previous walk rates. This, after finding some success predicting strikeout rates using velocity and swinging strike rates (FanGraphs’ Michael Barr had similar findings). That might be because there are confounding factors that aren’t easy to quantify — repeatability of mechanics, consistency of release points, and the severity of movement on the pitches — or it might be because we need to weight each of the variables differently to get there. Control (and command) is a difficult thing to suss. Even guys with similar walk rates have different levels of control and command.

But this wouldn’t be a good column if I just shrugged and said — eh, we can’t know! (Who knows if it’s a good column anyway, but there’s no need to give the opposition more evidence.)

So instead, let’s point to the research Murphy and I have both done that came to the same results: first strike rate is hugely correlated with walk rate. It’s the best single peripheral to look at, and it explains almost half the variance in walk rate.  Unfortunately, zone percentage, which is a per-pitch metric, isn’t that well correlated, and we’re stuck with a per at-bat rate. That probably means that it doesn’t stabilize that quickly. On the other hand, strikeout rate has stabilized by now, and that’s a per-PA stat.

It makes a lot of sense that the first pitch strike is meaningful. Batters have put up a .269/.381/.445 line after a 1-0 count this year, and that drops to .222/.263/.343 on an 0-1 count. That’s huge. And yet it’s just one strike.

So let’s look at the pitchers whose first-strike rate is out of whack with their walk rate. If you have a bad walk rate and a good first strike rate, it stands to reason that one would regress to the other. And in cases where the walk rate diverges from a career walk rate, we might have our perfect candidates for positive regression.

Here’s our list of pitchers that have an above-average first strike rate (average is just a tick over 60% this year) but are showing a walk rate that’s worse than their career rate:

Kris Medlen’s walk rate isn’t terrible this year — it’s basically league average — but he’s traditionally had great control. And among qualified starters, he’s got the fifth-best first strike rate in the league. So perhaps his walk rate will start regressing towards his career average. Kevin Slowey’s showing great control. Looks like it could be even better. And since he’s in the National League and calls that spacious park in Miami home, he’s an even better pickup. Ian Kennedy completes our trifecta of nodoubters, since everything lines up for him.

The rest of the list down to C.J. Wilson and Jake Westbrook are showing walk rates a bit too close to their career rates to expect much of a difference going forward. Westbrook is hurt, and Wilson is sort of meh. But you could expect better control from Wilson in the future. It’s tempting to say that Gio Gonzalez could do better, but he’s had a history of high walk rates and his first strike rate is only a tick above average.

This all started with us learning that we didn’t learn anything, but maybe we learned something after all.

At the weekend, the Mexican League had its Juego de Estrellas–its All-Star Game–in Oaxaca de Juárez, the capital of the state of Oaxaca. It’s around 290 miles southeast of Mexico City where I live; six hours or so on a bus. I’ve never been to a Major League All-Star Game before, I’ve barely watched one all the way through, frankly; but I have a friend in Oaxaca, so it seemed like a good chance to see how Mexico does these things.

The city itself didn’t seem to be fanfaring the event in any extravagant way. Some thoroughfares had small banners attached to lampposts announcing the event, but from what I could tell, that was about it.

On Saturday afternoon, the fun began. First with the mascots race, then the home run derby. The weekend’s events were taking place at Estadio Eduardo Vasconcelos, a small park (7,200 capacity) that was built in 1950, and re-modeled in 2008. It’s a nice wee park, one of the nicer parks in the Mexican League. The outfield has only a slender strip of bleachers with a high wall of advertising boards behind it. The park is the home of the Guerreros de Oaxaca, a team owned by Alfredo Harp Helú, the super-rich former owner of a Mexican bank, cousin of also-super-rich Carlos Slim, and owner of another Mexican League team, Diablos Rojos del México. As well as that, he’s a part of the investment group who own the San Diego Padres, which accounted for the huge advertisement for that team next to the video screens in right field.

The mascot race was as you’d expect. A whole bunch of people in furry costumes of varying attractiveness (a dolphin with human legs!) mucking around and dancing before flopping around over inflatable obstacles and tires and hurdles around around the edge of the infield dirt. Chacho, the Tigres de Quintana Roo mascot, quickly ignored the first bouncy thingy, went around the back, and pushed it over. Mascot carnage. Furry arms and legs everywhere, all flapping around to try and stand up and get going. Out of the carnage, Rocco, the mascot of my favourite team, the aforementioned Diablos Rojos, took a lead. He cheated a bit, too, using his lead to stop every now and then to throw tires at the mascots in his wake. He had a decent lead as he entered the home stretch, and sprinted along the third base line and dove into home plate.

Next up, the home run derby. I have never watched an MLB home run derby. And after seeing one in person, I can’t say I will ever watch one again. The specialness of a home run during a game is lost when you see 65 of them over the course of an hour or so. But, y’know, there was 25-peso beer, it was sunny, so not much to complain about. There were four hitters from each division (the Zona Norte and Zona Sur). Some of them were players you might recognise from the majors: José Castillo, Luis Terrero, Carlos Rivera, Bárbaro Cañizares, Rubén Rivera, Jorge Cantú. But it was 26-year-old Mexican Japhet Amador who put on the show: hitting fifteen homers in the first round. Amador, Cañizares, Terrero and Rubén Rivera advanced to the second round where things calmed down a little: they only hit 14 between them.

In the final, Cañizares hit just one home run. Amador matched him on his first swing, and soon after, he was trotting around the bases as the 2013 home run derby champ. For his efforts, he got to wear a hideous camo jersey with “Campeón” written in gold on the front, squeezed between the sponsors’ logos. Plus he now owns the world’s greatest trophy: a life-sized golden baseball bat in the claws of an eagle.

Here’s Liga Mexicana’s edited highlights. Note Amador’s Diablos teammate, Luis Terrero doing that dorkiest of things: filming him with an iPad.

Sunday morning, I was up early, and took the bus downtown, got a fantastic cup of coffee at Cafe Brújula (if you’re ever in Oaxaca, go there), had some breakfast in a cafe at the Zócalo, the downtown central plaza, where there was already a pleasant amount of baseball fans milling around. In Mexico City, baseball isn’t overly popular, and most of the caps one sees here are those of major league teams. It was nice to be in a place where I saw people wearing the caps or jersey of not only MLB teams, but most of the Liga Mexicana teams, too. Soon after 10 a.m., I headed a few blocks north to the Museo de la Filatelia de Oaxaca, a stamp museum. I’m no philatelist, but there was an exhibition I wanted to see: Beisbol & Filatelia. Minutes after opening time, there was a handful of nerdy baseball dudes, myself included, oohing and aahing at the players on stamps from all over the world: the United States, Mexico, Japan, China, Belgium, Angola…

Back at the park, the right field seats where I was sitting were general admission. I got there a couple of hours before game time, found one of the few seats in the shade, and watched the stands fill up. Several groups of people asked if the seats near me were free. Mostly groups of people who needed more than were actually free. Eventually a couple on one side of me moved, so I was sat alone flanked by two empty seats on either side. A group of four asked about them, I told them they were free, and asked if they wanted me to move to the a little so they could all sit together. The woman was very nice and insistent that I was here first, I didn’t need to move for them despite repeatedly telling her I didn’t mind.

Soldiers lined up in ranks on the field. Four groups of them stood around the edge of the infield dirt, and individual soldiers evenly spaced on the warning track. With guns. Some with dogs. I try to not let Latin American cliches enter my head, but there was a feeling for a moment there that we were dissidents awaiting our fait after a military coup. Mexican baseball doesn’t often do the whole patriotic anthem stuff that is popular in the majors. We have the anthem on Opening Day, and before the first game of the Serie del Rey (Mexico’s version of the World Series). But they did it in style before the Juego de Estrellas. A bunch of soldiers strode out from center field to the area just behind second base with a big flag. Everyone sung the anthem, and then, to my surprise, three jet fighters flew over our heads with trails of green, white, and red smoke in their wake. I’m one of those lefty dudes who feels uncomfortable when the military and sports are put together, but the flyover was fantastic. Absolutely great to have that noise and visceral thrill of seeing planes so close.

The Zona Norte (road) and Zona Sur (home) teams lined up along the third and first base lines, and we were off. The first four Zona Sur pitchers allowed just one hit (a Saúl Soto double) in the first five innings, by which time, they already had a 10-0 lead. The game was essentially over as a contest. In the sixth, the team from the north got their only runs, off a Luis Suárez (not that one, soccer fans) home run. So far this season, Suárez, a Mexican who plays for the Pericos de Puebla, has been on fire, batting .472/.547/.630 with an OPS of 1.177 through 151 plate appearances. Zona Sur added another run in the eighth, and that was it. An average game, to be honest, but it was fun to see a game where players on the same team all wore different jerseys (not just whites and grays: some of them in their alt red, purple, green, or blue jerseys), and to see a game where the mascots from all of the teams took turns to come out and goof around in the outfield foul territory while the game was going on.

Box score

Here’s some video highlights from the game.

At the end of the game, Luis Borges, the Zona Sur’s shortstop who plays for the Leones de Yucatán, was awarded the Jugador más Valioso (MVP) trophy, a crappy little glass thingy, for his performance: 3-for-3 with 2 runs and 3 RBIs. To finish us off properly, there were a few fireworks, and then we all left the park. As we all shuffled towards the one of the exits, ahead of us were three dudes holding Tupperware tubs with coin slots hacked into the lids. The dudes were wearing parts of their mascot costumes. The mascots were panhandling for tips! Without their costume heads! I’m an adult. This is not a kid being shocked that the tooth fairy or Father Christmas aren’t real, but it was so odd and disconcerting to see mascots as normal Mexican fellas. I passed by the Delfines and Leones guys and then saw Rocco, my hometown team mascot. I grabbed some coins out of the back pocket of my jeans, and put them in his tub. He noticed my Diablos Rojos cap, said “gracias, amigo” and we fist-bumped. It was the best moment of an enjoyable all-star weekend.

First, he came for our third baseman. Then, Vernon Wells came for our souls. The former dead money contract is now one of the best offensive contributors in baseball as we near the first quarter pole. Vernon Wells, inexplicably, owns a .387 wOBA and 10 home runs, hitting another in last night’s 12-2 loss to the Mariners.

He also owns a new notch in his infielder’s belt, as recovering five tool stud Vernon Wells played the infield for the second time this season, serving 1/3 of an inning at second base last night – while shortstop Albert Gonzalez pitched! Gonzalez coaxed a shallow fly ball from Robert Andino, showcasing low 80s cheese in his first professional pitching foray.

Never a dull moment with the Yankees, who also allowed reliever Brett Marshall to throw 108 pitches over 5.2 innings. The bullpen (and infielders) were pressed into duty after Phil Hughes recorded exactly one more out than the man who started the game at shortstop.

Podcastery! Talking about the Melkpocalypse, the Orioles defiance of God’s will, and the thoroughly excellent Rangers. FUN STUFF, Y’ALL!

Listen to the podcast directly here.

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Some (underlined) Mint Musical Interludes courtesy of The Constantines and Arts & Crafts Records and Deathwish Records. Check out the full catologue and buy what you like. It’s the right thing to do.

There are bat flips and then there are Bat Flips. This is both. This is everything. This is all that a bat flip video needs to be. It is story. A saga of human achievement. The heights of euphoria and the depths of despair.

It is also encoded to prevent embedding. So we shall embark together on a journey. A journey to the very core of our own humanity. We will learn of both the agency of a man as well as his place in his realm.

Read on…

Hitting a baseball is really hard. Hitting a home run, when your team is down two runs in the ninth and a runner stands on base, is hard and important. Should a baseball player commit such a rare act, it is reason for celebration.

Fear not, men. I, Jeon Joon-woo, have equalled the score. This is moment we shall remember for all our days.

This…I..well…but..wait…what?

Did that ball not leap from my bat into the loving embrace of a Lotte Giants devotee? What cruel fate conspired to keep this drive within the confines of the field of play?

SALVATION! Where once we appeared vanquished, now we are one step closer to VICTORY! That brief flirtation with mortality will only make this triumph the more satisfying!

WELP. WARNING TRACK POWER LOL. SEE YOU AT THE CROSSROADS, HOMEY.

(Hat tip to @BenBadler for tweeting this bad boy out. and our own Scott Johnson for firing up the GIFs)

Minor League Baseball is giving fans the chance to cast their vote in a competition to declare the Greatest of the Gut Busters. Calories and high cholesterol levels for all!

MiLB is asking fans to vote on their website, or by using the hashtag #FoodFight. There are 16 food items to choose from, including the Lake Elsinore Storm’s ‘Homewrecker’ (pictured above), which is made of “three half-pound all-beef hot dogs, 1.5 pounds of French fries, two pounds of chili, three-quarters of a pound of cheese and diced onions and bacon”. On top of it all, the Homewrecker is free if eaten in 45 minutes or less. Sign me up.

Other highlights, er um, death sentences include the Corpus Christi Hooks’ The Babe sandwich, which is a hot and juicy cheddar wurst, wrapped in a hamburger, covered in far too much bacon, and stuffed into a fresh roll. Also: the Norfolk Tides’ Salute to Pork Challenge. That’s “four Doughties pulled-pork BBQ sliders, four 4 oz. cajun-smoked sausages, 12 Smithfield pork wings, and Smithfield bacon and chili cheese tots. If a challenger can consume this five-pound feast in one hour, the meal is free, the challenger receives four tickets to a future Tides game and his or her picture is displayed on the restaurant’s Wall of Fame”.

Someone’s going to get hurt here.

Head over to MiLB.com to view all 16 heart-clogging options.

The Philadelphia Phillies have signed free agent right-hander Carlos Zambrano to a minor league deal, Ken Rosenthal reports. As it was reported yesterday, Zambrano walked away from an agreement with the Long Island Ducks of the Independent Atlantic League in an effort to concentrate on landing a deal with a Major League team. A sound decision from Big Z’s camp, if he can crack the roster.

Zambrano bounced between the starting rotation and bullpen with the Miami Marlins last season, to mostly mediocre results. While Zambrano’s velocity has remained roughly the same over the last few seasons, his fastball usage has declined every year since 2007. The big righty has gradually increased the number of split-finger fastballs he’s thrown, relying on it 21.1% of the time in 2012. The longball has never really been a big problem for Zambrano, but he did raise his groundball rate to 49% last season, the highest total he’s registered since 2005.

The Phillies could use some help in their rotation with Roy Halladay on the shelf for the foreseeable future. Whether or not Zambrano will help fill that void depends on how effective he can prove himself to be in the minors.

To his eternal credit, Jeremy Guthrie is having a very unusual season. Unusual for Jeremy Guthrie in that he’s pitched very well and Jeremy Guthrie is the human embodiment of serviceable. He has a very low ERA and a sparkling 5-1 won/loss record. Before last night, it was a 5-0 record.

Last night, Jeremy Guthrie posted one of the weirdest pitching lines you’ll ever see. It was the anti-FIP start for the ages. And that was tip of Guthrie’s weirdness iceberg.

First things first: the line. 7 IP, 11 H, 5 R, 3 BB, 0 K, 4 HR allowed. How is that even possible? How did he last seven innings, allowing fourteen base runners and four home runs? HOW?! It makes so little sense. Four solo home runs (hit by Howie Kendrick, Albert Pujols, Josh Hamilton, and Mike Trout) and a sac fly (by Trout) and that’s it. My mind, it aches. For fun, his single-start FIP settles in nicely at 11.73. Which I can’t decide if that is too high or too low.

There is something to be said for Guthrie “managing the game” if backhand compliments are your bag. Or this could be compelling evidence of Jeremy Guthrie’s looming regression. One or the other.

Results-wise, it was a weird night for Guthrie. Weirdness-wise, it was a REALLY weird night for Guthrie. Because pitches must always be reminded of their tenuous grasp on workplace safety, Mark Trumbo got sawed off in the first inning and nearly impaled Guthrie with the barrel of his bat.

That’s not really weird, more just unfortunate and hazardous. But Guthrie survived to laugh it off in the dugout moments later.

The at bat previous to Trumbo’s near-impaling of the nicely-kicked pitcher was where stuff got strange/hilarious. After walking Mike Trout, Guthrie dug in to deal with Albert Pujols. Mike Trout hasn’t run as much as last year with King Albert behind him, but there was a sense Trout wanted to go. He bluffed several times before finally taking off on a 3-2 pitch. (Trout wanted to run on Salvador Perez, which is akin to a base running death wish)

Pujols swung at the pitch, sending a tiny looping pop towards second base. Miguel Tejada, savvy vet that he is, slightly bluffed Trout before stepping in to catch Pujols’ can of corn. Trout, now some 75 feet from first base, is dead to rights.

Below is a screencap of the situation moments after Tejada squeezed Pujols’ infield pop for the second out.

What results is the world’s dumbest footrace. Despite an ample head-start and a man even closer to the bag ready to receive the throw, this ends as RoyaLOLs as possible.

Tejada takes a bit of a wide turn, looks up, and sees Jeremy Guthrie headed to cover the bag. Jeremy Guthrie saw Tejada with a twenty foot headstart and though “Miggy’s got this.” So he just sort of ran over the bag, ready to back to to the dugout. WHICH IS AMAZING.

As great Western philosopher David Cooper once pondered: “why didn’t he just tag him?” Or stand on the base and turn around to figure out how the play was developing behind him. Weird. WEIRD.

Because he’s Jeremy Guthrie, Jeremy Guthrie escaped this inning unscathed. Mike Trout stole second (running an Salvy Perez aka living dangerously) but the inning ended with Trumbo’s murderbat.

Just another night in the life of Jeremy Guthrie. The weirdest night for any pitcher this year, I reckon.

They call it a language “barrier” for a reason. It seems very easy for words and thoughts to be twisted, misconstrued or even misrepresented when passed through the many channels and filters required to turn one set of words into another.

Last night in Toronto, Melky Cabrera faced his former team for the first time since he was suspended 50 games for failing a drug test. Melky’s departure from San Francisco was an odd one, as he simply vanished from the clubhouse, failing to wish his teammates good luck or bid them fair well. Nothing, Melky was gone, told by someone that he was to leave immediately after his suspension was announced.

The Giants did quite well without Melky’s contributions, winning the 2012 World Series with Melky watching from home. He was not added to their post-season roster when he became available after the Division series, the Giants preferring to stick with the postseason group they had.

Last night was Melky’s chance to receive his World Series ring from the Giants, a thank you for his contributions during the first 110 games of the season. After some discussion between PR camps, it was decided — at Melky’s behest — to perform the ceremony quietly and away from the public eye.

Thus began an odd night of he said, she said.

Melky Cabrera received his ring from manager Bruce Bochy under the Rogers Centre seats, in a room between the home and visiting club. It was short but sweet, as Melky happily received the box and retreated to his home clubhouse. Though he didn’t open the box in the room with his former manager, his teammates were tweeting pictures of the ring were moments later.

Bochy spoke post-game about what a good teammate Melky was, how he played the game right and made a mistake. The standard stuff. Melky met with reporters a few minutes later, assisted by Blue Jays third base coach and translator Luis Rivera.

Rivera and Cabrera field questions about his health and his ring ceremony, where Melky and Rivera flipped the script a little, claiming it was Bochy who requested the ceremony take place behind closed doors. Which caused much consternation in Giants beat writer Hank Schulman.

How dare Melky throw Bruce Bochy in front of the bus like this? How could he lie?! To us! Was the general tone of his column update last night.

For me, isolating Cabrera from Rivera is impossible in this situation. The translator is Melky’s current coach and teammate, a man acting in Cabrera’s best interests, who could well seek protection for his embattled player. Cabrera was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, as well he should be. He screwed up, screwed his teammates and then claimed he was told to leave the team immediately.

After Schulman questioned Cabrera’s insistence that “someone” asked him to leave, it became more of a conversation between Rivera and Schulman than Cabrera and a guy working a beat. Rivera re-stated someone told Melky to leave as Melky silently watched on. Just as his bogus claims of a fake medical company, any scrubbing of history by Melky Cabrera in an attempt to right a wrong, rather than just owning what he did.

The sordid affair got too much play last night and continues to get too much attention right here and right now. The real story was Melky’s play on the field, banging out four hits against his former team. As an added bonus, he received a small clutch of his old bats left behind in SF after he left the team.

Courtesy of the Blue Jay Hunter

Melky limped around on his strained hamstrings, killing his former team. This is the story, not the broken telephone game of who decided what and who passed what ring to whom in what room. The Giants phase of Melky’s career is now over. The Giants players don’t seem to have any ill feelings, they won the World Series last year. Onwards and upwards, ya know?

And the rest

Speaking of drug cheats, interesting stuff on the growing (vocal) resementment among current players towards drug users. [San Diego Union Transfer]

When a man becomes a walking, talking pay check. [Sports on Earth]

A.J. Burnett. The King. [Beyond the Boxscore]

Interesting, the top ten umpires in baseball according to former manager Manny Acta [ESPN Insider ($)]

This is the strikezone plot of Mariano Rivera‘s at bat against Michael Morse last night. Morse was called out on strikes to end the game.

This was Mariano Rivera’s reaction:

I spent the first 30-or so years of my life as a 13-year old boy. I know what stifling a laugh looks like. It looks like the above.

What CC Sabathia can learn from Felix Hernandez [ESPN Stats & Info]

The latest on the MLB’s International Bonus Pool [Baseball America]

Well if this isn’t just too cute I don’t even know what is. Something about Ryu brings out the best in people, be they K-Pop stars or little kids named Deuce.

This kid has quite an arm, I’m sure this clip will play well in his 2028 NL Rookie of the Year video montage.

Hat tip to Joe of Bleed Blue Crew

Forgive us for coming at you so late in the day, but the Getting Blanked podcast is here. We talked about the struggling Los Angels of Anaheim and the death of Scioscialism, and the great Bryce Harper-Mike Trout-Manny Machado discussion. Hit us up with your earholes.

Listen to the podcast directly here.

Subscribe to Getting Blanked on iTunes to ensure the podcast, daily video show and other life-changing materials goes straight to your device of choice each week. Or, you can hook up the RSS feed here if that is more your style.

Some (underlined) Mint Musical Interludes courtesy of The Constantines and Arts & Crafts Records and Deathwish Records. Check out the full catologue and buy what you like. It’s the right thing to do.

Now we know for sure that Matt Harvey has arrived…in 1988, when the print edition of Sports Illustrated dominated the sports media landscape!

But seriously, it’s pretty cool that Matt Harvey gets the full Verducci treatment here. Hit the jump for a good sized image of the man at work.

Ed. Note: MORE LIKE LOST ANGELES, AMIRITE? Poor Riley.

The Week That Was

LAA

WHAT : 3-4

LAD

THE HELL? : 2-4

Southern California’s Burgeoning Pissing Contest: The Leader In The Clubhouse

Cal State Fullerton? They’re 41-8 and ranked No. 5 in the nation. I’d almost rather drop $15 to watch Rick Vanderhook’s squad bunt and grit and grind their way to wins en route to Omaha than dump a hundred bucks (for parking, tickets, food and beer) to watch the Halos or Doyers do whatever the hell they’re doing.

Just when the Angels seemed like they might be putting together the tiniest shred of momentum after winning three games in a row, Chicago White Sox ace Chris Sale came out on Sunday night and shoved pure filth for nine innings on his way to a one-hit shutout on national television. ‘Twas sobering to say the least.

And just in case you thought that Scioscialism had gone the way of the buffalo … what, with the semi-consistent lineups and semi-defined bullpen roles and whatnot … the Angels vs. Royals game on Monday night proved that Mike Scioscia’s baffling ways are alive and well. In the seventh inning of the Royals’ 11-3 beatdown of the Halos, Scioscia decided to pull Josh Hamilton, shift J.B. Shuck from left field to right field, move shortstop Brendan Harris to left and slot Luis Jimenez to shortstop. Neither Harris, nor Jimenez had played those positions in their big league careers. He could have easily moved moved DH Mark Trumbo to right and burned his DH spot and used Jimenez or Conger as pinch hitters for the pitcher in a blowout, but I … I just don’t have the words

The Dodgers dropped eight in a row before shoving two placebo wins against the Marlins into their faces over the weekend. With the Nationals and Braves on the schedule this week, it’s entirely possible that they might log a godawful 3-14 stretch over the first 19 days of May.

Box Score Of The Week

Trying to keep this section of the column positive is turd-shining of the highest order.

So I’m not going to.

LAA – Josh Hamilton: 5/12 vs. CHW – 0-for-3

Some folks would see the line above and shrug it off as a “Whatever, big deal. Smallest of small sample sizes,” kind of thing. (Or not.) Then, they’d probably notice that he’s hitting .203, with a .253 OBP and .331 SLG this year. Then they’d think about how much money $25 million is. Then, they’d think about how long five years is. Then (provided they took a closer look), they’d notice that he saw six pitches in those three ABs on Sunday. Then (provided that they actually gave a shit), they’d notice that his TAv is .227 (which ranks 170th among MLB hitters with > 100 PAs). Then (if their dorkdom wasn’t yet fully realized), they’d notice that his O-Swing% is 42.3 and his fWAR is -0.4. And then (delving further into dorkery), they’d notice that his BABIP is .260 and that this isn’t really all that much of a “bad luck” thing. And sure, you can probably point at small sample size, but something is broken here. Very broken.

LAD – Andre Ethier: 5/11 vs. MIA – 4-for-4, 3 R, 2 2B

When Don Mattingly addressed the media before the game on Saturday, he commented on Ethier’s slow start.

Via Eric Stephen of True Blue LA:

“I see a little bit of a different guy. There’s less use of the whole field, more pull. Some of his at-bats seem to be getting a little quick.”

Of course Ethier answered with four hits — three to right field and one to center — and did so on just 11 pitches. Even when Mattingly is right, he’s wrong. It’s been that kind of season.

AL & NL West Standings Update

LAA – 14-24 (4th place … Thank God for the Astros!)

LAD – 15-22 (LAST place)

Headline Of The Week

“Arte Moreno and his Angels can’t take the heat” from T.J. Simers’ column for the LA Times on 5/12.

In which the curmudgeonly “King of the Trolls” flies to Chicago, pulls out a giant wooden spoon to stir up shit in the Angels clubhouse, gets stonewalled by the front office and most of the players (again), and decides to write a pointless column anyway.

CHICAGO — When the Angels got Josh Hamilton following the Dodgers’ signing of Zack Greinke, owner Arte Moreno emerged from hiding, took a bow and told everyone:

“Think about how much fun it’s going to be. Dodger fans and Angels fans get to argue about whose team is better, who’s stronger, who’s weaker.… Do you know how much fun it’s going to be?”

What a blast … of hot air.

ZING. *armpit fart noise*

Both teams have been decimated by injuries, and while there’s no doubt they’ve played some awful baseball over the first seven weeks of the season, why wouldn’t Moreno have been optimistic about his team’s chances in December?

[snip]

… I joined the Angels to find out what’s wrong with the team that so many, including Las Vegas bookmakers, picked to win the World Series.

As I made my rounds in the clubhouse Friday, the music was blaring because the Angels were on a one-game winning streak.

Or because music is blaring in every clubhouse in baseball … every freaking day.

They had a hockey game on TV. No one was watching, of course. But everyone was in a fine mood because they weren’t home to be booed.

There really hasn’t been much booing at the Big A this season, which is something that Simers would know if he went to more than one game a month. But hey, keep trolling.

[snip]

Most of the players are great guys, and they have their guaranteed money, so no worries and 120-some games yet to play.

I’ve read this sentence 10 times and I’m not sure I can parse it.

It’s good to be a baseball player.

“I can’t tell you that there is anything wrong,” said Howie Kendrick, and I’d like to see a show of hands from fans who disagree.

That’s a quote from someone who is well aware of Simers’ schtick and is shining him on.

Individually, the Angels are obviously competitors; yet collectively there just doesn’t seem to be much fight in them.

They lost that when Moreno chose not to keep team leader Torii Hunter.

The amount of bullshit contained in those 31 words is staggering. Sure, I — like most Angels fans — loved Torii when he was with the Angels, but signing a 37-year-old outfielder for two years and $26 million given the Angels’ crop of outfield talent that is cheap and under club control for a few years (Trout, Trumbo, Bourjos) didn’t make much sense. (Neither did the Hamilton signing, but that’s not what we’re discussing here.) I’m sure Torii was a great guy to have in the clubhouse, but there’s no way in hell that this team is rudderless and unable to fight because he’s succeeding as a part of the lineup for one of baseball’s best teams.

[snip]

When criticism of Moreno started a few years ago, he buckled. He could never make it as a player and answer the media’s questions after a poor performance. Three or four times a week.

When he talks now it’s only to mlb.com, which allows him to speak without cross examination.

Owners don’t have to speak to reporters, they choose to, and if there’s a certain reporter who has carved a niche for himself in LA print media by being inflammatory and stir shit up so that he can trash people for their reactions to said shit-stirring, why would an owner ever choose to speak to that writer. Simers made this bed, shit in it, and is now confused and frustrated that he has to sleep in it? Does. Not Compute.

Gone are the days when Moreno was all smiles and known as the “People’s Owner.” He was the guy who lowered beer prices and who used to walk the Angel Stadium concourses to meet the fans.

But when was the last time he did that?

“I don’t know,” team spokesman Tim Mead said. “But he has, I’m sure, just not as frequently.”

[snip]

As a baseball owner Moreno has been inconsistent. He’s never won a World Series, the Mickey Mouse folks from Disney doing that.

Yeah, 11 years without a World Series. What a failure. Cubs fans would like to have a word with you.

Attendance has dropped 189,044 over the past two seasons, which speaks to disappointment. Attendance is up 77,131 this season, which speaks to hope, but what happens if that disappears?

The future of his manager has been questioned, but instead of declaring publicly Scioscia will be here all season, Moreno declined the opportunity to talk.

To T.J. Simers because he’s T.J. Simers.

Does that mean Scioscia might not make it to the end of the season? General Manager Jerry Dipoto also has refused to answer the question.

Because he’s T.J. Simers.

Why haven’t the Dodgers curtailed all the chatter and announced Mattingly will guide the team to the end?

Maybe that’s the only race remaining for the Dodgers and Angels: Who gets rid of their manager first?

A) Nobody does that, especially in May.

B) Now, that’s an interesting idea for a column, but of course Simers doesn’t explore that idea at all … because there’s more trolling to be done.

Will the Angels ever finish first in anything with Moreno calling the shots? He likes to talk and cuss tough, but he has consistently rolled over when bidding has gotten serious on players like Mark Teixeira and Adrian Beltre.

We’re talking about the same owner who shelled out top dollar for Albert Pujols, C.J. Wilson and Josh Hamilton, right?

Prone to being emotional when Moreno doesn’t get his way, the Angels ended up with Vernon Wells.

Of course there’s no mention of former Angels GM Tony Reagins, who was in way over his head, made the Wells deal (along with other crappy deals) and was fired … by Moreno.

Most of Moreno’s big-time signings have come after he has swooped in quietly without significant competition to sign players like Vladimir Guerrero, Hunter, Pujols and Hamilton.

“ … without significant competition”?! For the biggest bats on the free agent market? Revisionist history. Have some.

[snip]

So maybe this is the best we can expect from the Angels, and now isn’t that fun to ponder?

If you’re a columnist who thrives on failure while ignoring the details, I’d suppose so.

Quote Of The Week (From Either Side)

LAA

From former ESPN LA Angels beat writer Mark Saxon via Twitter on 5/13.

May 13: the nadir of Southern California ML baseball… or can it get worse?

— Mark Saxon (@markasaxon) May 14, 2013

Oh, it can. And it probably will, before it gets better.

LAD

From Marc Saxon’s“Still waiting on Matt Kemp, Andre Ethier” for ESPNLosAngeles.com on 5/10.

Don Mattingly on the struggles of Andre Ethier:

“Dre’s swing always looks good to me, but he seems frustrated early on, and that’s not going the right direction,”

Saxon noted — at the time — that Ethier was hitting .209 since April 20th and sported the third-worst OPS among right fielders in the NL. Ethier has long been rumored to be a guy who is notoriously hard on himself, kind of a red ass and maybe not the best clubhouse guy. The frustration alluded to by Mattingly seems like it might be so outwardly evident that it’s mildly toxic.  

I’m certainly no GM, but I value makeup quite a bit, and I’m not sure a guy with Ethier’s makeup is the kind of guy you throw $85 million at over five years … especially when you’re an organization that has the money to explore other/better options and and organization that has some good (raw) options on the farm in Van Slyke, Puig and/or Pederson.

DERP Of The Week: Tiffany Hwang of DERP Generation

It appears that the K-pop star has impeccable mechanics, so what could possibly go wr-

Oh.

SciosciaFace Of The Week

What caused this version of SciosciaFace?

1. Astros manager Bo Porter and four MLB umpires forgot a simple and longstanding rule (that a pitcher must face one batter unless injury or illness prohibits him from doing so) that most of us have known since we were in little league. When reminded of said rule, they immediately made amends and apologized for their mistake did absolutely nothing
2. The Angels have used 20 pitchers so far in 2013. The all-time record for pitchers used in a season is 29 (Marlins, 2010). It’s May 14.
3. There’s no Italian food in Houston.
4. The Angels being the Angels.
5. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Bonus SciosciaFace Of The Week

Surly Scioscia is surly.

*NEW* MattinglyFace Of The Week

While SciosciaFace is consistently a look of stunned, mouth-breathing, confusion and/or disgust, MattinglyFace — which really came into its own during the Dodgers eight-game losing streak — is a blend of helplessness, sadness and rage. It’s the face your father probably made when he confronted you about (insert the stupidest/most shameful thing you did as a teen.) It’s like he’s milliseconds away from a single tear falling from his eye or one false move away from exploding. It can’t be good for Donnie’s ticker, but for entertainment’s sake, I hope it never stops being a thing.

Who Controls The Future?

The matchups against the confounding Ned Yost and his somewhat surprising Kansas City Royals (19-16) at the Big A (following a brutal 19 H, 11 R, 0 HR, 0 BB beatdown on Monday night).

• Tuesday, 5/14: Jason Vargas (1-3) vs. JeremyGuthrie (5-0)
• Wednesday, 5/15: Barry Enright (0-1) vs. Wade Davis (2-3)

Then, the White Sox (15-21) come to town for a four-game set.

• Thursday, 5/16: Jerome Williams (2-1) vs. Jose Quintana (2-1)
• Friday, 5/17: C.J. Wilson (3-2) vs. Crhis Sale (4-2)
• Saturday, 5/18: Joe Blanton (0-6) vs. Hector Santiago (1-1)
• Sunday, 5/19: Vargas (1-3) vs. Jake Peavy (4-1)

The Dodgers will play host to the Washington Nationals (21-17) and try to avoid getting steamrolled and falling further into oblivion in the NL West.

Note: Read this fascinating breakdown of Bryce Harper’s swing by The Washington Post, if you haven’t already. When you’re done with that, remind yourself that he’s 20 years old. Then, think about what you were doing when you were 20. When you’re done hating yourself, we’ll get back to the pitching matchups for the series.

Note: As I was about to file this column, Harper took his heroism to another level and literally tried to run through a wall (which was equal parts scary and mind-boggling). We’re not sure of the diagnosing at this time, but we’d assume that is “a broken everything”.

• Tuesday, 5/14: Clayton Kershaw (3-2) vs. Dan Haren (4-3)
• Wednesday, 5/15: The (possible) long-awaited return of Zack Greinke (1-0) vs. Ross Detweiler (2-3)

Thursday, 5/16: A day off to lick their wounds and hop a flight to Atlanta to face the BARVES (21-18).

• Friday, 5/17: Hyun-Jin Ryu (3-2) vs. Paul Maholm (4-4)
• Saturday, 5/18: Chris Capuano (0-2) vs. Kris Medlen (1-4)
• Sunday, 5/19: Josh Beckett (0-4) vs. Mike Minor (4-2)

Until we meet again … Let’s just practice forcefully shoving our open palms into the vast landscape of our furrowed foreheads. At this rate, it’s about all we can do.

Multiple reports from last week indicated that Carlos Zambrano had signed a contract with the Long Island Ducks of the Independent Atlantic League. According to a Danny Knobler piece at CBS Sports, Zambrano has decided not to sign with the club, and will continue to pursue a deal with a Major League team.

Zambrano pitched for the Miami Marlins last season after he was acquired from the Chicago Cubs. The Marlins agreed to pay $2.5 million of the $18 million owed to the right-hander in the final year of a five-year, $88.5 million contract. The 31-year old threw 132.1 innings, finishing with a 7-10 record, 4.49 ERA, 4.47 FIP, 4.84 xFIP, and 95 strikeouts between 20 starts and 15 relief appearances.

According to the Knobler piece, Zambrano has some interest from several teams:

Zambrano apparently believes he can instead get a deal with a major-league organization. Venezuelan journalist Wilmer Reina reports that he worked out Monday in Miami, with the Phillies, Orioles, Blue Jays, Yankees and Reds watching. Some reports had him close to signing with the Phillies late last week, but general manager Ruben Amaro told Jim Salisbury of CSNPhilly.com that was untrue.

The Ducks currently boast a pitching staff that features fellow faded arms Dontrelle Willis and Ian Snell. Ian Snell, you say. Well, I guess that gives all the justification required to repost this classic:

Zambrano made one start for Venezuela in the 2013 World Baseball Classic. It’s a bit of a strange turn of events, given that his agreement with the Ducks appeared to be finalized. Oh well, best of luck to Zambrano on trying to work his way back to the Majors.

Joe Blanton is not off to a good start to his Los Angeles Angels career. Most of that stems directly from the fact that, well, Joe Blanton isn’t an especially good pitcher. He’s serviceable, or was, before the start of 2013. In his eight starts for the Halos, Blanton has been very bad.

He was especially bad last night. He was quintessentially 2013 Joe Blanton bad. He didn’t give up a home run, which tends to be a Joe Blanton calling card. He did, however, surrender 12 hits in 4.2 innings, allowing seven runs. He didn’t walk anyone, because he’s Joe Blanton. He did, however, strikeout seven hitters. Which is weird. But still: bad.

As a struggling pitcher, Joe Blanton is prone to expressions of frustration on the hill. The more you struggle, the more frustrated he grows. Over and over, the cycle repeats.

What remains is a series of images, lovingly curated below, of Joe Blanton looking exasperated. Enjoy, non-Angels fans.

From last night, we get “DIPS theory, why have you forsaken me?” downcast reflection.

Like the header image this is “didn’t pitch that badly but still somehow lost to the %$#**%(% Astros” brain cramping

SRLSY THE ASTRLOLS WTF AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE?!?

Nine hits allowed to the Mariners, c’mon man.

Three home runs allowed against the Reds, that ain’t so bad. First start of the year, I’m sure this year will only improve from here.

Special 2012 bonus misery!

“I’m not clear on this whole free agency thing. Being a buy-low candidate is good, right? Nobody will notice if I get killed by the free-falling Pirates, will they?”

Shelled by the Marlins. Does it ever end?

The Cubs made their first baseman Anthony Rizzo a rich man on Sunday night, signing the oft-traded slugger to a seven-year contract extension which includes two additional options. The first seven years of this deal are worth $41 million, with the two options valued at $14.5 million each, as per breaker of news and destroyer of souls Ken Rosenthal.

The deal was met with universal praise, as Dave Cameron of Fangraphs calls it “another steal” for the Cubs, who acquired Rizzo from the Padres in exchange for flamethrowing (but frequently injured) pitcher Andrew Cashner.

The deal does look rather team friendly, buying up all four of the potential Super-Two’s arbitration years as well as a few free agent years for good measure, all at a price the Cubs can certainly handle.

But while others label Rizzo a potential star, I wasn’t so sure. But then I remember the great leveler: age.

Anthony Rizzo is off to a hot start in 2013, posting much better numbers than either of his first two trips around the Majors. At 23-years old, his numbers look…pretty good? There’s an old saw about not locking up non-elite first baseman. I was left wondering: is Rizzo an elite first baseman?

If he isn’t now, he is certainly on track to be. Players who hit as well as he does at a young age tend to hit even better when they reach their peak. Not many first baseman over the past dozen years or so can claim to be as good as Rizzo when they were as young as Rizzo.

Other first baseman like Paul Goldschmidt and Allan Craig might have better numbers to date, but as Cameron notes, they’re much closer to their peaks and Rizzo has a lot more time to grow into this, delivering value all the way.

Only Albert Pujols and Prince Fielder carried a 120 wRC+ through their age-24 season. Rizzo is sitting at 138 wRC+ this season, 109 for his career. Should he finish the year as projected (closer to 130 or so) he might just slip into the 120 wRC+ class.

There is obviously risk in signing any player with just one year of service time through his age 29 season, but the long history between Rizzo and Cubs GM Jed Hoyer mitigates that some. Hoyer drafted Rizzo in Boston, traded for him when he went to San Diego and brought him in again once Hoyer got to Chicago.

The Cubs are paying for potential, secure in the knowledge that Rizzo has plenty. As is the trend continues, even teams with deep pockets will struggle to find places to spend it, so they are more and more likely to take calculated risks with their own talent rather than striking out in search of the increasingly rare free agent catch.

And the rest

Amazing must read number one: the swing of Bryce Harper [Washington Post]

Amazing must read number two: the defense and mind of Andrelton Simmons [Eno @ Fangraphs]

Your boy Parkes on the death of the game story [Fanatico]

Scioscialism!

O__o RT @pedromoura: Just a standard seventh inning in Anaheim: Two guys are now manning positions they’ve never played in the major leagues

— Productive Outs (@ProductiveOuts) May 14, 2013

Which team has the most money sitting on the disabled list? (Awesome) [New York Times]

Jon Heyman, the king of all media, sabrmetrics included? [Baseball Prospectus]

Justin Upton on his return to Arizona [Piecoro the best]

Yu Darvish and the auxiliary benefits of an ace [Newberg Report]

The great wormhole that is Baseball Reference [Sports on Earth]

DRAMA, even funnier/dumber in hindsight – “THERE WAS NO LAUGHING LAST NIGHT”

Joba just said he and Mo laughed about incident and its over. Said he didn’t need to apologize…

— David Waldstein (@DavidWaldstein) May 12, 2013

…and wouldn’t change anything. Said u fess up and move on. But there was no laughing last night.

— David Waldstein (@DavidWaldstein) May 12, 2013

Those who say this incident is no big deal may be right. But players have been traded, cut or let go for less. Then is it a big deal?

— David Waldstein (@DavidWaldstein) May 12, 2013