WTF is a tumblr?
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
I love how he’s a Mets fan. The jokes are always hilarous but have that all too familiar undertone of sadness haha.
hahaha… it’s funny because it hurts…
(Source: drunkonstevphen)
Old Time Family Baseball: Jose Reyes' Shave and a Haircut
On Friday, MLB Network will be broadcasting Jose Reyes’ haircut so that he can fit in with the new spic-and-span Marlins. This promises to be the biggest reveal since Geraldo opened Capone’s vault.
That said, people are quite hopeful of how Reyes will look when he’s finished. What look will he go…
For the first time in Topps history, a player’s card will not feature a human face. Coming off of a World Series victory, Skip Schumaker was the natural choice to be replaced by the fabulous rally squirrel since baseball scouts agreed that the squirrel had more range at second base and a focus group refused to believe that Skip Schumaker was an actual player’s name.
It’s the best use of an animal in a baseball card since Glenn Hubbard’s 1984 Fleer offering.
(via Big League Stew)
I NEED THIS CARD.
Old Time Family Baseball: Jeff Francoeur is One Cool Mother
Jeff Francoeur is a strange fellow. Loaded with tools, saying Jeff Francoeur is shorthand for both “gritty hardnosed ole time baseball” and “bonehead jerkbag can’t take a friggin’ walk.” He may not hit right handers as well as he should or ever live up to his lofty rookie season hype, but…
Frenchy forever!!!
- Satchel Paige: Striking out Jim Crow by James Sturm and Rich Tommaso.
I just finished this short graphic novella and even though it’s geared for children, it’s still a great story that’s accompanied by excellent artwork.
Why there aren’t more comics about one of the coolest men in history, I’ll never know.
HAPPY HORNY WEREWOLF DAY Greeting Card
This may be better than Batman Sticker Day
![mightyflynn:
Neruda, ca. 1970
Latin American scholars today often express surprise at how few Americans remember Pablo Neruda’s days in baseball. Even most dedicated fans of the game remain unaware that in the spring of 1965, the renowned Chilean poet put in almost a month at third base far the New York Mets: He was sixty-one years old at the time. His short-lived career in baseball goes largely unremembered for two reasons, I believe. First, in the initial four years of their existence, the Mets experimented with a dozen or so third basemen, hoping to find one even minimally suited to the position. Second, to be frank, Latin American literature was not nearly so widely known in the United States then as it is now, especially among baseball fans. It is safe to say that no Latin writer of similar stature could play pro ball in North America today without attracting a great deal more attention than [Pablo] Neruda ever received. In fact, there is some evidence that Neruda, at best a barely proficient third baseman, took the job in order to relax: to escape for a while from the rigors of his art and from a deteriorating political situation at home. “I had a marvelous time in New York,” the poet told El Mercurio, Santiago’s largest daily, shortly after his triumphant return to Chile. “It could not have been a better experience for me.”
Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the Mets. Among the terrible third basemen the team has had, none was worse than Neruda. Over twenty-eight ball games in a four-week period Neruda saw seventy chances at the hot corner and muffed forty-five of them. In eighty-seven appearances at the plate he managed but one hit. And he was struck by pitches no fewer than seventeen times. “In the north the ball is thrown very fast,” he told El Mercurio. “Sometimes I had difficulty escaping its path.”
- “Neruda and the Mets” [excerpt] by Vincent Passaro
Harper’s (May 1985), originally published in Willow Springs (Summer 1985)
I can’t even handle how awesome this is.](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly6q4vSM8Y1qzniimo1_500.png)
Neruda, ca. 1970
Latin American scholars today often express surprise at how few Americans remember Pablo Neruda’s days in baseball. Even most dedicated fans of the game remain unaware that in the spring of 1965, the renowned Chilean poet put in almost a month at third base far the New York Mets: He was sixty-one years old at the time. His short-lived career in baseball goes largely unremembered for two reasons, I believe. First, in the initial four years of their existence, the Mets experimented with a dozen or so third basemen, hoping to find one even minimally suited to the position. Second, to be frank, Latin American literature was not nearly so widely known in the United States then as it is now, especially among baseball fans. It is safe to say that no Latin writer of similar stature could play pro ball in North America today without attracting a great deal more attention than [Pablo] Neruda ever received. In fact, there is some evidence that Neruda, at best a barely proficient third baseman, took the job in order to relax: to escape for a while from the rigors of his art and from a deteriorating political situation at home. “I had a marvelous time in New York,” the poet told El Mercurio, Santiago’s largest daily, shortly after his triumphant return to Chile. “It could not have been a better experience for me.”
Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the Mets. Among the terrible third basemen the team has had, none was worse than Neruda. Over twenty-eight ball games in a four-week period Neruda saw seventy chances at the hot corner and muffed forty-five of them. In eighty-seven appearances at the plate he managed but one hit. And he was struck by pitches no fewer than seventeen times. “In the north the ball is thrown very fast,” he told El Mercurio. “Sometimes I had difficulty escaping its path.”
- “Neruda and the Mets” [excerpt] by Vincent Passaro
Harper’s (May 1985), originally published in Willow Springs (Summer 1985)
I can’t even handle how awesome this is.
I am re-watching Supernatural and I am still in love with it, really. It is the campiest camp that ever camped and it’s wonderful. But the ecclesiastical Latin pronunciation is honestly getting to me. It’s like listening to someone speak with a particularly annoying accent. And it’s not even the messed-up consonants. I could get used to “achedunt” instead of “accedunt” and “virtus” instead of “wirtus”. But they are not even trying with the vowels. Sam Winchester, you speak Latin with a mid-Western accent, and it makes me cringe. No wonder the ghosts and demons and whatever get all mad when you chant Latin at them! All of your vowels are flat and it sounds like you are ordering a McChicken sandwich at the drive-thru! Aargh!
I hate Rick Santorum
A propos of nothing except watching Colbert, which is obviously a biased source, but this does not detract from Santorum’s general dickishness. I hope all of his children turn out to be gay, get pregnant with their same-sex spouses and then change their minds at the last minute and get partial-birth abortions. I don’t like to say I actually hate people because I’m kind of a damn hippy when push comes to shove, but I hate Santorum. Enough to post about it, apparently, even though I can’t even properly express my rage.
MARIOUS?
Yes, tiny baby kitten friend?
I LIKE YOUR GLASSES.
Why thank you.
CAN I HAVE GLASSES TOO?
No, tiny baby kitten friend. You have the eyesight of a compact and furry eagle. Glasses are for people who cannot see so well.
BUT ALL THE KIDS WHO SHOP AT THE URBAN OUTFITTERS DOWN THE STREET CAN SEE JUST FINE AND THEY ALL HAVE HUGE GLASSES.
We don’t associate with those people, tiny baby kitten friend. Nobody should.
CAN I AT LEAST GET A BOW TIE?
Of course. If we could somehow harness the love people have for kittens in bow ties we could solve the energy crisis.
