Items of Potential Interest

Mustachioed Pitchers of the 1980s #9: Dick Tidrow

Chris Eckert — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 23:26:11 +0000

Dick Tidrow
Mustache Rating: 4.9 Fingerses
Years Active: 1974-1984
Teams Played For: Cleveland Indians, New York Yankees, Chicago Cubs, Chicago White Sox, New York Mets
Career Stats: 100-94, 3.68 ERA
Was He Ever a Diamond King?: No
Claims to Fame:

- Nicknamed “Dirt”, played a variety of roles throughout his career, including being an early iteration of the “setup” man for future Hall of Famers (and fellow MPo1980s) Bruce Sutter and Goose Gossage.
- Member of two World Series Champion teams, the 1977 and 1978 New York Yankees
- Is only one of three players to ever play for both modern New York and Chicago teams, alongside journeymen Charley Smith and Lance Johnson (Xavier Nady and Octavio Dotel are the only two active players to be one team short of this feat)
- Since retiring in 1985, has worked in the front office for the New York Yankees (1985-1993) and since then for his hometeam San Franciso Giants, even though according to this 1984 Fleer card (and his own Giants bio) has been living and raising a family in the Kansas City area for at least twenty-seven years, but has respectfully declined to adopt the Royals as his “hometown” team, I guess.
- And yeah, he’s still got a mustache. You do not give up a mustache that amazing.

Mustachioed Pitchers of the 1980s #8: Steve Rogers

Chris Eckert — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 16:32:02 +0000

Steve Rogers
Mustache Rating: 4 Fingerses
Years Active: 1973-1985
Teams Played For: Montreal Expos
Career Stats: 158-152, 3.17 ERA
Was He Ever a Diamond King?: Yes!
Claims to Fame:

- Steve Rogers, denied a chance to serve his country until a unique military experiment maximized his physical structure, turning him into a super-soldier. Frozen in suspended animation at war’s end, he awoke in the modern world, a man out of time but — [[checks Wikipedia disambiguation page]]

- WAS NOT Captain America
- Played his entire career for Montreal Expos, a decidedly un-American team, despite their deceptive color scheme
- Hold franchise records for wins, innings pitched and strikeouts, and with the team’s2004 demise, is assured to be their top pitcher for all eternity
- With three post-season wins in 1981, pitched in 60% of all Expos post-season victories, 1969-2004
- Got the decision in the Expos’ 1,000th franchise victory, a total that took them fourteen years to reach. “The second thousand will come much quicker,” Rogers assured the press in 1982. He was correct; it only took them twelve.
- Denied even a single Hall of Fame vote in 1991 (and questioned why not even Montreal journalists denied him the hometown vote), but was later inducted into the Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame and Expos Hall of Fame
- Currently living in New Jersey working for the Major League Baseball Players Association, but still reps the Expos (and Mustachioed Pitchers) in Old Timers’ games

Mustachioed Pitchers of the 1980s #7: John Candelaria

Chris Eckert — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 02:42:16 +0000

John Candelaria
Mustache Rating: 1 Fingers
Years Active: 1975-1993
Teams Played For: Pittsburgh Pirates, California Angels, New York Mets, New York Yankees, Montreal Expos, Minnesota Twins, Toronto Blue Jays, Los Angeles Dodgers
Career Stats: 177-122, 3.33 ERA
Was He Ever a Diamond King?: No
Claims to Fame:
- At 6′7″ was one of the tallest people in the history of MLB, but rather than a self-aggrandizing nickname like “The Big Unit”, settled for “The Candy Man”, even though that did more to make him seem like a child molester than even his mustache could
- Tried out for the Dodgers as a high schooler, and allegedly was not offered a contract because he wore a pot leaf t-shirt to one day of the try-out. Would later admit he “smoked marijuana, just like everyone else” when he was younger, but felt drugs had no place in major league baseball.
- In 1973, leapt off a hotel balcony on a dare to win $4.50 from his teammates. Broke his big toe, but pitched through it.
- In 1976, threw a no-hitter for the Pittsburgh Pirates. When asked his thoughts after the game, observed, “I’m sure my mother is drunk by now.”
- Was a key member of the 1979 World Champion “WE ARE FAMILY” Pittsburgh Pirates, pitching six shutout innings in the penultimate game
- Twenty years later, was rewarded with a single Hall of Fame vote
- Thirty years later, was honored at a Pirates game, proving that even after all this time, he cannot grow a decent mustache

Happy Father’s Day: The Origin of the Beer Fridge –or– My Conception Story

Chris Eckert — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 03:23:53 +0000

Finding an appropriate greeting card is a tricky proposition at best, and in recent years Father’s Day has become one of the most treacherous of all Hallmark Moments. Nearly every card on the shelves falls into one of two camps, with little in between:

GROUP ONE: “O Saintly Father, your Christian charity and homespun wisdom bring tears to my Christ-bless’d eyes, for as I walk through this world as one of God’s Soldiers, your beatific countenance serves as a perfect inspiration of intelligence and integrity. Let us join hands and weep as one, for the eternal bounty that the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, whose teachings you have imbued into my soul as if they were your own. You are truly the wind beneath my wings.”

GROUP TWO: “Hey, Happy Father’s Day, you big fat fartin’ dummy! You look like a big ol’ fartin’ monkey, sitting your fat ass in your favorite fartchair, watching NASCAR, drinking beer until you pass out! Try not to fart too much! Also give me some money, ha ha!”

These cards are great if your father is Charles Ingalls or Homer Simpson. For everyone else, the greeting card industry had no time for you.

As I imagine is the case for many readers, my father lies somewhere in the middle. My father is not the living embodiment of Christian Virtue, nor is he an oafish fart machine. So paying him tribute on Father’s Day can be difficult. I hope this story does him justice.

Brief preface: Last month Isley visited New York as part of the What is Best in Life East Coast
Tour. As you may have read in his recap, or seen via the wonders of online photo sharing, he and I engaged in a spirited Scientific Beer Tasting. We tested a wide variety of beers, many of them dating back to 1995. Some of you may wonder why we had beer lying around that dated back to the first Clinton administration, a time when neither of us were anywhere near the legal age to drink it. It was because of my father’s Beer Fridge. For as long as I can recall, my parents’ home has had a second refrigerator dedicated to beer. It was usually full of prosaic brews like Coors Light, Yuengling, Sam Adams, or Stegmaier, but as my father has an adventurer’s palate it accumulated a wider variety of oddball bottles, the leftovers of myriad experimental six pack purchases. When my parents sold their New Jersey home to move to China by way of Florida, the Beer Fridge was dissolved, and many of these beers (like so many other things) found their way to my apartment.

Why, beyond the obvious reasons, did my dad so diligently curate a Beer Fridge? The answer, as well as my very existence, dates back to The Blizzard of 1978.

At the time, my parents were relative newlyweds, recently relocated to Worcester, Massachusetts. My father was a rising star in the shoe business, having made the leap from retail manager to assistant buyer in the corporate offices. My mother worked at a bank, and both were on the job when The Blizzard hit. My father’s offices closed early enough that he made it home safely, but the bank tried to stick it out, leading to my mother’s car getting stuck in a snow bank as she attempted to drive home. While she was close enough to a friend’s home to find shelter, the storm had knocked out electricity and phone lines in many areas. My father, unable to locate my mother beyond her initial phone call saying she was headed home, began to walk the route between the bank and their home in the hopes of finding her, freezing one eye shut in the process. When he returned home to defrost himself, my mom managed to get him on the phone and let him know she was fine. Stranded across town, but fine.

For the next two days, my father was stranded at home, alone and often without electricity. As a struggling young couple, they didn’t have much in the way of provisions, and he almost immediately ran through their stock of alcohol. In this moment of desperation, he turned to Billy Beer, the famously terrible product endorsed by the then-Hillbilly-Brother-in-Chief and Libyan Foreign Agent Billy Carter.

At the outset of The Blizzard, my father possessed a case of Billy Beer, presumably the result of a gag gift or a moment of ironic kitsch. By Blizzard’s end, only two cans remained. Those two cans are still in my father’s possession, a physical reminder that he would never allow a situation like this again.

Also by Blizzard’s end, the roads cleared enough that my mother was able to find her way home, and was joyously reunited with my father. Almost exactly nine months later, I was born.

I eventually learned that not many people get told the circumstances of their conception. But it never seemed odd that my father would be willing, even proud to relate it to me. That’s one of those Middle Ground lessons my dad taught me: if a story’s good enough, go ahead and tell it. This particular good story has other life lessons embedded in it:

1. My father doesn’t give up, especially on the people he cares about, even if it means his eye is going to get frozen shut.
2. My father learned the hard way about the value of preparation. When the Blizzard of 1996 hit, he had plenty of beer and other provisions in the home; including some of the beer Isley and I drank last month.
3. My father knows that in a tough situation, you have to make due with what’s on hand; sometimes that means drinking Billy Beer. Sometimes it means switching from beer to shots so you won’t have to urinate and lose your spot at a packed concert. Other times, such as right now, it means working in China and only being able to communicate with his family via Skype, one of the few social media sites the Great Firewall has not decided to block.

I understand that the greeting card industry cannot be too specific with their targeting. I know the market for a “Hope You’re Doing Well Literally Halfway Across the World on Father’s Day, Wish You Could Be Here Drinking By a Bonfire Talking About How Great Breaking Bad Is” card line would sell, at maximum, two copies. But it would be nice if there were a few more cards in the middle ground. I’m pretty sure I can only get away with blogging about my conception story as a card substitute once.

Great Openings in Literature

Chris Eckert — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 22:32:02 +0000

From Worlds of Power: Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest by F.X. Nine

It looked as though Count Dracula was going to win the battle. “I will drink your spirit like cherry pop!” said the count, flapping his cape and showing his fangs. “Yes, Simon Belmont! You will become one of my children of the night!” Simon shivered in fear.

Want to read more? Contact me in the next few days before I throw this book out!

How Not to be a Class Act on the Internet: Penny Arcade vs. Jordan Jesse Go

Chris Eckert — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 23:22:47 +0000

PARTISAN ALERT: I have never been a regular reader of Penny Arcade. I have been a regular listener of The Sound of Young America and Jordan Jesse Go for several years, and have met both Jordan and Jesse. They strike me as nice guys, not “ironic hipsters”, though perhaps this makes me an “ironic hipster” and therefore inherently biased. I don’t pretend otherwise.

There’s really no way to take the high road when you throw the first punch. A number of people linked me to today’s Penny Arcade strip, featuring Jesse Thorn as some sort of cannibalistic serial killer. I didn’t really get the hubbub — Jesse is a guy who works out of the home while wearing bowties and sweater vests, who dotes after his dog, who owns taxidermied squirrels, is obsessed with a demonic pig toy — Penny Arcade wouldn’t be the first people to connect these dots into a portrait of a killer. But when I read the corresponding news update, it was clear this was no affectionate jab: it was a sincere indictment of Jesse and his radio program.

The organism who answered the door had worn a bow tie – and I am not making this up – on purpose. The next forty-five minutes were spent engaged in absolutely the most stultifying kind of nonsense while we awaited the co-host. Recording the show wasn’t much different than the previous hour, except that now there were two people to ignore us. We were steeped in a high PSI stream of cultural detritus, which culminated in an attempt by the hosts to engage seriously the subject of “Waterworld.”

There’s even an allusion to some sort of dark hostility on the part of Jordan and Jesse, as

They managed to bring out a side of Gabriel that I’ve only seen three or four times in twelve years, and only once directed at me: the implacable judge who becomes (without warning) the unadorned aggressor. You must work diligently to bring out this monster; a feat they managed in record time.

The news update paints a grim picture of Jesse as an unpleasant, unprofessional and irritating figure that one must endure, and of a duo of creators tossed into this nightmare with no forewarning. I have no idea of the day-to-day obligations of Penny Arcade creators Jerry “Tycho” Holkins and Mike “Gabe” Krahulik, but I imagine they’re quite busy with their mini-empire of comics, video games, conventions and merchandise, and I respect that being forced to wait around to get interviewed would be frustrating for people with only a fraction of the balls in the air that the two of them have. Even so, I can’t believe that they couldn’t do some cursory research about the “ironic hipster” lion’s den in which they were about to fling themselves. Instead they chose to wait until after the interview to find out that Jesse wrote a manifesto about “New Sincerity” in college and snidely dismiss it.

In the wake of this screed, I was pleasantly surprised to find almost everyone else involved behaving with civility: Jesse acknowledged the logistical problems involved with the recording and accepted partial blame for the awkwardness. Penny Arcade and Maximum Fun seem to have a large overlap in fanbases, so the discussion on both forums has been largely civil, if frequently partisan. Everyone seems to be handling this like adults, except for Mike/Gabe, who after again calling Jesse “a serial killer waiting to happen” on Twitter, responded to a fan pointing out that Jesse has all his guests record at his home with:

If that is how he does things then he is pretty unprofessional. He is also an ironic hipster which I find hard to stomach.

Putting aside the continued personal indictment, it’s odd that Mike looks down on Jesse’s home-based, Internet-borne operation as “unprofessional” when I assume their strip was produced out of the home for years prior to them reaching their current lofty heights. Dozens of older and more “Old Media” professionals have appeared on Jesse’s shows and not been so intensely disturbed that they make public proclamations about what a horrible experience it was, and how they now fear for their lives. Even more frustrating was Mike’s response in his own forum’s thread:

I don’t think anyone is really at fault. We are just not a good fit. Hanging out at this stranger’s house for an hour while we waited for his friend was frustrating. Then when he got there the two of them just started talking about old movies and random stuff. I honestly had no idea what was going on. We had never heard of them before, maybe if we had we’d have known what to expect. Towards the end we realized it was just a random show about nonsense and so I started talking about trees and Tycho started reading through the guy’s CD collection. I felt like the very end was actually kind of funny. I think the problem was that right away we just did not hit it off and the being late thing just made it worse. The vibe I got from him was “ironic hipster” and I’m not a fan of that character. Maybe I read him wrong but it doesn’t matter now. Oh well. I’d say we can comfortably go back to having nothing to do with each other now

“It doesn’t matter now”, outside of the post and cartoon that is being viewed by thousands of readers, and will likely be viewed for years to come, perhaps even in a printed collection for which they will one day do a press junket. Even this clarification repeats the indictment of Jesse’s work and of him as a person. Mike then makes a “humorous” follow-up, “Also I’m pretty sure [Jesse] is a rapist.” No doubt this was meant to signify that it’s cool, Mike is just joking and there isn’t “anyone really at fault” and there are no hard feelings. I’m sure Jesse is too classy to press the point, but the person making personal attacks is not the one who can pull back and decide is all is forgiven.

I don’t expect any of the principals in this issue could even begin to care about my opinion on this, but somehow I’ve had enough contentious conversations about this today that I wanted to put this out there. I have no insight into the circumstances that led to the awkward recording session: there may have been negligence on the part of any number of parties, and it’s a shame that things were so unpleasant for Mike, Jerry, Jordan, Jesse, Cocoa, the fine people at Random House, etc. That’s a black box. What isn’t a black box is how people handled themselves after the fact, and I don’t see how anyone besides the Penny Arcade guys can be considered “unprofessional” at present. But in Mike’s own words, “hey, I’ve made a good living coming off like a sociopathic asshole!” so perhaps this was the plan all along. If I have pick a team in “Ironic Hipsters” vs. “Sociopathic Assholes”, I’m okay with how I’ve cast my lot.

Truckin’ Music Tuesday 10: “That’s Truck Drivin’”

Chris Eckert — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 19:30:46 +0000

Truckin’ Music is back, and we kick off the series revival with a burning question: WHO IS SLIM JACOBS?

There seems to be no information about the man, and “That’s Truck Drivin’” is his only song that seems to be released: even the flipside of the various 1960s singles feature other country/truckin’ musicians, so it seems like ol’ Slim didn’t even record a b-side.

One question on a website from 1999 offers one potential answer to the mystery, though the story seems dubious. Regardless of his true identity, Slim still left the world with a classic fatalistic barebones truckin’ song, covering all the bases: treacherous routes, societal scorn, radar blues, merciless Smokeys, drug abuse, pinball, the full monty!

So Slim Jacobs, wherever you are, whoever you are: we salute you!

Mustachioed Pitchers of the 1980s #6: Bret Saberhagen

Chris Eckert — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 15:11:05 +0000

Bret Saberhagen
Mustache Rating: 1 Fingers
Years Active: 1984-2001
Teams Played For: Kansas City Royals, New York Mets, Colorado Rockies, Boston Red Sox
Career Stats: 167-117, 3.34 ERA
Was He Ever a Diamond King?: Yes!
Claims to Fame:
-Two-Time AL Cy Young Award Winner (1985, 1989)
-1985 World Series Most Valuable Player

Bret Saberhagen burst onto the scene in 1984, a twenty year old Royal sporting a weedy little caterpillar of a mustache. If my own childhood experiences in Topeka were any indication, Saberhagen inspired a wave of desperate facial hair in a generation of midwestern teens. That or the fact that the national drinking age was raised from 18 to 21 during his rookie year. Regardless, Saberhagen was a Kansas City phenomenon, the youthful sensation who won the Royals their first World Championship alongside veterans like George Brett, Dan Quisenberry, Hal McRae, Frank White and Willie Wilson.

But as all Royals stories now end, Saberhagen soon ended up playing for a bigger team, in this case the New York Mets. He shaved the mustache, and like Samson before him could never reach his lofty mustachioed heights, though he did post an impressive 14-4 All-Star showing in 1994.

Since retiring, Saberhagen seems to have done a lot of charity work, played a lot of golf, and briefly ran a play in upstate New York called “Bret Saberhagen’s Hit & Fun”, sadly no longer open. He also coaches his son’s high school baseball team, and as you can see from this photo op with fellow KC Cy Young winner (and quote machine) Zack Grienke, the mustache is back.

Mustachioed Pitchers of the 1980s #5: Bill Laskey

Chris Eckert — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 15:00:21 +0000

Bill Laskey
Mustache Rating: 3 Fingerses
Years Active: 1982-1988
Teams Played For: San Francisco Giants, Montreal Expos, Cleveland Indians
Career Stats: 42-53, 4.14 ERA
Was He Ever a Diamond King?: No
Claims to Fame:
-The Giants traded fellow MPot80s Vida Blue to the Royals in 1982 for Laskey and clean-shaven but wonderfully named Atlee Hammaker

-Named to Baseball Digest’s 1982 Rookie All-Star Team for his 13-12/3.14 ERA first Major League season

-Alongside Hammaker, prematurely compared to Koufax/Drysdale, apparently another “Fire & Ice” duo, though neither Hall of Famer could “twitch his dark mustache and sneer at the batter” like Laskey

-His legendary exploits inspired a venerable Saturday Night Live sketch, with names slightly changed for legal reasons

-In retirement, has founded Celebrity Connection, a company that organizes fantasy camps for the Giants and other organizations. And yes, he’s still got the mustache!

Mustachioed Pitchers of the 1980s #4: Sammy Stewart

Chris Eckert — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 18:45:13 +0000

Sammy Stewart
Mustache Rating: 4 Fingerses*
Years Active: 1978-1987
Teams Played For: Baltimore Orioles, Boston Red Sox, Cleveland Indians
Career Stats: 59-48, 3.59 ERA
Was He Ever a Diamond King?: No
Claims to Fame:
-Led the American League with a 2.32 ERA in 1981
-Pitched 7 2/3 innings of scoreless World Series baseball in 1979 and 1983
-Was available to pitch in the 1986 World Series, but was benched for spitting on Red Sox traveling secretary Jack Rogers after a disagreement
-After retirement, became addicted to crack cocaine and was arrested twenty-six times. Stewart is currently in prison in North Carolina.
-Throughout it all, has kept the mustache!

* Additional 1/2 Fingers awarded for winning smile and curly mop of hair