A Gyro isn't just a Greek Sandwich

So Dice-K looked positively King Felix-like in his debut against the Royals, except a lot skinnier. Naysayers will point out that he has yet to do that against a major league team, but then again, they could probably say that again about his next opponent, your Seattle Mariners. The highlight of that game, in Boston, will doubtless be the bum rush of 10,000 Japanese reporters trying to get a pre-game, in-game and post-game take on the first matchup of Itchy-Itchy and the master of the Demon Miracle Pitch since they met up in 1999 and Ich Bin ein Japaner struck out thrice.

What will happen this time? Who knows? The Seattle papers sure don't, since their only coverage of Daisuke's first start was an AP story they picked up off the wire, with no mention of Ichi. Had to turn to the NYT to discover that

Matsuzaka said that he was “very much looking forward” to pitching to Suzuki, but he is unlikely to be unnerved by the attention.

Here at the Rag, we think that nobody knows the ins and outs of the old ballgame better than one of our closest companions of all time. This little guy has been crawling all over us for millions of years, can jump 80 times his height, pull 160,000 times his weight and he did it without the Clear or the Cream. If anybody has a sense of the game, its him: Johnny Siphonaptera, aka the Flea. So, with less than a week to go before this historic matchup, we've assembled a committee of expert Fleas to discuss the upcoming matchup.

Our panelists:









































In order from top left, proceding to the right, then down a line and etc: Flea, Jimmy "the Flying Flea" Johnstone, Freddie "Flea" Patek, Lionel "Pulga" Messi (Pulga means Flea), Jesper "Flea" Olsen, Flea Clifton

(Note: we invited Flea. He declined the invitation.)
(Note also: we are not graphic designers. This frickin frackin thing won't put the fonts in the size we need. Sorry.)
(Note: F = Flea; FJ = Flea Johnstone; FP= Flea Patek; PM = Pulga Messi; JO = Flea Olsen; FC = Flea Clifton)

With no further ado, let's get this conversation going. Poony Poon (PP) will moderate:

PP: Ichiro is just 1,642 hits away from 3,000. Matsuzaka is just 2,990 Ks away from 3,000. Both speak Japanese. Flea Olsen, any thoughts?

FO: I like Ichiro's Zen-like calm at the plate. He hit a pitch the other day off Rich Harden, a sinker in the dirt, almost a spitter, really, for a single. Harden later said that nobody had ever made contact with that pitch. You just can't put that in a can and sell it at Wal-Mart.

FJ: Begorah and sure, but ye can't underestimate Daisuke's trrrruly incredible varriety of pitches. I mean, the man is a walking munitions dump, isn't he? So many looks. So many arm angles. Just nasty, nasty stooff. PS: I'm deed.

FP: Well, my best year was 158 hits, and let me tell you, that day in and day out consistency ain't easy. Ichiro has, what, like at least 150 hits, and so, you know, he can really zing 'em like Hostess.

PP: I'm sorry, I didn't understand that. Pulga?

PM: Pues, la verdad, no tengo ni puta idea de lo que dicen. Aca en Barcelona, se come bastante bien el sushi. Bueno, asi me dijo Eto'o. Yo no como sushi, viste, no me gusta el marisco y todo esto. Un sabalo, un poco de mero, bien, pero sushi suhi, no. Que se yo....yo diria que Ichiro meta un cabesazo en la segunda y que Daisuke da la remate cuanto antes. 1-1. Asi va a terminar.

FC: I am also no longer living. However, I'd have to build off of what Lionel here is saying and add that you can't overestimate the role of the press here. I mean, those Japanese cameramen are nasty. When I made my debut with the Tigers in 1934, there must have been 100 NKK cameramen all over the place. Big ole Hank Greenberg had to swat a few away with his lumber. Now I reckon that for this Fenway matchup, at least 10 to 15 camera types will show up. And if that's the case, I gotta give the upper hand to the more experienced ballplayer, Ichiro. Plus, he speaks Japanese, which I think will be a huge advantage.

PP: Thought provoking. Like the interplay of tonal harmonics and dissonance in later Stravinsky...So, guys, let's get down to nuts and bolts. Dice-K is going to bean Ichiro right on the noggin, right?

F: Frankly, I think that's an insulting postulation. Daisuke is a student of the game and knows all too well the Jackie Robinson-esque struggle his predecessor went through. His agent, Scott Boras, plays bridge with Ichiro's agent, Tony Attanasio. Both have season subscriptions to the Pacific Northwest Ballet and Matsuzaka recently scored tickets for the pair to see Michael Schumaker's last race. Also, Ichiro's blood is type B and Matsuzaka's is O. That's warrior versus hunter. Matsuzaka might be a fierce fighter, but Ichiro's Mizuno bat is a like a 34 ounce spear, carefully balanced and ready to cleave Daisuke's chest plate and leave him to die, suffocated by the weight of his own blood. There is no possibility but Wa.

FO: I read the biography of Sadaharu Oh and there's a really cool flip book thingy in it where you flip through the pages and you get like a little movie about Sadaharu swinging. I think he hit a homerun or something. Samurai! Chop! My point is this: neither of 'em could cut it back with the A's were in Kansas City. Roger Maris would have had none of it, the racist bastard.

FP: I think what's getting lost in this otherwise riveting conversation is the fact that you shouldn't underestimate the power of Coco Crisp. Not only is he a switch hitter, but he tastes great with Nestle Quik. I like to use the powdered kind and then put in the Coco Crisp and then the milk and then just take a few heaping teaspoonfuls of the Quik powder, right? and I just dust them all over the place. What's neat about that is that as you eat, the milk gets gradually more chocolaty. It starts out just plain old milk, but that dust keeps working its magic and pretty soon, you've got yourself a sweet treat. Turns breakfast into a two course meal. I sometimes put an egg on top and then you've got yourself breakfast, lunch and dinner all rolled up in one.

PM: Que decis? Quien invito al loco esto? Cuando se acaba la entrevista, porque Ronaldinho me espera afuera.

There you have it, ladies and gents. Mariners verus BoSox. Next Wednesday.

"Makyuu no Shoutai"

In Fifteen Hundred and Forty-Three

In 1543, Henry VIII married Catherine, his sixth wife. Martin Luther published On Jews and their Lies, a charming title from a small publisher about how the houses and books and schools and synagogues of the Jews should be disposed with post haste. Huge sleeper potential on this one, with a grass roots push, it could hit the Powell's list fast. Meanwhile, Copernicus published De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium, a coffee table book about how the sun, rather than the earth, is the center of the universe. Ptolemy rolled over in his grave and great controversy ensued, but man, Costco couldn't keep that book on the discount table!



But for me, I'd have to say the best best thing about 1543 is that it totally matches Miguel Batista's ERA as of his first outing! Man that guy can pitch! Balk, too!

Here's his line:

4.2IP

10H

8R

8ER

2BB

5K

0HR

15.43 A.D.

Said Geoff Baker of the Blethen Times of his outing:

Batista's pitches looked like dogs -- very fast dogs -- that had just broken free of their leashes.

The P.I.'s Greg Johns put it another way:

So flummoxed was the Dominican native that he said he had no idea why he was called twice for balks, one of which forced in a run, after stepping back off the rubber.

And then went on to point out that Batista is a liar. Batista tells him that "I haven't made a balk in 19 years." Baker does due diligence and discovers that "the balks were actually the fourth and fifth of his big league career."

Cap on you, Miguel.

For those of you who need a clearer picture of the Waste Land that swept across Safeco last night, we turn to the Associated Press's Gregg Bell:

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Conversely, how miserable was Miguel Batista's 4 2-3-inning Mariners debut? Eight runs allowed. Ten hits. Two balks. Dodging of line drives hit right at him -- plus one he didn't dodge that stung his left foot. He continually turned to watch drives bang off outfield walls. And he backed up home plate seven times as runners scored.

The one time he didn't backup home, Mike Piazza scored on Batista's first balk. The 36-year-old former Diamondback started and then stopped his throwing motion during Oakland's five-run second inning.

Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Miguel, when cornered by on the spot Rags correspondant Poony Poon in the locker room, turned to the good book -- his -- for an appropriate quotable:

"My, that was rather a churning nightmare of death full of questions without answers wasn't it?"

The good news here of course is that a local boy got playing time. Sean White, of Mercer Island (he loves Quin Snyder and his singing voice), did some fine mop up work. And I think I can speak for all of us when I say that it's far more important to have people from Washington state on this team than to win an excessive, even unseemly, number of ballgames. It just wouldn't be Windermere, now would it?

(eds: actually a photo of Madison Park. Jews and their Lies again.)

Guest Columnist: Poony Poon

Today, my dear reader, we have a special contributor, Ms. Poony Poon, child prodigy pianist and New York Times biz section covergirl. Poony?

Thanks, Schmutz. I'm here to talk about piano playing and about baseball. First off, Richie Sexson may hit have hit a homerun in both the first and the second games of the season, but I'm deeply suspicious of what that projects to. (First off, how do you say home run in Chinese?) I mean, the guy gets $15.5 million, 12th in the bigs to swing the bat at a .269 clip. I mean, Maurizo Pollini has far superior stats, including a Grammy. He opens major cultural institutions. He has soul. Sexson likes Kevin Costner, Sushi and the X-Files. (Okay, he probably likes 24 at this point.)

Yet here's Larry Stone, giving him a fluff job once again. Larry Stone is and always has been the bane of my 10 year old existence. This guy thinks he writes well. Think again. This guy is a hackneyed fool and even Schubert could tell you that. Look at this crap:

Of all the necessities for the Mariners in this season where the worst-case scenario would be disastrous, a consistently crushing Sexson ranks near the top.

I'm sorry, is that even English? I'm from China and I know that doesn't cut the mustard and the rye bread. I know I know, it's a long season and you gotta make something out of every game. So hard to be a columnist, boo hoo. Only guys who make any money at local papers are columnists, and to add insult to injury, Larry, you write like Rick Wakeman plays the keyboards. And that's not a good thing.

Larry Stone, I know Franz Liszt, and you're no Franz Liszt.

PS: the last time the Mariners won their first two games, I couldn't even play Heart and Soul. (embarrasing but true!)

Okay, back to MySpace's classical room!

PPS: Fuck you Tower records. Who will buy my music now?

I know what he's talking about

Bloomie Calls Dell

Just unearthed today, authentic, verified audio recording of Willie Bloomquist's post season opener victory phone call to Dell tech support for help with his mom's laptop. Pretty amazing stuff.




Okay, okay, it's not really Willie. It's Jeff Cirillo. Or is it Dave Valle?

Crown His Rather Ample Ass

Apparently King Felix had a big day yesterday. Eight innings pitched, three hits, no runs, 12 K, pretty rosy all around.

Hargrove was excited, mouthing off about the porcine pitcher being extremely mature, "a rare breed who has grasped the concept." He also had an unusually, how to say this, homoerotic line of praise in his postgamers yesterday, speaking of how the team "busted their humps" doing "everything we asked them to do and then some," leading to seeing "the fruits of that work today," topped with whipped cream, a maraschino cherry and a dose of "we rode Felix for this win."

Okay, I'm stretching it. Art Thiel and Steve Kelley went so bonkers, however, so over the top with excitement (about baseball and something else, respectively). To wit:

Hernandez pitched as well as any pitcher in the big leagues, any pitcher on the planet -- Kelley

Hernandez is young, healthy, cheap and dominant. -- Thiel

We're also young, cheap and, if you wish, dominant.

Anyhow, we got curious about Mariners opening day starters, because when it comes to Kelley and Thiel, the only safe bet is don't believe the hype. Thiel talked about something called "Weapons-grade giddiness," presumably from the nitrates in all the Mariner Dogs he sucks down. So, we decided to look back, because those who refuse to use the Internet to shortcut their way to understanding history are doomed to read Art Thiel in hell.

Here's what we found out, thanks to the enormously helpful Baseball Almanac site:

Pitcher Date IP H R ER BB K (Final Record, ERA)
Floyd Bannister* 4/16/82 9.0 7 0 0 4 8 (12-13, 3.43)

Randy Johnson 4/6/93 8.0 7 1 1 2 14 (19-8, 3.24)

Big Unit* 4/27/95 6.0 3 0 0 2 8 (18-2, 2.48)

Jamie Moyer 4/8/03 7.0 4 0 0 1 7 (21-7, 3.27)

Jamie Moyer 4/4/05 5.2 5 1 0 0 4 (13-7, 4.28)

(* = home opener)


So, what does this mean? I think it means that maybe the Flabby Fireballer will either have an awesome season, or an okay season. But not a bad one. Gil Meche at worst. It also means that Art Thiel is a pretty creepy guy. More later.

All Your Slogan Are Belong to Us

In honor of Opening Day (TM, all rights reserved, lsmft), and the fact that the Yankees are, as per norm, playing the weak cheese Devil Rays, it's time for our first annual roundup of official team slogans (in point of fact, this is something we've been doing for awhile, just not publicly). These are all plucked from home pages. Submissions for further slogans not so obviously made known are more than welcome.

Here they are, along with snarky comments when they occur to us:

Astros: Return of the good guys
(Inference: last year's team sucked. Now it's 2005 time -- time to get crushed in the WS)
Blue Jays: It's always game time
(I don't understand what that means. Most of the time it's not.)
Braves: Welcome to the bigs.
(Friendly message to rooks. They don't seem to be starting any, but obvs. have high hopes for Sept.)
D-Rays: More than just a game.
(Clearly. The game has little to do with this ongoing trainwreck.)
Dodgers: Think Blue. or It's Time for Dodger Baseball
(eh)
Giants: Your Giants
(In case you were wondering.)
Marlins: You gotta be here!
(Because nobody else is. Marlins 2006 average attendance rank: 30 out of 30. The Yankees outdrew them 3 to 1.)
Mets: Your season has come.
(David Wright plucks his eyebrows!)
Nats: Pledge your allegiance.
(I kind of like this one)
Rangers: You could use some baseball.
(Are you looking to get made fun of? This is too easy.)
Reds: C you there.
(Fucking lame. Who the hell are the marketing people there? Did Griff get Kid Sensation a job in the PR department? )
Rockies: GenRation.
(? elucidate, please)
Royals: True. Blue. Tradition.
(Some tradition...$11 million a year for a career 4.45 ERA pitcher?)
Tigers: Who's your Tiger?
(Neifi Perez)
White Sox: Back to the grind.
(Is this some kind of pun on coffee? Does Howard Schultz own this team now? Cf: Cincinnati Reds)
Seattle Mariners: A churning nightmare of death full of questions without answers!
(First pitch three and a half hours away!)

The Avenger of Blood

It's opening day. Mariners v. Athletics. Can you contain the excitement?


It's Dan Haren squaring off against fatass Felix Hernandez, who had to rely on cutting "a pound or two" of his own hair to make weight this spring. I sit here and I think about all this season might be, about how Adrian Beltre is the baseball equivalent of a used car with a mighty fine paint job and a shit motor, about how two starting fielders speak English, about how what we could really use is Walter Matthau and a case of pull-tab Budweisers, and somehow I dredge up a mole or two of hope. But then I take a look at this mug, and I think that perhaps I'm confusing the Marineros with my other beloved nine, the Diablos Rojos of Mexico City. They at least have suited up Julio Franco, a real baseball player and not Porky the Pig (yes, I know, but it solidifies the Jabba Hutt connection).

But my real belly fire is coming from news, taken from the New York Times but, upon further review, more deeply investigated in the Seattle BlethenTimes. We have a published author on board, skipper, and he's our number four starter (soon to be promoted to number one once Chancho Hernandez slips a gallbladder):


Not sure if you can make out the full title on this one, so I'll give an assist:

The Avenger of Blood: A Plot Where Real Facts and Evidences Face Faith

What does that mean? I think it means that Miguelito is a hell of a writer. Here's an excerpt:

There are many things that cannot be proven through the eyes of the law, but through the eyes of humanity, they are the law.

Thomas Santiago, a fourteen-year-old boy with the carefree existence typical of most boys his age, is accused of committing a series of shocking murders. From that moment on, his life becomes a churning nightmare of death full of questions without answers.

I have not read this book. I should read this book. Those of you breathlessly awaiting a posthumous wrapup on Bowie Kuhn should definitely read this book as you await. This is like Ball Four, but in semi-intelligible babble. And also about murder. And if you're a truly diehard Batista-phile (and who isn't, with a lifetime ERA of 4.46, a man who has won 11 games in one season on two occassions), you might want to consider snatching up this collectors item, then rush to the Dome, er the Safe, and get his Juan Hancock on the inside front cover of his earlier, Spanish language, book of poems. He'll probably be so shocked and awed he'll give you free tickets to the next homegame. Or at least a galley of his next book, which he expects to print in "a few years."

Rereading the small introductory excerpt given us by Amazon, I think we've identified a new team slogan for 2007. Forget "Anything Can Happen." Ditto for "Hit it Again and Again and Again." Dump "It's a Whole New Ballgame." The Seattle Mariners open the season today and Dave Niehaus should be shouting out loud:

Mariners Baseball: A churning nightmare of death full of questions without answers!

Nuts, hot nuts, you get 'em from the Peanut Man

Our D.C. bureau chief has been doing some late night digging and has come up with some fresh (well, somewhat fresh) information on the man of mystery, he who passes for Vincent Schiavelli, but can execute the forward (peanut) pass better than any Seahawk QB on record (except of course Kelly Stouffer). We are of course talking about Rich Kaminski, god of the goober.

Nut Case

The revelations here are that he apparently lives, or lived, in Kent. Also that he may have a college degree and that he was an A-Rod fan. Also, that he loves board games:

It's like that board game LIFE, where players get stars, hearts and dollars. Well, I've got a tall stack of hearts, a dwindling stack of stars and a very small stack of dollars.

This is good stuff. Good understand the man and you'll understand America stuff. But then comes this, and we begin to question, as we so often have, the evil doers who drive the bus:

Read Down, Because the Top Part is Boring

The drove the Peanut "Guy" and the Program "Guy" out of the stadium? This isn't Communist Russia! This isn't The Bolshevik Mariners. How could they do that to these geniuses of their craft?

(note bene: I think this is as good a time as any to disclose that I worked at the Kingdome, a contract hire by Ogden food services. The leakiest ship I've ever had the pleasure of serving on. I think I worked a total of six shifts before I got my first promotion. Worked six more and I was promoted again. Meanwhile there was an Australian backpacker type working in the bag boiling and bagging hot dogs and he would eat one of every four dogs he plucked out of the water. Avoided King Dogs altogether on the theory that he ran less of a risk of choking as he tried to swallow down the sausage in five seconds or less. Meanwhile (pt. II) the old guy at the register next to mine would routinely come out $100 or more under his till.)

Back to the subject at hand. Please help me find Rich Kaminski. HBO wants to do a TV series based on him.

Everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned

This is deeply troubling to me. So much so that I will go beyond the Seattle sports pages, reaching into the bracking dreck that is Oosatoday to bring you, brim beating fans, very bad news indeed:

Say Adieu to Laine, Bonjour to Synthetic Doo Doo

Here's some photo evidence of the shitstorm that is brewing in the minds of the evildoers who run baseball.


To break this down in terms you can understand, one of these kids is doing his own thing; one of these kids is not the same (on a side note, F the A's). It's the one on the left, which is made out of Play-Doh, used Pakistani truck tires, malaria laden mosquito netting and also a barrel or two of pure saccharine sweet Saudi Arabian crude, so rich, so thick, you have to spoon it up. On the right, we have something we all love, because it's renewable and adorable: sheep hair.

I think the message is pretty clear here, folks. Major League Baseball is somewhere to the right of Exxon when it comes to putting the planet first. MLB brought in astroturf, it brought in air conditioned domed stadiums, it brought in plastic beer cups rather than the waxed cardbord of yore (see previous post for more thoughts on beer and baseball) and now plastic hats. Rex Tillerson is a happy, happy man, and all I want to know is if Halliburton got the New Era contract.

P.S. if anyone has the video of Vlad Guerrero winning the All Star MVP a few years ago and losing his shit when he finds out he gets a free car, I'd be most most happy and would definitely put it up for all to enjoy.

BEERMAN, R.I.P.

A moment of silence for a man who could sell a cold frosty one. We lost a good one this week.

The silver lining in this dark cloud is that the secret identity of the world's greatest peanut vendor, the man who can throw a bag on a dime (and quite frankly could have helped out on the mound a lot better than Billy Swift ever did), has been outed. It is none other than Richard Kaminski, and we have photographic evidence to prove it. That's him in the background:


We learned his name because he was in the caption of the photo:

Bill Scott, left, aka the Beerman, and Richard Kaminski, aka the Peanut Man, worked crowds at the Kingdome when the items they sold were far cheaper than today.

I mainly remember those little plastic saran wrap like lids they stretched over the beers. Guaranteed mess. But at a buck fitty, who cares?

UPDATE: loyal reader and master of fundies fundies, it's all about the fundies, Isham "Raicilla Sunrise" Randolph writes with this passionate cry for clarity and better understanding of what matters here:

Kaminski was the greatest. never got the attention he deserved, playing in the shadow of Beerman. And he stayed loyal to the dome, something the Beerman never did. you could say that at the end of his career, beerman was as waterdowned/overplayed/whored out as the San Diego Chicken. Traveling fool that he was.

Ish-Didog takes a big breath, and then he goes on:

Some people are saying that dying at the tender age of 65 (58?) is just another example of how the vengeful god that watches over Seattle treats those that betray the Jet City. You want another example: Hendrix. You want another: Bob Whitsitt.

And I would add to that list:

Keith Godchaux -- taken by the Grateful Dead piano curse
Ron Santo -- dared to play for the Cubbies

Jeff Weaver is who we thought he was!

Little known fact: Jeff Weaver's contract with the Seattle Mariners is actually really an innovative step forward, based on derivative options trading. Complex formula and in fact the M's hired a Sorbonne mathematics PhD to help structure the deal, as it's believed to be the first ever quant-based guaranteed contract in baseball, and apparently has muni bonds and subprime mortgages securitized along with it and is combined with some interesting risk-based incentives. It's so cutting edge, they decided to only try it as a one year affair to see how it works. Complex? Yes. Wildly imaginative? Absolutely. But in essence, in layman's terms, the contract works like this: for every basis point of ERA, Weaver gets $10,000. I hear he's shooting for an eight figure deal.

From the Seattle Times:

Weaver, on a one-year, $8.3-million contract with Seattle, had been 0-2 with an 8.31 earned-run average and four home runs allowed in four outings this spring.

This reminds me of a similar deal the M's worked out with some of the bars around the Dome (RIP) back in the days when Big Dave Valle caught Fassero and the like: domestic beers priced at Valle's batting average. I remember the furious dash to FX McRory's when Dave dropped the old BA to .147 or thereabouts. Now that's a cheap pint of beer.

Zen Godhead or Slap Hitting Regular?

You decide:

Jose Guillen and cars

It's top-of-the-line drives for Guillen

There are so many things wrong with this article, I don't even know where to start. First of all, I would like to know that our rightfielder gets giddy about playing baseball, not driving cars. Seems like that's his problem, he's at the plate dreaming about when he gets to drive away from the stadium.

Second, how can this writer claim that Guillen doesn't like talking about cars when he clearly told him all the cars he owns, how he likes driving them and even what his garage situation is? Also, Guillen is such a dumbass that he basically admits that he shows up for the season just for the paycheck to buy new cars, with no regard for his play or the team's.

Lastly, Guillen saying he doesn't care much for spring training can only sit well with me if he goes out and has a great regular season. Essentially, he's too lazy to do the preparation, no?

The Flattest Brim in Baseball Awards 2006

It's October and time to think about who truly subscribes to the notion that the shortest path beteween two salary arbitration hearings is a straight brim. Yes, it's that orgy of Euclidian geometry in action, the first annual flattest brim competition. Remember those crappy plastic apparatuses used to form a perfect ballcap brim bend (on sale at your local Lidz, in the junk bin with the mismatched wristbands)? These fine players (and coaches) will have nothing to do with them; their world is in the shadow of the spectre of overpowering, Zito-esque curve. Submissions from our millions of readers are more than welcome. Balloting will be open until the last out of the World Series, when a champion will be selected. Here, the competitors:

1. Chad Cordero, Washington Nationals, RHP
Hailing from Upland, Calif.
Click here for a deep investigation of his brim over time (b/t = mc2)


2. Anthony Reyes, St. Louis Cardinas, RHP
Hails from Downey, Calif.
Apparenly he actually irons his hat brim. Irons!


3. Sweet Lou Piniella
Fox Commentator. Once and Future Yankee? Cub?
Multicultural Florida


4. Shawn Chacon, Pittsburgh Pirates, RHP
Anchorage, Alaska
(Quick: name five Alaskan athletes. Not including Trajan Langdan)


5. Mike Cameron, San Diego Padres, OF
La Grange, Ga.
This man may not have invented the flat brim, but he's the one that turned me on to it, man.

Hey, that's pretty flat:

6. Pokey Reese, Florida Marlins, SS
Columbia, SC
He's recently moved away from flat brims. For that he will pay.
Also, this brim may not seem all that flat, but consider the age of this photo. At the time, this was extremely radical, the baseball equivalent of a Victorian lady without petticoats, the ultra mini skirt, etc. In an era of extremely peaked brims, people looked at Pokey's kind of flat brim and reconsidered whether Columbus had indeed been wrong. Maybe the world was kind of flat.


Okay. That's the first six. Please send more.

7. Okay, what the hell is this? Fantasy flat brim Mexico Los Angeles what what?

Seatown Rags

Seatown Rags
Snelling is weak!

U District represent!