1. Is Jaymes Nix a drunk? — Nope, he just likes to celebrate Laynce and Jayson’s accomplishments with alcohol, hookers and making the Y sign from the YMCA dance.
2. Where can I get a funny fantasy baseball team name? — Your brain?  Or you can try our fantasy baseball team name generator or just go with an obscure, overweight player “Ate My Baby.”  For instance, Rich Garces Ate My Baby.
3. Hot Bat Injection of Bonnie Franklin for a Rubby — I’m gonna assume this person was a big fan of One Day at a Time and Rubby de la Rosa and just move on.
4. Sick Schnauzer might just be gas? — It’s possible, or maybe your significant other is simply blaming your dog.
5. Did Tommy Lee Jones get 160 on the SATs? — Pfft!  He has pockmarks that scored higher.
6. Zodiac Killer’s third nipple — No answer here, but if you’ve stumbled onto evidence that will crack this long-unsolved case, please notify the authorities.
7. Fantasy Baseball on Twitter? — I answer questions in the comments here and don’t do much on our Twitter feed except link to the site, but you can try Eric Karabell’s Twitter feed.
8. Wally Backman really Gordon Shumway? — No, Mookie Wilson is Gordon Shumway; Backman is Willie Tanner.
9. What reality show was Grey Albright on? — I’m not saying, but you can try to piece together clues from my (e)book, Who Is Grey Albright?
10. Watch me eat a lemon and a lime and piss Sprite! — Sounds like we had a Mythbuster reading Razzball!
11. Need to get naughty bits clean of Sriracha — Try soap and ice water.  Also, there’s a reason why the Sriracha bottle has a rooster, not a cock.
12. Razzball’s tag line? — Razzball:  Something to read between masturbation sessions.
13. Rumored Suitors is a great album title for? — Jodeci.
14. You got Rick Schroder rolled! — You just did again.
15. How do you pronounce Furbush? — It’s German.  Correct pronunciation is Führerhairkraut.
16. When does Charlie Morton make his salt? — Between seasons.
17. What does Cliff Lee’s gym bag look like? — This.
18. What happens to extra money left at a fantasy draft? — It goes to starving children in the Sudan.
19. What the hell is Garrett Atkins up to nowadays? — He’s darning sweaters.
20. How does Grey keep his mustache so full? — That I can’t share with you.  Now go spend time with your family!  Happy Thanksgiving!

Bill Lee was one of the more eccentric, and certainly the most refreshingly original character in baseball in the last several generations. The Spaceman was the quintessential figure of the ‘70’s counterculture, and was perhaps better known for his at times outlandish behavior then his pitching, which was actually very good. Lee had a career record of 119-92 in a 14 year career spanning 1969-1982, in which the initial five years of his career were spent toiling as a reliever. He had a lifetime ERA of 3.92, and won 17 games three straight seasons for the Boston Red Sox, and 16 games for the Montreal Expos in 1979. He even once discussed his specialty, the Leephus Pitch, an offshoot of the Eephus Pitch,  The Eephus pitch, first thrown in 1942 by pitcher Rip Sewell, was named by Sewell’s teammate, outfielder Maurice Van Robays. When asked what it meant, Van Robays replied, “‘Eephus ain’t nothing, and that’s a nothing pitch.” (The Hebrew word “efes” means “nothing.”)  Lee discussed the Leephus pitch, which follows a high, arcing trajectory and is very slow. But all of that in some ways seemed but a side show to Lee’s antics, as well as his views on politics and the cosmos.

The Ace from Space was quoted by Sports Illustrated saying: “You have two hemispheres in your brain – a left and a right side. The left side controls the right side of your body and right controls the left half. It’s a fact. Therefore, left-handers are the only people in their right minds.” In 1979, he went on a banana diet. “Did you ever see a monkey with a cramp?” He began to acquire a cult following; fans would assemble outside Fenway Park, waiting for Lee to appear on game day, so that they might exchange their ideas on philosophical issues.  On one occasion, he told them: “The secret to life was “at Fernwood Court in Topanga Canyon.” When one of his followers questioned him as to its significance, Lee responded: “That’s where the Dragon Lives.” He also discussed advanced Epistemological and Cosmic Studies in relation to baseball:  “I think about the cosmic snowball theory. A few million years from now the sun will burn out and lose its gravitational pull. The earth will turn into a giant snowball and be hurled through space. When that happens it won’t matter if I get this guy out.” On one occasion he request that his uniform number be changed to 337, as that spelled Lee upside down. He was fined $8,250 for admitting he sprinkled marijuana on his pancakes. He then exacerbated the issue when he endorsed legalizing hashish, stating that smoking marijuana while jogging to Fenway Park reduced the effect of bus fumes on his lungs. He once wore a gas mask at batting practice to protest air pollution.. When the Red Sox switched to a two-tone baseball cap, Lee’s reaction was to wear a propeller on top. Later on, he decided to run for the Presidency, as a candidate for the Rhinoceros Party. His platform: no guns, no butter.

Perhaps worse, he began denigrating his manager, Don Zimmer, in public, calling him “The Designated gerbil.” Zimmer was old-school, and it was perhaps inevitable that he would clash with the Spaceman. In 1978, Lee and Zimmer had an unfortunate public feud concerning Zim’s handling of the pitching staff. A number of the more liberal-minded Bosox aligned themselves with Lee, forming a group called “The Buffalo Heads”, protesting what they saw as Zimmer’s tyrannical nature.   Zimmer’s response was to trade some of the group, including Ferguson Jenkins and Bernie Carbo, and relegate Lee to the bullpen. The wisdom of these moves was debatable, as Lee was a noted Yankee killer; Zimmer’s stubborn refusal to start Lee in two late season series was possibly one more reason why the Red Sox let a 14 game lead slip, ultimately losing the division to the Yankees in a one game pennant as a result of the eternal shot by Bucky F’ing Dent. Being consigned to the baseball equivalent of Siberia was not an easy pill for Lee to swallow; despite everything, he was an intense competitor, who had a strong dislike of the Yankees, especially ex-manager Billy Martin, whom he once referred to, along with his players, as “That Neo- Nazi and his Brown Shirts.”  Soon afterwards, Lee reported receiving a dead mackerel, sent by messenger; attached to it was a note, allegedly from Martin, which stated “Put this in your purse, you #(&@@&*”

The next year, Lee was traded to the Montreal Expos. His comment when informed of the trade: “Who wants to be with a team that will go down in history alongside the ‘64 Phillies and the ‘67 Arabs?” Again, Lee had some success with the Expos, winning 16 games, but he was later released after he refused to play after Montreal released his good friend and teammate Rodney Scott. He engaged in a sit-in outside of team President John McHale’s office, who found him sitting on the floor munching on a peanut butter sandwich.

Concerning the traditions of baseball, Lee was as Conservative as his politics were Liberal. “I would change policy, bring back natural grass and nickel beer. Baseball is the belly-button of our society. Straighten out baseball, and you straighten out the rest of the world.”  And then again: “No mascots,” Lee added. “No mascot, no designated hitter, no music between innings. Hot dogs, peanuts and go get ‘em.”He despised the Designated Hitter Rule, especially concerning the manner in which it minimized late inning strategic decisions. He once commented that since the implementation of the DH rule, the manager’s only role was to make out the lineup card, and make sure all of the players got to the airport on time. He wanted baseball to return to the practice of Sunday doubleheaders, and wished to ban Astroturf.  Beyond anything else, he believed in the purity of the game; in fact, he compared it to a spiritual experience: “You should enter a ballpark the way you enter a church.” He thought there should be “holy water inside the turnstiles and everyone will have to genuflect before going into the stadium.”

Bill Lee was inducted into the Red Sox Hall of Fame on November 7, 2008. During the ceremony, Lee reminisced about a famous brawl between the Yankees and Red Sox in 1976, which was initiated after Yankee Lou Piniella ran over Bosox catcher Carlton Fisk in a play at the plate. . During the fight, Lee suffered a severe injury, separating his left shoulder. Lee initially blamed the injury on Yankee third baseman Graig Nettles, (although he subsequently believed that Billy Martin had encouraged the Yankees to be more confrontational during the fight.) Lee then revealed that he carries Nettles’ baseball card in his wallet, explaining, “I keep this in here so that Nettles’ face is always up against the back of my ass no matter where I go.” In homage to Lee’s pursuit of quirky individualism, legendary rock artist Warren Zevon wrote a song entitled “The Ballad of Bill Lee.”

The Ballad of Bill Lee
By Warren Zevon

You’re supposed to sit on your ass and nod at stupid things
Man, that’s hard to do
And if you don’t, they’ll screw you
And if you do, they’ll screw you, too

When I’m standing in the middle of the diamond all alone
I always play to win
When it comes to skin and bone

And sometimes I say things I shouldn’t
Like…
And sometimes I say things I shouldn’t
Like…

Fantasy AL Most Valuable Player – Granderson made an interesting case for MVP, but it involved reading and I don’t do that.  Justin Verlander might’ve won this award if he wasn’t a pitcher (that’s a joke; don’t inundate the comments with how he should be the MVP even though he’s a pitcher).  So my AL Fantasy MVP is Jacoby Ellsbury.  When Ellsbury was asked how it felt to win the AL MVP Razzballie, he said, “How’d you get my address?”

Fantasy NL Most Valuable Player – The day after opening day, I relayed this story, “A friend went to Kemp’s party after the Dodgers opening night win at a club here in LA.  Two hours after the win, Kemp was standing on the bar with two champagne bottles flipped over, pouring them into his mouth like he was a fountain.”  Hey, it worked for Miggy and Mickey Mantle too.  Kemp, you are the belle of the Razzballies!

Fantasy AL Cy Young – This was a tough call for the Razzball panel that votes.  See, cause the panel is made of a hundred monkeys wearing organ grinder outfits and when I showed them a picture of Verlander, they scratched their ass.  Wait, that’s the BBWAA.  I’m picking these awards on my own.  Yeah, Verlander wins.  A Razzballie is better than the AL MVP, trust me.

Fantasy NL Cy Young – Clayton Kershaw gets the mustache trophy.  Wait, that’s the RCL trophy.  I’m gonna handle that on Monday.  Stay tuned!  Or not.

Fantasy AL Least Valuable Player – Carl Crawford made a solid case for terrible, but the Blunder Twins screwed everyone.  Joe Mauer just flat out raked if you were to read that in the mirror and it then read “crap” not “dekar,” but he’s just a catcher.  Justin Morneau took sucking to a level that was biblical while also making it seem like he killed your deity of choice himself.  Morneau, may you rest in peace because you are dead to me.

Fantasy NL Least Valuable Player – As much as I’d like to give David Wright or Ryan Zimmerman this award, the award for totally sucking up the suckhole in the NL this year goes to Hanley Ramirez.  He was injured half the year, and when he played, you wish he was injured.  At least it seems like it didn’t bother him to suck this year.  He really took it in stride, right?  BECAUSE HE DOESN’T CARE!  I know, Al Caps.  That was my point.  MY BAD.

Fantasy POS – Adam Dunn.  He was only eligible at 1st base, but somehow he ended up the biggest POS.

Fantasy Hitter You Most Likely Dropped and Picked Up A Dozen Times – Oh my God, Cameron Maybin is hitting!  Hmm… Now I don’t think he is.  Wait!  He is!  Well, maybe he isn’t.  No, he definitely is!  Oh, he’s injured.  He’s healthy but is he hitting?  Yes!  No!  Let me ask Grey!

Player You Had Forever and Most Wanted to Drop – You, “I don’t care if Mike Napoli gets 30 homers, I just want to drop him.”  Me, “Just hold him.”  You, “Okay… Well, what if Lucroy is available?”

Player On The Top Of Your Waivers That You Just Couldn’t Bring Yourself to Pick Up – Really, Ben Revere? I see that he has 34 steals, but I’m still kinda glad I never picked him up.

Pitcher You Streamed So Much You Ended Up Owning Him – Doug Fister.  His only drawback was during the season when you’d shout out his name in jubilation, your wife would cover your kid’s ears and ask you to please stop that.

Player You Were Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop From, But Thankfully It Never Did – Asdrubal Cabrera.  Granderson could’ve won this award, but Asdrubal never hit more than 6 homers prior to this season.  By mid-May, everything Asdrubal gave you was icing.  Hmm, that sounds pretty gross.

Player You Were Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop From and It Ended Up Kicking You in the Groin – Rickie Weeks.  Grey, was wrong, Weeks is totally putting together another huge, healthy season!  Wait, wha’ happened?  17 pre-All-Star break homers turned to 3 post-All-Star break homers?  Gah!  I should’ve traded him.

Player You Were Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop From and When It Did You Were Okay With It – Troy Tulowitzki.  Seems like he needs to get injured every year, like it’s in his contract with the devil.  This year September was his month to take a seat.  Thankfully, by the time Tulo got to September, he already gave you the stats you wanted from him.

Player You Traded Away That You Most Regretted – It’s June and I’m kinda done with Dan Uggla.  I’m gonna take a trade of Josh Johnson for him and hope he returns healthy.  …Hey, look at that, Uggla’s hit in 2 straight games.  Hmm… 10 straight?  20?  Oh, Christmas garland!  What is happening?  Josh Johnson isn’t returning?  But he said he would!  I hate Dan Uggla!

Player You Traded For That You Most Regretted – Chase Utley is back and that can only mean one thing… Pomade and MVP awards!  Maybe that’s two things.  Whatever, Utley can do it!

Top SAGNOF – Michael Bourn/Craig Kimbrel (tie)

Player Who Pulled A Kotchman – Last year Justin Morneau took John McDonald’s knee off his head.  Morneau has now taken the phrase ‘taking a knee’ to a whole new level.

Biggest Waste Of A Razzball Glossary Term – Jobacum – Only because I gave the award to Sparkakis last year and that schmohawk doesn’t deserve two Razzballies.

Slam & Legs Award – Grandy could’ve won this award, but let’s give it to the Melkman.  Melky, cereal baby!

Remember That Feeling You Had When You Walked In On Your Parents Having Sex, This Pitcher Gave You That Feeling Every Fifth Day – Francisco Lirano.  Take a bow, Liriano…So I can kick you in the ass.

That’s right, just when you thought Razzball couldn’t get any more awesome (if you consider this awesome — if you’re indifferent, then just ignore this post.).  Wanna know how great/awful that player is with the last name you can’t pronounce?  Wanna see some fantasy hockey rankings?  Wanna enjoy the incongruity of using the name Razzball for a sport that, like a eunuch, is ball-less?  Wanna just read about hockey even though you have no interest in it whatsoever?  That’s the spirit!  I’m sure all you’ve grown to love about fantasy baseball here will be rolled up into a big ball of ice and quadrupled over at Razzball Hockey.  So go there now, and tell ‘em Grey sent ya!

At the end of the 20th Century, the editors of The Sporting News listed the pinch-hit at bat by Eddie Gaedel as baseball’s “Most unusual and unforgettable moment.”  It not only allowed Gaedel his proverbial “15 minutes of fame” but became the act of showmanship most associated with Bill Veeck Jr., the greatest showman in the history of baseball.

The story of Eddie Gaedel begins with the legendary John McGraw.  In the early days of baseball, many teams had mascots, who they felt were a source of good luck.  Connie Mack’s Philadelphia Athletics employed a hunchback named Louis Van Zelst; the players would rub his head before they came to bat.  McGraw hired a rather eccentric backwoods piney named Charlie Faust who stated that he had both magical and mystical abilities which could be employed in a pernicious manner against the opposition.  McGraw was highly superstitious, and, in fact, the team went on a tear after he hired Faust, winning the pennant.  As a type of reward, McGraw allowed him to play in two meaningless games, where he allowed one run and scored twice.  (Faust apparently had a delusional disorder and later died in an insane asylum.)  McGraw used to have conversations with his friend William Veeck Sr., owner of the Chicago Cubs, concerning this episode, as well as his musings concerning sending up a midget to bat.  William’s son Bill Veeck Jr. overheard this conversation when he was a kid, keeping it in the back of his mind for years.  Some historians believe that Veeck came up with the idea from James Thurber’s short story, “You can look it up,” in which a midget was sent up to bat to take a walk, although Veeck always denied this as his inspiration.

Veeck Jr. was owner of a number of teams during his lifetime, but none were as pathetic as the St. Louis Browns circa 1950’s; many consider this franchise the most woeful in major league history.  At the time, Veeck was going bankrupt, the stadium was falling apart, and there were rumors of the imminent relocation of the team to Baltimore (which actually occurred several years later).  Veeck, undoubtedly the greatest showman in baseball’s history, decided to put on an extravaganza to boost attendance.  1951 was the 50th anniversary of the American League, and, coincidentally, the birthday of the Browns’ radio sponsor, Falstaff Brewery.  Veeck promised to give away tiny bottles of Falstaff beer, a piece of birthday cake, and ice cream for all attendees.  The promotion attracted 18,000 fans, the highest attendance of the season.  And, both the fans and the Falstaff agents knew that with Veeck, there would be other surprises in the offing, as they breathlessly awaited the end of the first game of the doubleheader, a doubleheader of no consequence between the 7th and 8th place teams.  The celebration offered hand-balancing and trampoline acts, as well as a show by Max Patkin, the Clown Prince of Baseball.  To top off the festivities, a midget, Eddie Gaedal, jumped out of a 7’ birthday cake.  Then the second game of the doubleheader commenced.

Falstaff’s patrons, and some fans, were mildly disappointed.  Veeck had done similar acts on many prior occasions, including having elephants traipse the ball field and a midget buggy race.  Little did they know what surprise Veeck had in mind.

Several weeks before the game, Veeck had hired Eddie Gaedal; he was familiar with Gaedal from the circus acts that he occasionally used for his pre-game festivities.  He signed him to a contract, sending it to the league office for approval.  He then surreptitiously coached Gaedel (who measured out to 3’7” and weighed 65 pounds) as to what he wished him to do.  When asked by Veeck what he knew about baseball, he said, “I know that you are supposed to hit the white ball with the bat.  And, then you run somewhere.”  Veeck proceeded to show him how to take a deep stance; his strike zone was 1 ½ inches.  He was then instructed to take four straight pitches, not removing the bat from his shoulders.  However, as Eddie began to accept the idea of going up to bat, he started to have grandiose dreams of glory, and he started practicing his swing.  This alarmed Mr. Veeck, who stated that he had taken out a one million dollar insurance policy on him and then threatened to take a shotgun into the stands and shoot him at the first indication that Eddie was going to take a lick at the ball.

The ball game began.  In the batter’s box stood Frank Saucier.  All of a sudden, the loudspeaker announced that Eddie Gaedel, number 1/8, was going to bat for Saucier.  As Gaedal stepped into the batter’s box, the home plate umpire Ed Hurley stated, “This can’t be!” and summoned Veeck, who promptly showed him the paperwork verifying that Gaedal was a legitimate member of the squad.  The umpire then called for play to commence.  Gaedel then squeaked, “Throw it in there, fat, and I’ll moider it.”  The catcher, Bob Swift, got down on his knees in order to give the pitcher a target.  Bobby Cain, the pitcher, could barely keep a straight face at the mound.  Any thoughts that Eddie had of hitting were disabused by Cain, who threw fastballs, none of them getting close to the miniscule strike zone.   Gaedel walked to first, and the fans erupted with an ovation for Eddie, who played to the crowd all the way to the dugout.  When Saucier told him he was a real ham, Gaedel replied, “I felt like Babe Ruth out there.”

The fallout was considerable, and predictable.  The press took it well, and some opined that it was the funniest thing that ever happened in baseball.  The moguls of the game had a different point of view; some of the words used to describe the incident were “tawdry,” “mockery,” and “cheap travesty.”  In attacking the event, they unwittingly played right into Veeck’s hands:  “I was counting on the deacons to turn Gaedel into a full week’s story by attacking me spitting on their cathedral.”  League President Will Harridge even attempted to have the walk stricken from the sacred archives but was persuaded to leave it as is, for how then could one account for the runner on base, as well as the four pitches by Cain?  All of this brouhaha resulted in attendance skyrocketing for the following week.  At any rate Veeck had promised Gaedel immortality, and he delivered on his promise.  He argued that there were no criteria in the rule book concerning size requirements.  What exactly would be the height limits?  Would Wee Willie Keeler or Phil Rizzuto qualify?  Gaedel later became somewhat filled with himself, accusing the Commissioner of discrimination against midgets, and wishing to sue League President Will Harridge “for ruining my baseball career.”

Gaedal’s one plate appearance turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.  He became an instant media celebrity and was able to capitalize on this appearance for the remainder of his life, getting speaking engagements, frequent interviews, and lucrative financial opportunities.  Veeck later hired Eddie once again, as he and several fellow wee people floated down onto the grounds of Comiskey Park, in the midst of a game, dressed in Martian regalia, telling shortstop Luis Aparicio and second sacker Nellie Fox  TO “Take me to your leader”; that they had come down to earth to assist them in their battle against the Giant Earthlings.

In September of 1951 Eddie was arrested in Cincinnati for screaming obscenities.  He attempted to convince the policeman that he was a big league player, with no apparent success.

Eddie died a tragic death in 1963, passing away from a heart attack after a mugging.  When he died, he got a front page obituary in the NY Times.  The jersey he wore is enshrined at Cooperstown.  The athletic supporter, which was retrieved from the shower room floor at Sportsman’s Park, was donated to the Baseball Reliquary by the Veeck family.

Moss Lipow, writing in the Baseball-Reference, summarized Gaedel’s career:
“His OBP will never be exceeded.  Strange to think he died in a barroom brawl, a badass stud athlete who died with his boots on.”

The Cubs won the National League pennant again in 1910, losing to the Philadelphia Athletics 4 games to 1.  Nothing remarkable about that; Connie Mack had painstakingly assembled his own dynasty in Philadelphia, featuring Hall of Fame pitchers Chief Bender and Eddie Plank, second baseman Eddie Collins (the smoothest fielder of his era), and the premier slugger of the Dead Ball Era, Frank “Home Run” Baker.  The Cubs lost again in 1918 to the Boston Red Sox 4-2.  Red Sox ace Babe Ruth set a record for consecutive World Series scoreless innings (29), not to be broken until 43 years later in 1961 by Whitey Ford (33).  They next appeared in the Fall Classic in 1929, losing to the Athletics once again, this time 4 games to 2.  Mack had re-established his Athletics, after selling off his stars, and the team was led by Al Simmons and catcher Mickey Cochrane.  The Cubs again won the pennant in 1932 and were swept by the Yankees; that was the series that Babe “called his shot.”  In 1935, the Tigers beat the Cubs 4-2 for their first World Championship, achieving a belated revenge for their two defeats by the Cubs three decades prior.  The Yankees swept the Cubs in 1938; again, they were a superior team, featuring Gehrig, DiMaggio and Bill Dickey, among others.

The Cubs didn’t appear in another World Series until 1945, playing the Tigers for the fourth time. Up to this point, the Cubs were 2-7 in World Series appearances, losing the last six in a row.  However, most of the losses could be explained as the result of facing clearly dominant teams, especially the two losses to Murderer’s Row and the pummeling by Connie Mack’s Athletics.  In this respect, they were much like the Brooklyn Dodgers of the 40’s and 50’s, a great team facing an even greater one in the Yankees.  Before 1955, no one had ever thought that the Bums were hexed, even though some of their losses were, perhaps, bizarre enough to get you to think twice.  The passed ball by Mickey Owens in the fourth game of the ’41 Series, allowing Heinrich to sprint to first base on what would have been the final out of the game opened the floodgates to a bitterly demoralizing 7-4 loss.

The 1945 World Series had started out auspiciously enough for Chicago; the Cubbies shellacked Tiger ace Hal Newhouser, who had won 25 games that year. (Newhouser remains the only pitcher to win both the Cy Young and MVP in back-to-back years.)  Although slugger Hank Greenberg led the Tigers to victory with a three-run homer in game 2, Claude Passeau pitched a one hitter in game 3, leading Chicago to a 3-0 triumph.

Here’s where things get interesting.  On October 6th, the Cubs were ahead of the Tigers, two games to one.  They needed to win but two of the next four games, all of which would be played at Wrigley Field.  On that date, William “Billy Goat” Sianis, who was a lifetime Cubs fan, as well as the owner of the Billy Goat Tavern, purchased two tickets to the game, one for himself, and one for Murphy, his pet goat, in an attempt to bring good luck to his favorite team.  Ballpark ushers tried to stop him from entering the park, but were unsuccessful.  Once inside the park, Sianis paraded Murphy around Wrigley Field, causing quite an uproar by the crowd.  Again, the ushers intervened, but Billy Goat and Murphy, after a heated argument, were allowed to go to their box seats.  Before the end of the game, Phil Wrigley, the owner of the Cubs, had both Sianis and Murphy ejected.  When questioned as to the reason for this action, Wrigley stated that fans were complaining concerning the goat’s objectionable odor.  (It should be noted that other accounts of the story reported that Sianis and Murphy had never been allowed into the park.)  According to Cubs lore, both Billy and his goat were outraged and Billy was quoted as exclaiming, “The Cubs ain’t gonna win no more.  The Cubs will never win a World Series so long as the goat is not allowed in Wrigley Field.”  Thus, the curse of the Cubs became official.  Subsequently, the Cubs lost game 4 and three of the four games at Wrigley field, losing to Detroit 4-3.  On October 10th, Newhouser won game 7 by a score of 9-3, clinching the Series.  Little did Cub fans realize that this was to be their last World Series appearance, 74 years and still counting.  Later that day, Billy Goat sent a telegram to Wrigley stating, “Who stinks now?”

Following that Series, for the next twenty years encompassing the remainder of Sianis’ life, the Cubs never reached the first division; fifth place was their best season for two entire decades of what was to emerge as the futility of “The Lovable Losers”.  The Cubs motto became “Wait ’til next year.”  From 1946 to 2008, the Cubs would post a 4250-4874 (.470) record, have only 18 winning seasons (46 losing seasons), finish in first place a mere three times, have no pennants, no World Series appearances, with six post-season experiences (1984, 1989, 1998, 2003, 2007, 2008). Their post-season record since 1945 is 6-20.  Is the curse real?  You decide.

Pre-Curse 1876-1945 — Record: 5475-4324 (.559)
Pennants:  1876, 1880-82, 1885-86, 1906, 1907, 1908, 1910, 1918, 1929, 1932, 1935, 1938, 1945
World Series Appearances:  1906, 1907, 1908, 1910, 1918, 1929, 1932, 1935, 1938, 1945
World Series Victories:  1907, 1908
***The Cubs posted 51 winning seasons and finished in first place 16 times.

Post-Curse 1946-2008 — Record:  4666 – 5270 (.470)
Post Season Experience:  1984, 1989, 2003, 2007, 2008
Wild Card:  1998
Pennants: none
World Series Appearances: none
***The Cubs posted only 18 winning seasons and finished in first place only five times.

Until the late 60’s, the manifestation of the curse was the production of consistently terrible teams, the duration of which was almost unparalleled in Major League history.  The nature of the curse changed in the late 60’s when Leo “the Lip” Durocher was hired as manager.  In 1966, the Cubbies were so bad that they allowed the Mets to escape the cellar for the first time in their short history.  But, Leo instilled his own particular brand of magic, and, for the first time in memory, the Cubs achieved respectability, finishing third in ’67 and ’68.  1969 was, by all appearances, the year that the Cubs would achieve glory for the first time since Teddy Roosevelt resided in the White House.  They had a solid team, led by the iconic Cub, Ernie Banks (“Let’s play two!”), as well as perennial All-Stars Billy Williams and Ron Santo.  Fergie Jenkins led a solid pitching staff.  The Cubs seemed to be an unbeatable squad.  At one point, they had an 8 ½ game lead in the pennant race.  However, the NY Mets, who, according to Baltimore Manager Earl Weaver, consisted of “2 pitchers, a good hitting outfielder, and a bunch of slap-hitters” managed to close the gap to 1 ½ games when the two teams met for a critical series in early September.  In the midst of a particularly critical game, an unknown fan released a black cat onto the field.  Perhaps led by the spirit of Billy Goat, the cat ran directly towards All Star Third Baseman Ron Santo as he stood in the on-deck circle.  Casting a disturbing glare directly at Santo, it then proceeded toward the Cub dugout, riveting its intense glare onto the Chicago players as it lurked back and forth.  The entire stadium watched in amazement.  (It is interesting to note that for many years as an announcer, Santo continued to abhor road trips to Shea.)  Needless to say, the Cubs lost that game, which initiated a complete September collapse; they posted an 8-17 record for that month, losing the NL East by 8 ½ games to the Mets.

Post-Curse baseball for the Cubs has been fraught with frustration.  Three of their series resulted in their getting swept, 3-0.  But, their initial post-season appearance in 1984, almost 40 years after the ’45 Series loss, was a prime example to all believers that the curse is real and ever-present.  The Cubs took the first two games of the NLCS.  They needed only one win to reach the promised land.  After getting trounced in game three, Cub fans saw their lights-out closer Lee Smith allow a walk off homer in Game 4 to Steve Garvey.  (Many of these same fans have recurring nightmares of watching Steve Garvey pumping his fists as he rounded the bases.)  In the deciding game 5, the Cubs carried a 3-0 lead into the sixth inning, with Cy Young winner Sutcliffe on the mound.  A critical error by first baseman Leon Durham led to a ghastly ending of the season.

As bad as this loss was to the psyche of Cubs fans, it was perhaps surpassed in excruciating, unbearable futility in the 2003 postseason.  The Cubs were heavy favorites to beat the upstart Florida Marlins, and won three of the first five games of the series.  In game 6, the Cubs had a 3-0 lead with one out in the 8th inning, as Mark Prior was in the midst of pitching a sure-fire masterpiece.  Champagne was ready to be uncorked in the Cubs clubhouse in celebration of a long-awaited pennant.  But, no win is ever really secure in baseball, especially if a seemingly eternal malediction comes into play.  With Juan Pierre on second base, Juan Castillo hit a deep fly ball down the left field line.  Cub’s left fielder Moises Alou raced to the wall, extended his glove as far as possible, and appeared about to make a tremendous catch.  However, a lifelong Cubs fan named Steve Bartman, reached out his hands and caught the ball right above Alou’s out-stretched glove.  Over 40,000 Cubs fans moaned in frustration and outrage, some of them perhaps sensing impending doom.  Alou’s claims of interference were denied.  What then occurred was perhaps inevitable:  the Cubs completely collapsed in front of a national audience, most of who were rooting for the Cubs to break the schneid.  After the smoke had cleared, the Cubs had allowed eight runs to cross the plate in that inning.  Completely deflated, the Cubs lost the deciding game the next day 9-6, and the legend of the curse continued to grow.

There have been a number of efforts to undue the curse.  Phil Wrigley hired a strange-looking master of the occult for $5,000, plus a bonus of $25,000, if they were to win the World Series, to dance around the stadium and give opposing players the malocchio.  He would sit behind home plate, making wild gestures at the opposing pitchers.  None of this had any noticeable impact on the Cubs prospects.  After Wrigley sold the team to the Tribune Company, ownership invited Sam Sianis to parade a goat around the field when the Cubs were in the midst of an all-to-frequent losing streak.  The streak was snapped, but the curse apparently remained. Twice the Cubs had Sianis’ nephew Sam attempt to remove the hex, without any apparent success.  The Cubs also had a Greek Orthodox priest perform a type of exorcism by spreading holy water in the dugout before a playoff game.  Again, no success.  The fact remains that no other team, not only in baseball history, but in the history of all sports, has gone longer without winning a championship.

If you have had a chance to visit Hoboken, New Jersey, you will have undoubtedly spotted the old Maxwell House Coffee Plant. Maxwell House closed down in the early 1990’s; if you visited the city before that time, you would have noticed the ubiquitous redolent smell of coffee throughout the city. Deep within the bowels of the plant lies what was once a ball field in a park called Elysian Fields. It was at that field that the first recorded baseball game took place. Alexander Joy Cartwright wrote down the rules and regulations of baseball, and assembled a squad called the New York Knickerbocker Base Ball Club. The first “official” game of baseball was played on June 19, 1846, under the New York Rules, between the Knickerbocker Base Ball Club of New York City and the “New York Nine” at Elysian Fields in Hoboken New Jersey. For the record, the Knickerbockers were annihilated by the New York Nine, 23-1.

During approximately the next 60 years, there were frequent rules changes, as well as evolution of equipment. Initially, the ballplayers did not use gloves. The catchers, who played far in back of home plate, had a thin piece of leather for a glove. Pitchers had to throw underhand, from a distance of 50’. Batters could request whether they wanted the pitch low or high. At first you needed to get 9 balls to get a walk, with this number changing every several years. It took quite a few years for batters to be awarded first base when hit by a pitch. Prior to this, a pitcher could plunk a batter continuously until he had enough balls to achieve a walk. There are recorded instances of pitchers doing just that to legendary manager John McGraw, who was universally hated by all those who weren’t teammates. On one occasion, McGraw attacked the umpire, who was gleefully watching the action. Most baseball historians state that 1893 was the beginning of the modern era, as this was the year that the pitching mound was moved to its present location, 60’ 6” from home plate. The last major change in the rules came in 1903, when the American League adopted the Foul Strike Rule, against much opposition. Since that time, the only rule change that radically changed the nature of the game was the Designated Hitter Rule, which was adopted in 1973, exclusively in the American League.

The question remains – how and why did these changes in rules come about? Although the majority of the adjustments occurred as a result of experience over time, many of these changes were actually the result of the ingenuity, and at times, eccentricity, of ballplayers of the 19^th century.

Perhaps the greatest showman and slugger of the 19^th century was Michael “King” Kelly. Kelly could be said to be the Babe Ruth of his time. Some say that he was the prototype of the baseball standard hitter’s lament, Earnest Lawrence Thayer’s 1888 poem “Casey at the Bat”. Kelly was both known and loved for his antics on and off the field. He traveled with a Japanese manservant, as well as a pet monkey. A famous song of the period, “Slide Kelly, Slide” was a nationwide hit. Kelly is the first player who is credited with giving autographs. One day, while he was managing the Boston Beaneaters, Kelly observed a foul ball heading towards the bench. He realized that none of his players had a chance to make the catch. The rules at the time allowed for player substitutions at any time during the game; taking advantage of the situation, Kelly leapt off the bench, shouted out “Kelly now catching for Boston”, and caught the ball for an out. Shortly following this episode, a rule was adopted that allowed substitutions only during time outs.

Wee Willie Keeler, the ballplayer who “hit it where they ain’t”, had an uncanny ability to bunt almost any ball pitched to him. Keeler would bunt foul balls until he worked the pitcher for a walk. His unique abilities were the impetus for the rule change that made the third-strike foul bunt a strike out.  Keeler also perfected the Baltimore Chop, in which he would chop the ball into the ground hard enough for it to bounce so high that he could reach first base before the throw to the bag. Keeler was also one of the first players who used the strategy of “hit and run”, although manager Tommy McCarthy was the first manager to make use of this strategy. McCarthy also popularized letting short fly balls drop in front of him, hoping to start a double play. Shortly after this became a common strategy, baseball implemented the infield fly rule.

Luther Taylor was a pitcher with the New York Giants for eight years in the 1890’s. Taylor was a deaf mute, and like all deaf ball players of that period, his moniker was “Dummy”. Taylor once convinced the umpire to stop a baseball game on a rainy day by wearing rain boots and carrying an umbrella onto the pitcher’s mound. Taylor is credited with helping to expand and make universal the use of sign language throughout the modern baseball infield, including the use of pitching signs.

Taylor’s manager, John McGraw, learned sign language in order to communicate with Taylor. On one occasion, Taylor and McGraw were laughing at and denigrating the umpire in sign language.  The umpire suspected what was occurring, and threw them both out of the game.

There was another deaf mute of that period, whose name was William “Dummy” Hoy. Hoy was a superb outfielder. There are numerous accounts from the contemporary newspapers of that time listing his fielding exploits. On one occasion Hoy caught a ball after leaping astride a horse hitched to a buggy parked inside the stadium. The crowd responded by giving Hoy a standing ovation, wildly waving their hats and arms, which was the only way the outfielder could recognize their appreciation of his performance. Hoy was also a superb base stealer, swiping over 600 bases in his career. SAGNOF!

Most importantly, Hoy played a pioneering role in developing the intricate system of hand signals, used today throughout the entire world of baseball. Prior to Hoy, all umpires’ calls were shouted. While at bat, Hoy would ask his coach whether the call was a ball or strike. Oftentimes, the opposing pitcher would attempt to take advantage of Hoy’s confusion, by quick-pitching him. Around 1887, Hoy wrote out a request to his third base coach, asking him to raise his left arm to indicate a ball, and right arm a strike. Umpires found these signals to be so useful that they soon became S.O.P. Hoy was also responsible for introducing the “out” and “safe” signs, both of which are adapted from ASL.

Arlie Lathan was one of the most colorful ballplayers in the history of the game. He starred on Charley Comiskey’s St. Louis Browns squads of the 1880’s, known for their feisty and rowdy behavior. Arlie was the mischievous imp of baseball, and was nicknamed “The Freshest Man on Earth”, a popular song during that period,. (I guess you had to be there) due to his hilarious pranks and buffoonery. On one occasion, Arlie went into an apoplectic rage following a call by umpire Tim Hurst. Lathan slammed his glove to the ground, and kicked it towards Hurst. Hurst proceeded to kick it back to Arlie. Arlie again kicked it back to Hurst; Hurst kicked it back to Arlie. The two proceeded to kick the glove back and forth until the glove finally came to rest in the depths of center field.

During baseball’s infancy, each player used to take turns coaching 1^st and 3^rd base. Arlie had a knack for the job; he incorporated his own unique style by running up and down the third base line screaming like a banshee, and ululating like a lunatic in the middle of the pitcher’s wind-up. There was no rule at the time that disallowed such behavior. Because of his antics, the league established the coaching box in order to prevent Arlie and his imitators from this farcical yet quite effective conduct. Because of his obvious proficiency at the job, after his career was finished, Lathan would become baseball’s first full time third base coach. The characteristic chatter that goes on in the field, with constant encouragement to the pitcher and derogatory remarks to the batter that is part of the fabric of the game is also attributed to Latham.

Besides being a cut-up, Arlie was a heck of a ballplayer. His play in the 1887 season rates as one of the greatest offensive years in all of baseball’s history. That year Latham batted .316, with 198 hits, 45 walks, 129 stolen bases, scoring an unbelievable 163 runs. If you add up his hits and walks, he was on base 243 times, and scored 163 times, an incredible percentage. But Arlie was best known for his speed. The famous evangelist, Billy Sunday, was once a baseball player; in fact, in terms of base running ability, he was described by some pundits to be the equal of the immortal Ty Cobb. In 1885, a famous footrace took place between Lathan and Sunday – the preacher won by quite a few strides. Sunday later incorporated his baseball skills into his preaching, sliding onto the stage of the Sawdust Trail as if he were stealing a base.

To Those That Passed That (adjective) Trade,

When I saw the trade of (Player(s) Traded Away) for (Player(s) Received), I contemplated vetoing the trade, but even one trade veto can have a domino effect and before you know it every trade is being vetoed.  Instead, I decided to take the high road and just voice my disagreement on this message board.  Though I do sometimes question my leaguemates’ ability to read something that isn’t scribbled in crayons. On the bright side, you two (plural derogatory name) who were involved in the trade can use this post to practice your reading comprehension.   It’s not too late for that GED!

Since no one has the courtesy to respond to my trade offers, I figured you two were busy hanging out with your significant others. You know, your mothers. “No, Mom, I have friends.  The phone just rang the other day.  Now please pass the Miracle Whip.  Your chicken salad is dry.”  Or maybe you were busy making up excuses for walking in on your sister while she’s showering. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the water running.”  Or maybe you two were busy (verb) each other in your (adjective) (body part).

It’s obviously your strategic prerogative to make any trades you want, as it’s my prerogative to wish you both harm. So, douchetards, I have an idea. Rather than digging through dumpsters for discarded porno mags, how about you two (plural derogatory name) get together and punch each other in the face?

The Guy Who Is Still Going To Beat Both Of You,

(Name)

P.S. Anyone need a closer?

Maranville was the Harpo Marx of the infield. He would mock slow pitchers, yawning, and stretching on the mound. He checked an illusory stopwatch. He stretched out against an imaginary wall when on first base, and would slowly topple on the bag, pretending to fall asleep. He also would make fun of large, ponderous sluggers at the plate, mimicking their motions. Of course, he didn’t neglect the umpires: he would mimic every move the umpire made; from shifting his mask, going down in a crouch, sweeping the plate. The crowd would laugh with glee. He once pulled out a pair of eye glasses when up at bat, to assist the ump in calling balls and strikes. Once, when legendary umpire Bill Klem was calling the game, Rabbit stepped out of the batter’s box, lining himself in back of the catcher. “I just wanted to see where you stood, Bill, to call that last one a strike.” (Let it be noted that Klem once stated that eyesight was overrated in evaluating an umpire’s expertise.) Even the umpires at times had to call time out, as they couldn’t control their laughter. Once he was thrown out of the game for throwing a roundhouse punch at an ump – a not uncommon occurrence in those days. He later returned to the field, apologized profusely, offered to treat the bruises with iodine, and smeared streaks of iodine all over the ump’s face. But his most outrageous antic on the ball field was when he staged a murder, complete with gunshot, in Ebbets Field during a game. Even the Brooklyn crowd, who were used to daffy incidents such as three men on a base at the same time, was in a state of shock.

Rabbit also performed more dangerous acts under the influence, like walking hotel ledges. On one occasion, teammate and drinking buddy Jim Thorpe allegedly held him by one arm as Rabbit dangled 15 stories from a hotel room. On one occasion, the diminutive 5’3″ Rabbit needled the powerful Olympian to such a rage that he chased him throughout Boston; Rabbit escaped by climbing up a tree.  Thorpe waited at the bottom of the tree. However, the alcohol had its effect, and Thorpe fell asleep. The agile Rabbit climbed into an upper story window, and started bombarding apples off of Thorpe’s noggin. An enraged Thorpe tried to uproot the tree while Rabbit quietly escaped out the back door. Of course, the most famous escapade was the night that Thorpe and Rabbit were observed swinging from the branches of trees, yowling like banshees, with Jim shouting “I’m Tarzan” and the Rabbit “I’m little Tarzan.” They apparently kept this up all night.

Rabbit had his own version of Willie Mays’ “bread-basket catch” or ”vest-pocket” catch of infield pop-ups. He would cup his hands, resting on his belt buckle as the ball skimmed by his peaked cap, strike him in his chest, and roll down his shirt into his glove.  One may call this the ultimate in showboating, which of course it was, but old-timers of that period could not report a single instance where Maranville botched the play. He was that good.

Pete Browning is considered one of the outstanding sluggers of the 19^th century. Browning is best known for ordering the first custom made bat from the Hillerich & Bradsby Company in 1884, known then and now as the famous Louisville Slugger. He apparently single-handedly kept the company in business throughout his career. His collection included something like 700 bats; each one he cherished, spoke words of encouragement to, and was otherwise lovingly attentive to, and christened each with a Biblical name. Pete later retired them in his home; he believed that each bat contained a certain amount of hits - these were what he deemed his “active” bats – and he examined each Louisville slugger in order to see whether it was a “magical” stick with hits in it. The bats themselves were enormous: 37″ long, and 48 ounces in weight.

Browning displayed behaviors which could best be described as outlandish. He was known to stare at the sun for long periods of time, believing that by doing so, he would strengthen his “lamps” (eyes). He also believed that his eyes periodically needed to be “cleansed,” which could best be accomplished by sticking his head out the window when traveling on a train, in an effort to catch cinders in them. His eccentric behavior later devolved into psychosis, and he unfortunately spent his last years committed to an asylum.

Insanity is a frequent theme in baseball lore. More than fifty years after Browning was wasting away in a psychiatric institution, a colorful outfielder named Jimmy Piersall roamed centerfield with grace and skill. Piersall was always a popular flake, but at some point his eccentric behavior became bizarre and frightening. On one occasion, Piersall was ejected by the umpire for arguing after striking out. Prior to his at-bat, he had acknowledged teammate Milt Bolling’s home run by spraying a water pistol on home plate. Piersall then moved to the grandstand roof to heckle home plate umpire Neil Strocchia. Soon afterwards, he was committed to a psychiatric institution. After discharge, he continued his delightfully eccentric behavior:  he once stepped up to bat wearing a Beatles wig and playing “air guitar” on his bat, led cheers for himself in the outfield during breaks in play, and “talked” to Babe Ruth behind the center field monuments at Yankee Stadium. On one occasion, when playing against the Yankees, the preceding two batters were hit by the Yankee hurler. When Piersall came up to bat, he turned around to catcher Yogi Berra, and stated: “Yogi, if your pitcher hits me, I am going to charge the mound and brain him with my bat. Everyone knows that I am crazy, and I will be let off the hook.” Yogi calmly replied: “I wouldn’t worry about it. We never try to bean .250 hitters.” In his autobiography, Piersall commented, “Probably the best thing that ever happened to me was going nuts. Who ever heard of Jimmy Piersall, until that happened?”

During the time of the Great Dust Bowl, Sportsman Park in St. Louis was often covered with a fine layer of dust. The heat during this period was brutal and constant.  At one point, for 30 straight days, temperatures were 100 degrees or more. One day during this intolerable spell, St. Louis Cardinal pitcher Dizzy Dean built a fire in front of the Cards dugout. He procured two blankets, stomped the earth, and let out blood-curdling war cries in between yips. Dean then pantomimed rain coming down from the skies, took out an imaginary umbrella, and received applause going back to the dugout. During the World Series of 1934, Dean was sent into the game as a substitute base runner. On a ball to the shortstop Billy Rogell, Dizzy roared into second base but did not slide. Rogell’s throw hit him squarely on the head and Dizzy fell “like a marionette whose string had snapped” and lay motionless on the infield dirt. The ball was thrown so hard it bounced 50 ft. into the air. But Diz revived and left the field, and was taken to the hospital. The headlines next day read:

“X-Rays taken of Dean’s head – nothing found.”

Several days removed from the hospital, Dean came back to pitch game five. When he reached the mound, a fan raced onto the field to present him with a mediaeval armor helmet.

One can’t write an article on baseball flakes without including Rube Waddell, described by John Thorn as “The Peter Pan of Baseball.” There are literally scores of tales concerning Waddell’s exploits, on and off the field, and most of them are true.

“(Waddell) began that year (1903) sleeping in a firehouse in Camden New Jersey, and ended it tending bar in a saloon in Wheeling West Virginia. In between those events he won 22 games for the Philadelphia Athletics, played left end for the Business Men’s Rugby Football Club of Grand Rapids, toured the nation in a melodrama called The Stain of Guilt, courted, married and became separated from May Wynne Skinner of Lynn, Massachusetts, saved a woman from drowning, accidentally shot a friend through the hand, and was bitten by a lion.”

Lee Allen – Cooperstown historian, describing a year in the life of Rube Waddell.

Rube Waddell often showed his delight in striking out the side by doing cartwheels on the field. He would  be distracted by the opposition, who would wave shiny objects in his face. He would change his uniform as he ran across the diamond into the clubhouse after games, which usually drew roars from the crowd, as the Rube never wore underwear. He sometimes disappeared when he was scheduled to pitch; he could be found playing marbles with the kids outside the park, or at times in the village saloon; or sometimes at his favorite fishing hole. One time, he disappeared for several days in the midst of a tight pennant race, and returned to the team as if nothing had occurred, offering manager Connie Mack several catfish he had caught.  When a fire truck passed by mid-game, he was said to drop everything and run after it; his favorite hobby was putting out fires. (Rube allegedly saved the lives of 13 people, assisting in various disasters.) He would pour ice over his arm before the game, stating that if he didn’t do so his speed would burn a hole in the mitt of his equally flaky catcher, Ossee Schreckengost.  When he felt especially frisky, he would call the outfield in, and proclaim that he was going to strike out the side. And most of the times he would. Often Ossie would catch Rube’s heater, rated to be the equal of any in the game, bare-handed.

Rube also loved to wrestle. In 1904, the Boston Red Sox and Waddell’s Philadelphia A’s were in the midst of a tough pennant race. The Red Sox conspired to have their biggest player, Candy LaChance, challenge Rube to a wrestling match before the game. LaChance slapped Rube first in the belly, then the shoulders, and the match began. They wrestled for quite awhile, until Rube picked up LaChance, hoisted him over his head, and slammed him to the ground. Candy begged off playing the game; Rube went out and pitched a two-hitter. In 1905, Waddell engaged the great Cy Young in one of the greatest pitching duels of all time: Rube gave up two runs in the first inning, Cy returned the two in the 6th, and then both threw blanks, until an Athletic crossed the plate in the 20th inning. Rube won the game 3-2, pitching 20 consecutive scoreless innings. Waddell later parlayed the ball for free booze at the local tavern. It was said that more than 50 bars across the country claimed to have the ball that beat the Cyclone.

Connie Mack, Waddell’s manager and caretaker, called Rube the greatest pitcher, in terms of pure talent, he had ever seen—and Connie had seen them all, from Hoss Radbourne and Amos Rusie through Cy Young and Walter Johnson, on up to Lefty Grove and Bob Feller. Mack once said, “The Rube has a two million dollar body and a two cent head.”

Waddell died in 1914 at age 37 after contracting a viral infection while stacking sandbags at a flood site. His battery-mate Ossee Schreckengost, who once had a stipulation put in Waddell’s contract that forbade him from eating crackers in bed, and also once nailed a steak to the wall of a tavern when it was not to his liking, was the only player at his funeral. He provided the insightful epitaph for the headstone, “Rube Waddell had only one priority, to have a good time.”

Rudy and I thought it would be fun to expand the Razzball universe into shirts.  If you want to get one, go to those links above.  If you don’t, no sweat (because of the 100% cotton-blend!).  If you do want to buy a Razzball shirt but don’t like what we currently offer, leave a comment about what shirt you’d like to see.  BTW, for our three girl readers, if you take a picture of yourself in a Sparky Anklebiter shirt, I’ll make a gallery (in my bedroom) for them.  Thank you!

** Note:  We’re going to give away a free t-shirt to whomever is leading the Razzball Commenter League and Fantasy Razzball master standings at the end of April! **