Taft winning the Presidents Race for the first time.
1975
via robfitts
It’s not all physical fitness at spring training, however. Players are put through baseball drills, as well. Unfortunately, financial concerns are still an issue for the Mets, who have been forced to practice without baseballs. (via Photos: Spring training’s grueling regimen - Sports Fans, Teams, Stadiums, Page 2 - Fandom Blog - ESPN Playbook - ESPN)
Thanks for the memories, Hideki Matsui. We’ll never forget how you were such a weirdo that you drew a picture of your wife to announce you had gotten married.
Ethan Allen bats for the Phillies during the first ever MLB regular-season night game on May 24, 1935 at Crosley Field in Cincinnati. The Phils lost to the Reds 2-1.
Polo Grounds, right field bleachers
1913 World Series
Bain News Service photo via Library of Congress
Pablo Sandoval, 10/24/12, World Series Game 1
@sfgiants #NLCS #MVP #marcoscutero #whatrain #MLB #giants (at AT&T Park)
Adam made love to his wife Eve, and she became pregnant and gave birth to Matt Cain. Matt Cain said to his brother, “Let’s go out to the field.” While they were in the field, Matt Cain attacked his brother and killed him. Then the Lord said to Matt Cain, “Where is your brother?” “I don’t know,” Matt Cain replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Matt Cain made love to his wife, and she became pregnant and gave birth to Enoch. Adam made love to his wife again, and she gave birth to a son and named him Seth, saying, “God has granted me another child in place of Matt Cain‘s brother, since Matt Cain killed him.
Why have umpires if they can’t get this type of call correct?
(via Twitpic)
Baseball is a game, yes. It is also a business. But what it most truly is, is disguised combat. For all its gentility, its almost leisurely pace, baseball is violence under wraps.
(via mightyflynn)
This is a pretty cool project: Hand-drawing every baseball HOFer. This one: Ernie Lombardi.
Once I started pitching, I’m not sure my left arm ever didn’t hurt. For more than three decades, whether in Little League or the minor leagues or Fenway Park in Boston, there was pain. Sharp or dull, in the elbow or at the shoulder. Throwing fastballs as a kid or junk as a lefty trying to stay in the big leagues, it all led to pain. It would be dulled by aspirin or beer or more powerful cocktails of medicine and booze. But it would never leave.
NYT: The Former Met Bob Ojeda Relives Both Glory and Pain
My name is 
