Max Scherzer can hit, Kyle Schwarber still has beef, and the Brewers have the best retro uniforms in the majors

Matt Kemp is the best hitter in baseball. There are 12 pitchers with at least 10 starts and an ERA under 2.50, and seven of them are over 30 years old. It would appear as if the new trend is being old.

On the other hand, Pudge Rodriguez’s son is in the majors, and he looks like the lead singer of Machine Head, and that makes me feel really old. There’s a 19-year-old raking in the majors. Everyone is young except for me, and it’s not a good feeling.

Also, Dereck Rodriguez is definitely on the old side for a rookie.

Also also, the kids don’t even know what I’m on about when I talk about Machine Head, and they’re a new band to me.

What a mess. Baseball and life continue to move too quickly. Luckily, we can gather around every week and look back at the silliness that baseball offers. As always, we must begin with an acknowledgement that ...

Please, if you’re reading this on Google or Apple News, please watch the video and turn the sound up. It’s worth it.

Kyle Schwarber is not an especially big beefy baseball boy these days. He’s slimmed down.

But he sure is raking, and he’ll always be a big beefy baseball boy emeritus. That designation still includes the benefits of a big beefy baseball boy lifetime membership, which include the ability to hit home runs and make people say “OOOOOhohhhhooooohhh” as they laugh through their nose. This isn’t the best example of such a home run, but it’s highlighted here for a reason.

Baseball is good because it includes a big, metallic whatsit in the field of play, and when a ball clornnnnngs off this big, metallic whatsit, it’s an unimpeachably fun thing. It’s the only major sport like it.

A kicker in football can hit a big, metallic whatsit and make a clornnnnnnng sound, but this ends with cheers from the home crowd only if he has failed. This clornnnnnnng is unappreciated by the fans who paid to watch the game.

Basketball players are constantly struggling with metallic whatsit, and their clornnnnnnng sounds are both frequent and a source of the home crowd’s consternation.

Hockey players can clang something off a metallic whatsit, but the home crowd doesn’t like it, either. Same goes with shoe hockey, or “soccer.” In all of these sports, the natural order of things is to boo and hiss the clornnnnnnng off the whatsit.

In baseball, you cheer the clornnnnnnng off the whatsit. There’s a swing. There’s a moment of anticipation and uncertainty. Then there’s a clornnnnnnnng. And the home crowd goes wild.

Football should count field goals and extra points that clorng off the crossbar. Basketball should have a metal pillar 40 feet behind the basket that’s worth four points. Hockey should have a puck-shaped target 40 feet above the upper level that’s worth two points. Soccer should have no offsides, and as an American, I’d like to drunkenly explain why.

Until any of those are a reality, let us appreciate that baseball is the only sport where clornnnnnnnnnnnnnnng is a celebratory experience for the home crowd, and that is a serious advantage. Kyle Schwarber might not have the husky ebullience he once had, but he can make a baseball sing the songs that the madrigalists of old used to sing.

Clornnnnnnnnng.

Apparently, this is a beefy baseball edition of our weekly recap, and there are times when it’s fair to wonder where a bias for beefy baseball boys blasting bombs tips into bodyshaming. While we all love a husky hero who hits home runs, at what point does it become unfair? I struggle with this.

On the other hand, this video is extremely important to analyze.

And I think a good rule of thumb is that when a baseball player goes by “Jumbo,” and hasn’t punched anyone out because of it, it’s okay to appreciate him as a beefy baseball boy. This is a video of Jace “Jumbo” Chamberlain, who hit a walk-off homer to upset Stanford and send Cal State Fullerton into the regional finals of the College World Series.

Here’s what I appreciate about this home run:

The setup. Chamberlain is a freshman who hasn’t gotten a lot of playing time this year. In fact, this is the first homer of the year for him. In 89 at-bats, he hit .326 with a .382 slugging percentage, which makes you think of Juan Pierre’s best seasons.

But then he comes to the plate and looks like a home run. If this man knocks on your door, says, “Hello, I’m a home run,” and hands you a pamphlet, you don’t stop to think about how home runs don’t have hands and can’t knock on doors. You open the pamphlet.

The action. It is a spectacular home run, and as long as we’re appreciating onomatopoeia, it’s a home run that comes with a cling. I’m okay with that. The timing was perfect, the swing was violent, the cling was violent, and the ball went very far.

The reveal. Rounding third base, a phalanx of rowdy teammates awaits Jumbo, who pulls off his helmet to reveal majesty.

Before:

After:

Our hero has a pelt on his head. Trapped it. Skinned it. Wore it. Showed it off in his moment of triumph.

I don’t have the time or attention span to follow another sport closely. I’m already having trouble following Major League Baseball, and my job every week is to spend 40 to 60 hours doing just that. There’s just no way I can keep up with the Cal State Fullertons of the world.

Here’s a reminder that every May and June, though, it’s at least worth keeping an eye out. There are more Jumbo Chamberlains out there, and some of them will also wear pelts on their heads. For a month or two every year, it’s in your best interests to seek these nuggets out, or, at the very least, let them come to you.

June is an underrated baseball month.

At the end of a 6-0 loss, Rougned Odor wanted to break up a double play. This happened:

I respect the desire of Odor to try as hard as he can until the final out.

I respect the annoyance of Andrelton Simmons after he’s clipped in the shin, which had to have hurt.

I respect that Simmons and Odor talked it out rather than used fisticuffs, which isn’t always the case with these slides into second, you know.

Mostly, I want to pause and reflect on the fact that Odor didn’t barrel into Simmons and wrap his clavicle around his cuticles. It’s over. The jackals lost. Condolences. But we aren’t talking about how Simmons’ marvelous season was ended too soon in some hideous 400-comment thread that’s a battlefield between the that’s-how-they-play-the-game morons and the people who don’t like seeing baseball players getting hurt for stupid reasons.

This is the end result of the rule changes. Bullpens are emptying because shortstops are getting kicked in the shins.

That rules.

I don’t think Odor’s slide was egregiously dirty, but it wasn’t legal, and Simmons was right to bark. I’m happy because if we rank this slide on the sliding scale that ends with Hal McRae, we know that baseball is getting better. It’s not hard to imagine a scenario in which Simmons limps off the field, season in jeopardy, historically amazing lateral quickness in jeopardy, after that play, with the only reaction being, “Well, that’s baseball.”

That’s not likely anymore, and the sport is better for it. Let’s take this insignificant play to remember that.

Not much. And that’s okay. Stop pressuring him. I don’t know which one of you idiots had an idea to give weekly updates on his progress, but it’s just a little too much, thanks.

Ohtani was 2-for-10 with a walk this week. He had a double, walk, and run scored.

He also threw 83 pitches in a five-inning start, walking three, striking out five, and allowing a run.

Which means our Shohei-o-meter is somewhere at half-Ian Desmond and half-Jhoulys Chacin. That’s not very exciting. Looks like somebody cooled him down.

MARTÍN. WE’VE TALKED ABOUT THIS.

But the important point to remember is that we shouldn’t live vicariously through week-to-week Shohei updates. He plays so sparingly in some weeks that it’s hard to gauge his progress. And with the Angels being as (understandably concerned) with his arm as they are, there will be weeks without a lot of ohtaction.

(He’s still peak Tim Lincecum crossed with Bryce Harper in my book, and there’s no way that’s going to look silly in the coming years.)

B+

It’s a fine retro uniform, and I like the numbers on the front of the pants, especially because they serve absolutely no purpose. Like, numbers go on the fronts of jerseys all the time. But some sort of Reynolds Woodcock looked a normal uniform and said, “Noooo, these numbers should be on the pants,” and we should probably respect his or her genius.

Mostly, I would like to point out, yet again, that the classic White Sox logo features a cartoon of a man who is HOLDING A BLOODY CHUNK OF HIS OWN FLESH, PULLED FROM UNDERNEATH HIS ARMPIT.

That’s horrifying. I wouldn’t want to play the White Sox if they’re doing freaky stuff like that. What an effective logo.

There were other retro uniforms on this day.

A+

Here is Jesús Aguilar, modeling an ensemble from our vintage spring collection. He has just hit yet another dinger, and he is feeling oh-so-sassy. He has the look of someone who can both hit a baseball 440 feet and the look of someone who knows that the little baseball mitt on his helmet also spells “M” and “B” for “Milwaukee Brewers.” Everyone wants to wear this beautiful number.

Everyone has this reaction to Mssr. Aguilar when he struts down the dugout catwalk:

As they should. As they should. What a triumph of fashion.

But, seriously, that uniform is perfect. The new uniforms are fine, and they’re a huge improvement on the previous ones, which looked like they were ripped from the cover of a Sega CD game, but I would like to see these more often.

It’s a great catch, and I’m glad nobody was hurt. Mostly, though, I’m impressed at the catcher springing into action as quickly as he did.

When you throw a tennis ball to a retriever, he retrieves it and brings it back to you.

When there is an infielder with his cleats above his ears, a catcher will do his best to catch him.

Sometimes the universe isn’t so confusing after all.

This one comes with context. Please, marvel at Max Scherzer celebrating in the dugout:

It came after he was a pinch-hitter in the top of the 14th inning:

This is like when your project manager comes up to you and says, “Hey, you can handle Excel, right?”, and you pretend that you can and aren’t terrified. Then you make the ... budget or ... database or ... look, I’m not entirely sure how people use Excel, but whatever it is, you nailed it. And Scherzer got a hit, which is the same thing.

If you keep the video going, you’ll watch Scherzer chug from first to home to score the go-ahead run in the 14th. Getting an unlikely base hit in the top of the 14th has to lead to some serious adrenaline. But consider the first-to-home scamper and the role of adrenaline for a pitcher.

For a pitcher, adrenaline is stored and released in a single burst. Full count. Bases loaded. Two outs. Ninth inning. Here’s the pitch and ... ALSKDNVACXKL the adrenaline shoots out in a rush. If the pitch is fouled off, it starts up again.

Now that pitcher is a runner. He’s at first base. The ball is hit into the gap, and his team wants to get the hell back to the hotel. Here, the adrenaline surges and sustains and pulses. It isn’t limited to a single pitch. It’s needed for a 270-foot dash.

When it’s all said and done, and the task was executed successfully, you might see a starting pitcher look like this:

The heterochromia iridum makes it even more compelling, but that’s just a nice finishing touch. No, here is a man who was given an impossible task and returned to his homeland victorious, like Odysseus before him. He has thrived. He has conquered. He would like to exult to the heavens.

Also, he probably shouldn’t have been put in that position in the first place. But are you not entertained?

There’s a Double-A team coming to Amarillo, and they need your help naming their team.

The names are ...

Uh ...

Look, I’ll just screenshot this:

There are two things I need to you to know.

The first is that I feel at least partially responsible for the Hartford Yard Goats. I’m not sure how much influence SB Nation had, but at one point, we tried to game the poll, and they’re sure named the Yard Goats now. Which is a good thing. Maybe we helped, maybe we didn’t.

The second thing is that we’ve already created a minor league team name generator, and it’s freakishly prescient.

How prescient? Well, if you clicked on the “generate another” button long enough, you would eventually get to “Amarillo Sod Poodles.” No joke.

We’re just that good.

But we still need to rank these names:

5. Amarillo Bronc Busters
Eh. I can guess what a bronc is, but that doesn’t mean I need to understand why they should be busted. Also, the name sounds dumb. That they used the wrong “it’s” is not a coincidence. Someone’s IQ dropped while contemplating that name.

4. Amarillo Boot Scooters
Oh. This is basically like naming a team “The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boys of Company B,” except it wouldn’t hold up nearly as long.

3. Amarillo Jerky
As a grown man who still says things like, “I’ll bring all my glasses ... so I have them” and “Uncle Freddy died?” unprompted, this one holds a special appeal to me. Do you know what it’s like, you young punks, to know somebody who had a dubbed cassette tape of the original Jerky Boys recordings? You were all kings. That’s what you were.

Anyway, it seems like “jerky” is a solid insult, so maybe this isn’t a great name for a baseball team.

Nice ground ball, jerky.

Way to take strike three, jerky.

Nah.

2. Amarillo Long Haulers
Yeah, I can get into this, if only because the two-word team name actually makes sense. It’s not “Moon Hamsters,” jammed together for no apparent reason. These two words fit together, and they’re honoring an industry. Nothing wrong with that.

1. Amarillo Sod Poodles
But this is clearly the dumbest option, so I’m in favor of it. It’s also kind of rad. And don’t forget that it was ENTIRELY POSSIBLE to get this from our minor-league name generator. Which means I should get a sizable commission if this is the name that’s chosen.

Or at least a free hat.

Oh, we’re just ranking stuff now and mailing it in, that’s cool. I can get behind that. Here, let’s rank some doinks:

3.

Pros: Right to the beans. The kid wonders if his dad is okay before realizing he can run all the way around the bases. That the dad was filming the entire time.

Cons: Just a plastic ball. Probably didn’t even feel it.

2.

Pros: Right to the beans. Comes out of nowhere. The mascot is clearly dead now, and we can feast on his felt ribs, ripping tender, fuzzy flesh away from the bone.

Cons: Mascots don’t have genitals, so this probably didn’t actually hurt.

1.

Winner. First, let’s appreciate the absolute power in that swing. Second, let’s appreciate how it absolutely levels a major league pitcher. Third, let’s appreciate the instant laughter from Mrs. Roark, which is instant and unconcerned with the fancy pants major leaguer who was flattened. Fourth, let’s appreciate the daughter also stopping to make sure everyone is okay before sniffing that base hit.

Fifth, let’s appreciate the high-five once she reaches tree base. You know Roark was trying to get her out. I would too.

Sixth, I’m really jealous of that caption.

Of all the doinks this week, the best one didn’t have anything to do with someone getting hit in the beans. We should probably learn from this.

McGwire
11 AB this week
185 AB for the season

1 HR this week
28 for the season

.364/.611/.818 this week
.324/.500/.838 for the season

Sosa
26 AB this week
230 AB for the season

6 HR this week
19 for the season

.346/.414/1.077 this week
.343/.414/.639 for the season

Ah, yes. This reminds me of one of my favorite movie quotes.

This is the week that Sammy Sosa inserted himself into the conversation. Finally. I’ve been waiting for this. With six home runs, Sosa boosted his total to 19 homers and became a player to watch.

He was still nine homers behind McGwire. It was the first week of June. Nobody should have a nine-homer lead on a player with 19 homers in June.

Here we go! Ha ha, love the whole MCU, if we’re being honest.

Again, it doesn’t always have to be something naughty. For here is Liz Funk, center fielder:

You might or not be surprised to learn that this is the only Liz in baseball history. There should be more. Elias shortened to Liz makes sense. Especially when your last name is funk.

Funk didn’t have a great career, but he did play for the San Francisco Seals, so I have a soft spot for him. And his comparable players list revealed just how shallow my Baseball-Reference search history is:

Mostly, though, I like the symmetry. Liz Funk is a great name. Fiz Lunk is a fun spoonerism. They are in balance. This is the yin. This is the yang. No matter which name you say, you’re having fun. When you get a spoonerism that’s just as delightful as the name and vice versa, it’s cause for celebration and acknowledgement.

Have a great week, everyone.