“We have lots of cartoons on lots of topics,” says Mankoff, who sees 500 or 600 cartoons a week. The key is how the image is treated. “One of the reasons you have something that’s instantly recognizable,” he adds, “is so it’s instantly recognizable.” The humor comes when you take that “default script and [it’s] violated for a joke.”
The pitcher with the football in his hand is pure sight gag. Sipress’s Willie Randolph commentary pokes fun at the absurdity of a real-life situation. (As does Jack Ziegler’s cartoon in which a catcher approaches the mound to inform his teammate, “Mr. Steinbrenner wants you to stop spitting during the close-ups.”)
“On one end are things that are just silly and we like them because they’re silly,” says Mankoff. “On the other are things that are funny and incongruous, but somehow the joke makes sense.”
Mankoff starts thinking out loud — and offering potentially valuable insights one might use to win the New Yorker’s popular caption contest. Why not invite the ump to the party?
“I don’t really have a line yet, but I would,” he says. “The umpire might come out and say, ‘Want my opinion?’ ”
Or, he suggests, the catcher might use some highfalutin’ policy jargon, like, “ ‘Stick with your fastball, your curveball’s lost its credibility.’ In other words, you use language. You just imagine them talking about something completely unrelated. Like real-estate values. Or political endorsements.”
In the comedy world, Mankoff reminds us, “everything that’s bad is good.” It’s the mishaps and the bum luck that make for the funny moments. And, of course, this is a bad situation: the catcher is helping the pitcher cope with a problem. “But it’s not that bad.”
In fact, some catchers are known to tell a joke or two to help clear their pitchers’ heads and put things in perspective.
“I’ve done that so many diferrent times,” says Sox catcher Jason Varitek via e-mail. “It’s just about getting the guy to relax. You can’t do it all the time though. If you’re going to the ‘pen, it’s probably not a good time to joke.”
(Maybe Tek should keep a copy of the New Yorker in his back pocket and read Clay Buchholz the cartoons?)
Pudge and the Spaceman
Former Red Sox lefty Bill “Spaceman” Lee confirms that the relationship between pitcher and catcher is indeed often like that of a father and a son. Or a married couple. Or two contentious castaways on a desert island. Or something.
Reached at his farm in Vermont, he says, “Hell no!” when asked if it’s important to get along with one’s battery mate. “[Carlton] Fisk would throw the ball back to me and I’d throw it back to him, and we’d get pissed. We’d almost go to fisticuffs.”
The arguments came often. “I’d go, ‘Why should I listen to you? I went four years to USC, and you went to some podunk place in frigging Manchester! It’s called “the tools of ignorance” — why should I listen to you?’ Then he’d get mad as hell and we’d go back and forth with one another.”
There was, however, always eventually kissing and making up. Just not necessarily in that order. “Shoot, in friggin’ Appleton, Wisconsin, we’d be sitting on a swing with a pair of girls after a late night,” recalls Lee. “We went out together all the time most of our career. Until he got married and kinda settled down and I really didn’t that much.”
