The Best Fans in Baseball Can Not Be the Best Fans in Baseball

by Chris Alarie

On Wednesday evening, San Francisco Giants center fielder Juan Perez made one of the best defensive plays by any baseball player this season, scaling the wall to rob a home run from St. Louis Cardinals outfielder Stephen Piscotty. It was a genuinely amazing catch, something that, as the Fox Sports Midwest broadcasters mentioned, even the Cardinals fans acknowledged with polite applause. This reaction was consistent with the St. Louis fans' cherished distinction as “the Best Fans in Baseball”.¹ As a Giants fan, I found that pleasant, respectful behavior on the part of Cardinals fans to be incredibly annoying. Indeed, there is something particularly obnoxious about the falsely modest attitude the Cardinals fanbase adopts in order to justify and propagate the “Best Fans” designation. I am not aiming to disseminate or undermine that designation,² but rather to try to understand why the attitude of St. Louis fans seems so hollow and inauthentic.

In his takedown of the Cardinals fans' “the Best Fans in Baseball” myth, Drew Magary writes: “I think Yankees fans are horrible people: selfish, arrogant, profane, and miserable all at once. But at least they don't attempt to hide their repulsiveness. At least there isn't this deliberate, 'Oh, we're not like those OTHER fans' fakeness that OOZES from the Cardinals and their acolytes.” Ultimately, what offends Magary—and, likely, what offends me, as well—is the inauthenticity in the Cardinals fans' claims of modesty and civility that lie at the heart of their “Best Fans in Baseball” title. It reminds me a bit of this strange, fascinating, rambling article by Marc Yearsley about Guy Fieri and James Murphy in which he (eventually) makes the argument that as obviously obnoxious as Guy Fieri is, his obnoxious is preferable to James Murphy's ostensibly more acceptable cool persona because Fieri is authentic in his awfulness while Murphy's perceived coolness is inauthentic. For Magary and many other sports fans, the overt, authentic offensiveness of Yankees fans (or Red Sox fans or Dallas Cowboys fans or all Philadelphia sports fans, etc.) is preferable to the false modesty of Cardinals fans. And I think I agree with that assessment. While I have a number of qualms about the contemporary obsession with authenticity, there is something especially obnoxious to me about the “aw shucks, we're just good, modest, Midwestern baseball fans” attitude that underlies the Cardinals fans' claim to being “the Best Fans in Baseball”.

And yet, there must necessarily be a fanbase that does consist of “the Best Fans in Baseball”. The Cardinals fans really do have as much of a stake to that claim as any other fanbase but by the simple fact of acknowledging it, they undermine their case. There is something eerily self-defeating about this whole spiraling, postmodern cycle of self-knowledge and instability. To be “the Best Fans in Baseball” requires that they do not claim to be “the Best Fans in Baseball” yet to deny the designation of “Best Fans in Baseball” seems equally as disingenuous, in an altogether different manner. So there are no “Best Fans” yet there must be the “Best Fans” but the title of “Best Fans” is inherently unstable and ceases to be applicable once it is applied. The whole thing is dizzying.


Chris Alarie is Senior Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.

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1 In fact, cheering good plays by other teams' players is number one on Will Leitch's nauseating list of “10 Reasons Why Cardinals Fans May Be The Best Fans In Baseball”.^↩
2 Both Drew Magary and the excellent Baseball's Best Fans Twitter account have already thoroughly covered that.^↩

The 20 Dollar Vibrator

by Kristopher Nope

Editor's note: we received this mysterious audio piece with the only description being an attached note that read "this is a fact." So we have decided to present this to you, the reader/listener, without any further explanation—not that we'd be able to offer one anyway!




Kristopher Nope was born on Catalina Island. Blue Ribbon Rowing Champion 2008, Crater Lake. SS Andrea Doria survivor. Accomplished essayist. 

San Francisco

by Alexis Faulkner

Alexis Faulkner is Executive Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine. 

Controlled Substances Act

by Chris Alarie

Chris Alarie is Senior Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.

My Important Podcast with Chris Alarie: Episode 6

by Chris Alarie

This week on "My Important Podcast with Chris Alarie", Doug and Chris get into an argument. Isn't that surprising?



Chris Alarie is Senior Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.
Doug Slayton is Professor Editor-in-Chief of Uncanny Valley Magazine.

All Of Our Fault

by Gary Pryor

The movie San Andreas is what is commonly referred to as a “popcorn movie” which, according to

Wiktionary makes it “a motion picture without serious dramatic content, a weighty message, or intellectual depth, which serves simply as enjoyable entertainment.” But much like the snack food from which it takes its name, the real source of worry is the toppings of the popcorn. Just as light, harmless popcorn can be slathered in butter flavored chemicals and salt, what seems like a harmless, fun movie is drenched in sexism, mindless patriotism, and fear mongering.

We'll start by addressing the film's sexism, since that will let me introduce the cast. First there is the subplot featuring Paul Giamatti (known for his great roles such as Heckler #2 and Guy in Sleeping Bag, according to IMBD) playing a character who is essentially the same scientist who appears in every disaster or monster movie who has figured out everything already but is sadly ignored. He is presented as a generally non-sexual character (likely because he is educated and middle aged) though he still manages to “rescue” the female reporter barely-a-character (played by Archie Panjabi) by pulling her under desks several times during the film.

The main cast which consists of a divorcing husband and wife, their daughter, the wife's evil boyfriend, and an out of place pair of brothers who pal around with the aforementioned daughter. The father figure (who may have had a name, but is so often referred to as “father”, “dad”, or “husband” that I didn't remember it—for simplicity's sake we will just call him the Patriarch) is played by Dwayne “I don't want to be called the Rock anymore” Johnson (known for his roles of having his head animated onto a giant scorpion, and wearing a speedo while yelling at rednecks, according to me). The Patriarch is the man's man, he is here to rescue you, and he will (especially if you are related to him). He enjoys the fun attributes of having no character defects, being strong enough to rip off a car door, having inexplicably caucasian offspring, and having the sound of his voice warp reality in such a way that if you do what he says, no harm can come to you. He does feel bad about the death of another daughter, which he only mentions enough to prove that he is humble and ready to discuss his feelings with his estranged wife, thus reclaiming her. He also spends most of his screen time saving women in distress with his earthquake defying helicopter or making lewd sexual innuendos toward his wife as countless people die all around them.

Next we have the wife (played by Carla Gugino known for being the mother of spying children and having sex with a guy in an owl costume according to IMBD), who hangs around to be the target of the aforementioned innuendos, drive various vehicles while the Patriarch is busy rescuing people, and turn on her new boyfriend in the first 20 minutes so that the central family can reunite before the credits roll. With the exception of the minimal driving, she could easily have been replaced by the family dog—which would have had the benefit of making the innuendos seem really strange. Or with a little more work, a dog could drive and it would be awesome (see San Andreas director Brad Peyton's previous work on Cats & Dogs: Revenge of Kitty Galore).

Now we have the new boyfriend played by Ioan Gruffudd (famous for being THE Horatio Hornblower as well as being the voices of lots of things in lots of American cartoons, according to IMDB). He starts out being portrayed as a well meaning nice guy, but “abandons” the daughter after going for help and taking a severe blow to the head, for which he is never forgiven. We only see him twice after that, his only purpose is to have a character you don't mind getting earthquaked. The Patriarch never directly slanders him (but praises his wife for doing so), showing that he reclaim his prize without breaking proper bro etiquette. A true gentleman indeed.

Finally, we get to the daughter played by Alexandra Daddario (who is famous for having breasts in True Detective and for being in a bunch of TV shows I've never seen, according to IMBD). She is our eye candy, from her introductory scene in a bikini, to several plot points where she has to remove clothing for some contrived reason, spending most of the last portion of the movie soaking wet. The camera lets you know what it wants as it continually happens to look down her shirt. She is characterized as both smart and brave like her father, though she cannot complete any heroic action without yelling about how she learned it from her father, undermining any sense of her being independently brave. She has two companions: a 20-something male love interest and his kid brother, who both compliment her looks in just about every other scene. The manner in which she is the primary sexual focus of the film intercut with scenes of her parents searching for her and talking about parental love just feels wrong. Am I supposed to simultaneously want to fuck her and want her to reunite with her uber-macho dad? The combination of her being the damsel in distress (in spite of being portrayed as capable) and the dissonance between the goal of reuniting with her family and the visual of constantly looking at her cleavage are representative of the film's problematic portrayal of women.

I'll address the film's mindless patriotism next. The Patriarch is introduced in the first scene as an Iraq war veteran, which is supposed to help identify him as a hero. Right or wrong, the idea that people who like dumb things (like this movie) also like the military runs deep in Hollywood. You are here so you most be dumb, so you must love America. Do we really need to see the filmmakers drape the American flag over a ruined Golden Gate Bridge like we are proud that our shit fell down? All I can say is that, for me, every time a movie throws propaganda on the screen to try to convince me that I should like somebody more because he was in the military or happened to live in the U.S., it is a waste of the filmmakers' time and mine.

Lastly, I will discuss the film's fear mongering. I am convinced that the movie is a “what if it happened here” reaction to the Tōhoku earthquake. The Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami of 2011 took place on March 11, 2011. Not coincidentally, according to Wikipedia, “on December 1, 2011, it was announced that New Line Cinema was developing an earthquake disaster film.” So earthquakes were trending, people in the U.S. were scared about it happening to them. Hollywood could never pass up such low hanging fruit. The problem is there are 15,891 confirmed deaths from the Tōhoku earthquake. Real people. Not a fun summer movie—real people who have died. And because people are reasonably afraid of natural disasters, it is incredibly easy to sell people a ticket to a fantasy world where the perfect dad swoops down in a helicopter to save you at the last moment from an exciting disaster. Also according to Wikipedia San Andreas grossed “a worldwide total of $461 million, against a budget of $110 million.” So this capitalizing on actual deaths and legitimate fears sure as hell worked. Surprise! Hollywood is terrible. New Line Cinema should be ashamed of cashing in on an actual tragedy, and you should be ashamed for buying a ticket (even if your girlfriend made you like mine did). So all in all San Andreas was a terrible experience on every level: it's a terrible movie, and you are terrible for watching it.

Gary Pryor is an asshole who complains about movies, has other first world problems, and is an all-around white guy.

Easing the Way Back to Sanity

by Victor Mitrani

I've got it! I’ll ask people questions I KNOW the actual answers to already. Oh my god, its so simple. It’s the only way to head off their suspicions at the pass.They all already clearly know what is happening. One look will tell them all that. I’m trespassing, they know it, I know it, it’s only a matter of time until the cops come. Not only am I trespassing, I’m also freaking the fuck out. I see that they see.

This once was a friendly place. It was my home for years. It was the place I felt most comfortable in the whole world. I am now in hostile territory. I felt it on the walk up when idiot Ben and Justin were walking in the middle of the road that I know to be completely dangerous as cars generally careen down the long downhill straightaways and around the blind turns. I knew it was bad but up we went. “This was going to be fun” was the thought.

The college was in the middle of finals. Maybe all the bad vibes and the stress in the air got to me, but I felt truly alien and hostile. As idiot Ben and Justin started climbing the famous tree 9, John and I were waiting anxiously at the bottom, making some sort of conversation. John had already thrown up earlier but was his usual goofball self, I think. But by that point, I felt the energy of the entire place was turning on me. We were being circled now—it was only a matter of time. I looked up at the tree and saw threatening enemy flags spinning in a vortex up to hell. A nice young couple walked by and we smiled “Hi” and so did they. It was weird... It was too much. We were pushing our luck. It was time to go. I yelled up to the idiots and said, “I’ll meet you down at the Porter meadow!” and took off. They—being idiots and out of their minds—said, “Okay” and poor John was left at the bottom of the tree with whatever shit he must have been thinking about.

I came out of nature and into civilization. I felt like a wildman that had come back to a town after 30 years in seclusion. I felt like my hair and clothes just reeked of insanity. This is when the epiphany that I mentioned earlier hit me like a freight train. The time was now, no time to think. Fight or flight, sink or swim. Students were walking all about and whenever I would half catch one in the eye I would go out of my way to stop, walk up to them, and make conversation.

“Hey, is the library over this way?” (knowing FULL WELL that it was).

“Yeah,” they would say with smile. “Just keep going down that way.”

“Oh thanks!” And off I went.

Oh my god this working….! I was walking downhill in the general direction off the campus but every eye I met, I stopped.

“Hey is college eight right down there?”

“Oh yeah, just walk that way and cross the street, its right down those stairs.”

“Hey,thanks!”

My heart was filled with joy. It was simple. So agreeable. Insane people ask questions that no one knows what the fuck they are talking about. But what if an insane person asked perfectly reasonable questions? Ah ha! The loophole has been found. I even went up to people that I would normally be scared of and asked them some questions.

There was some crusty looking punk dude with a skateboard waiting at last bus stop at the bottom of campus. I was across the street from him and I looked at him and he maybe looked at me but I was like, “Oh fuck, I better handle this before it gets out of hand.” So I crossed the street and I said something like, “Hey dude, why don’t you ride down the hill with that?” He smiled and said something like, “Yeah, I totally do sometimes.” And I said something like, “That’s siiiick.” And I went on my way. I was almost off campus thinking that I had pulled off the greatest escape act that anyone had ever accomplished. I kept on feeling my pockets over and over. Amazed, just mind blown that I had my wallet, keys, and phone. I was so grateful and happy.

I wanted to get a limousine and pick up my friends on campus but I couldn’t get a hold of any of them since my phone had died. I later found out that they had an okay time but I think they were mad me for leaving and they sort of took it as a challenge of who had more fun. As I stated before, they are idiots. Anyways, if you ever find yourself losing your shit, just ask some people questions YOU KNOW the answers to and everything will seem much more rational and agreeable in the world. It’s a nice way to wean yourself back to sanity. At least, that’s what worked that day. 

Victor Mitrani thinks you should listen to more Steely Dan.