You see it all the time: professional baseball player A, batting, takes professional baseball player B, pitching, deep to left field, over the fence, a home run. He runs the bases: first, second, third, some love from both coaches at the corners along the way, and, finally, home. But before he steps on the plate, or just as he does, he tilts his head skywards, and points towards the heavens.

Think of Albert Pujols; he does it all the time. David Ortiz, too, after his leisurely stroll around the diamond. But by no means is the salute exclusive to the home run. I remember seeing Nick Swisher do it after he’d walked, once he’d arrived at first base. And, knowing Swisher, it was probably a four-pitch walk, the pitcher’s control long gone, never to return. Hell, maybe it was an intentional walk, but someone up above deserved some thanks, some acknowledgement.

So I’ve been wondering: it’s God these guys are giving props to, right? Some guys are surely saluting a departed family member, maybe a lost friend, but in most cases, I think the answer is, yes, God. Pujols, deeply religious, is definitely praising the man above.

I have so many questions. Well, two, actually:

1. Is God a baseball fan? If he or she is smart enough to have worked their way to the top (no pun intended), to the title of “God,” I’ll assume he or she is very smart, and, yes, therefore a baseball fan. And a sabermetrician.

2. Is God a St. Louis Cardinals fan? I’m sure Albert Pujols certainly believes so. And, the more I ponder it, perhaps Pujols knows something we don’t. Think about it: St. Louis is about to play in their third World Series in eight years. They won the 2006 World Series after winning only 83 games during the regular season. Eighty-fucking-three. The Toronto Blue Jays won 87 games in 2006, and didn’t make the playoffs. (I will never not be bitter about this.) And, finally, think about what’s gone down over the past couple of months in Cardinals-ville: the collapse of the Atlanta Braves; the brilliance displayed by Tony La Russa; someone actually saying, “We couldn’t have done it without Dotel.” I mean, come on, that’s insane. I can’t in good conscience rule out divine intervention in favor of the Cardinals.

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The current issue of Baseball America — the one with Jeremy Hellickson on the cover — just arrived at my house this afternoon. Here’s a pie chart of where I’ll be reading it.

As an Astros fan, this is the most depressing world series scenario imaginable for me. On one hand, the St. Louis Cardinals: our greatest division rivals, who have already won the second-most World Series titles in history. Everyone hates a winner, right? On the other hand, the Texas Rangers: potentially the first Texas team to win the World Series, a title the Astros obviously covet, and by no objective but by every personal measure deserve. Not to mention that I live in Austin, where the bandwagon is overcrowded with Rangers caps where there once were just ironic mullets and burnt orange.

I’ve come to the inevitable conclusion: instead of watching the World Series, I will commit seppuku.

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You may have noticed that, some time around yesterday, America was roused from its torpor by news of an exciting sports contest. We the people have been charged with adopting the pose, bearing, manner, general milieu, and overarching blessedness of the great Mr. Dick Allen. Suffice it to say, this I could not resist.

First, the inspiration …

And now, the imitation …

I have spoken through photographic art. If you wish not to see that giant novelty check in my clutches, then I suggest you get to work.

The convention floor, still covered by confetti, spilled cocaine and unmentionable fluids, is closed for business. And so with names placed into nomination and the list of nominees trimmed according to the whims of those in awful power, it’s time to vote.

At stake are stakes, and those stakes are the right to call oneself “Good, Round Friend.” Now, for the unassailable process that is Internet polling …

Thanks for voting! Now please enjoy some illegal drugs.

In celebration of both the World Series and video games, I will be playing at least four and, if, necessary, five, six, or seven games of the World Series on various excellent Major League Baseball video games. We’ll start it out with an old standby: Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball for the Super Nintendo.

Remember kids, illegal emulation is wrong, except when it feels oh, so right.

Now, to the game:

As Player One, I decided to choose the lesser of two evils and pick the Texas Rangers. This means I, as the Rangers, am the home team. That’s not how the real World Series will go. Deal with it

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The Internetting Gentleman is surely by now familiar with this Taiwanese video interpretation of the Red Sox’s recent and rib-tickling collapse. And that leads to this, which is a crudely animated rendering of Jon Lester, John Lackey and Josh Beckett in clubhoused repose, eating chicken, drinking beer and playing video games without ceasing as though an imperiled life depended upon their eating chicken, drinking beer and playing video games without ceasing.

Click and then watch closely to see the exact moment that team morale gives up and dies peacefully while surrounded by loves ones …

This has been your Daguerreotype of the Evening.

Ralph Waldo Emerson loved pretending to read.

As discussed this morning in some detail by Bradley Woodrum and, more generally, by the concerned citizens of the internet, the Red Sox and Cubs are currently engaged in talks over what sort of compensation the former team should receive from the latter for the right to realease from his present contract, and sign, (quasi-) former Boston GM Theo Epstein.

The situation is a complicated one — and when complicated matters arise, the only prudent course of action is to appeal to Important Voices of Yore. We look not for a precise answer to our own particular dilemma — that would be impossible — but at least for foundational ideas on which we can arrive at our own conclusions.

Fortunately, for our purposes, we find among the works of celebrated American thinker Ralph Waldo Emerson an essay actually titled “Compensation”. As a service to the reader, I’ve spent the afternoon in my richly paneled study, drinking deeply both of Emerson’s text and some really expensive scotch that I just drink whenever I want to.

Does Emerson speak directly to the quandary in which the Bostonians and Chicagoans currently find themselves? In a word: no. And in two words: absolutely not. And in three, largely blasphemous, words: Oh God, no.

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We, as discerning fans of our national pastime, are generally left with very few indicators of whether or how major league baseball players are “cultured.” But, because fans cannot survive on wOBA alone, we search for these things in players. The items listed in the title of this post are amongst the cultural indicators we utilize in this search. Often, what we find might disappoint us: Chase Utley is hella handsome . . . except for his oily locks, plastered to his head, causing us to question not only handsomeness, but also his very character.[1] Or, it might corroborate our darkest criticisms: Tony La Russa’s hair has been fried from decades of overly involved managing.

That said, this World Series thing is gonna start happening tomorrow. Two teams who have both been hitting the snot[2] out of the ball this postseason will diamond-off for sundry prizes: a multi-phallic trophy, a pile of cash, and the rights to every Beatles song. I think that’s what’s at stake anyway. But what every discerning fan of baseball really wants to know is, How do the Cardinals and Rangers match up in the ways of cultural swag?

World Series Booty?

Without further ado, let’s examine the first match-up of our World Series Kulturkampf.

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As you might have already realized, we here at NotGraphs are quite fond of Dick Allen. I posit four basic reasons for our endless fascination with Dick:

1. On-field excellence

2. General badassery

3. Tones that are the dulcet-est

4. Connoisseur of mustaches and spectacles

It was with this in mind that I included Dick in my MLB Halloween costume catalog last week. Of course, I never actually expected to see anyone follow through with my suggestions.

And then reader scout1222 offered this brilliant idea:

Please, will some NotGrapher do the Dick Allen idea and submit a photo in the same pose as we see on the literature entries! That would be awesome.

Awesome indeed, scout1222. Which is why I am pleased to announce the NotGraphs Dick Allen Daguerrotype Contest.

Here’s what you need to do to enter:

Step 1: Dress up as Dick Allen

Step 2: Strike your best Dick Allen pose

Step 3: Photograph yourself

Step 4: Send photograph to not+tips (at) fangraphs (dot) com with “Dick Allen Contest” in the subject line

I have no idea what to expect with this, but I can promise that all entries will be featured on NotGraphs, where they will be carefully scrutinized by our panel of expert judges for the overall quality of the costume and the true-to-Dickness of the pose. Daguerrotypes will be accepted until 11:59 PM on Halloween — Monday, October 31st. 

The winner of the contest shall receive the abiding admiration of the NotGraphs staff and, perhaps, a small token of our respect.

Update: The honorable Mr. Dan Szymborski raises an important concern:

Please don’t be racist, people!