Some questions are designed to elicit an expression of opinion; others, a statement of fact. If asked for his thoughts on arugula, for example, the reader would be equally justified in saying that it does or does not appeal to him. When asked how many inches are in a foot, however, the reader would have no such latitude.

The question “Who is the best short-story writer of any epoch?” belongs to the latter category. The answer, as if I even need to tell such a vigorously bespectacled reader, is late Russian author Daniil Kharms (pictured menacingly, Russianly to the right).

In celebration not only of Kharms’ achievement as a litterateur, but also of a certain achievement by the Kansas City Royals from their game on Monday night, I present here Kharms’ very short story Falling Old Ladies (translator unknown), with the characters replaced by Royals baserunners.

This or that reader might recognize some similarity between this experiment and one rendered into actual book form by noted author Ben Greenman. In response to said observation, I reply only that I’ve never heard either of (a) that book you’re talking about or (b) whomever “Ben Greenman” is, so stop acting ridiculous for once.

Falling Royals Baserunners

Because of his excessive enthusiasm, a Royals baserunner attempted to advance and was thrown out.

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You might think you know Toronto Blue Jays third-baseman Brett Lawrie. You might have even read an article or two about him, looked at his stats, drafted him for your fantasy baseball team, or stalked him on Facebook.

But you don’t know Brett Lawrie . . . until you know the following things:

When he was a boy, Brett Lawrie had a fascination with microphones; to this day, the very sight of them makes him giddy. “These little hand-held things make sounds bigger than they really are, or record sounds for safekeeping, for later usage. That’s awesome,” Lawrie said. “Sometimes, journalists get frustrated with me because when they stick a mic in my face all I want to do is talk about its specs, but they want to talk about baseball or some shit. But I can’t help it. Mics are just so cool.”

Brett Lawrie like mics.

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Submitted, with minimal comment, from the author’s own ottoneu team:

Drew Storen is off to see Dr. James Andrews about his elbow. Never a good sign. But at least he won’t be hearing any gossip while he’s there. From the website of one of Dr. Andrews’s clinics, what strikes me a somewhat strange set of 9 elements that make up the doctor’s patient philosophy:

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Young Marty Brennaman often refers to his choices in neckwear as “the Cadillac of ties, baby.”

Young Marty Brennaman knows that sometimes a gentleman prefers roasted lamb with mint jelly, and sometimes a gentleman prefers a hot dog and beans.

Young Marty Brennaman is convinced that today’s kids would abandon that loud “Rocking Roll” music if they’d just sit down with a belt of Dewar’s and give Artie Shaw a listen.

Young Marty Brennaman was once afflicted with a case of Montezuma’s Revenge during a brief stopover in Porter, Texas. “Curse this town,” he said as he crossed the county line. “And curse the unborn sons of the sons of this town.”

Young Marty Brennaman is proud of the sliding bench seats in his Buick. “You like these, toots?” he’ll say. “It’s like a flying sofa, sweet cakes.”

After a show and a relaxing, belt-loosener of a seafood dinner, Young Marty Brennaman has been known to promise a skoit “a night of steakhouse-recipe love-making, doll face.”

Young Marty Brennaman is still annoyed about that unopened pack of Parliaments he left over at Paul Hornung’s coop.

Young Marty Brennaman can dance to that, so long as that dance is the “Hully Gully.”

Young Marty Brennaman surveys the future before him and says, “I think I’ll do this the Marty Brennaman way.”

(Image — handsome image — first spied at BTF)

It is established fact that Mr. Redlegs is the greatest mascot in baseball. This is established fact in large part because Mr. Redlegs looks like he brawls on riverboats. It is fitting, then, that the disembodied ball-head of Mr. Redlegs has been rendered in the timeless artistic medium of wholesome frosting:

Some things you should know about this cake:

– Lordly reader Bryan passed this along. I assume he baked, photographed and ate the cake pictured.
– Hot Lips had a birthday.
– The countertop appears to be formica.
– Surely, at some point, Pete Rose made love to Loretta Swit.

Click to play.

The above footage depicts the conclusion of Pablo Sandoval’s home-run trot from his first-inning cuadrangular against right-hander and fellow Venezuelan Jhoulys Chacin during this Monday afternoon’s game against the Rockies (in progress, as of press time).

While said footage reveals no epiphanies, it does provide a record of the somewhat sophisticated choreography of Sandoval’s home-run trot — information that will no doubt be of great use to our descendants and our descendants’ descendants and our descendants’ descendants’ descendants. Specifically, we learn that the Sandoval performs four distinct acts in rapid succession as he approaches, and then touches, home plate.

These four acts, in particular:

1. He crosses himself, Catholically.
2. He gestures towards heaven.
3. He claps his hands together.
4. He pantomimes putting on (what one presumes is) a (championship) belt.

In his Discourses, noted Roman Stoic Epictetus proclaims that, to live a life free from anxiety, that each of us must become like a “spiritual athlete.” To that end, NotGraphs presents this exercise, with a view towards helping to tighten and tone the spirits of the readership.

The price of spiritual infirmity: death by bears.

Notes: Toronto right-hander Henderson Alvarez and Oakland left-hander Tom Milone make their respective season debuts tonight — the former at 7:07pm ET; the latter, at 10:05pm ET. While throwing from different sides and at considerably different velocities (Alvarez’s fastball sat at around 93-94 mph last season; Milone’s, at 88 mph), the pair posted almost identical strikeout and walk rates during their major-league debuts: 15.4% and 3.1% for Alvarez, 13.6% and 3.6% for Milone. Furthermore, Steamer projects the pair for almost identical FIPs this season: 4.12 for Alvarez, 4.00 for Milone.

Exercise: Consider how Alvarez and Milone use different means to arrive at a similar end (i.e. being a mostly effective pitcher at the major-league level) — Alvarez with plus velocity and very good command of a fastball and changeup, Milone with below-average velocity and plus-plus command of up to six pitches. Now consider what would happen if Alvarez attempted to imitate Milone; or Milone, Alvarez. Each would likely fail.

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A friend of mine emailed me the play-by-play of the bottom of the 5th inning of the game between the Dodgers and Padres at Petco on Saturday, April 7. It was amusing enough as it was, but it’s even more amusing if you look at the pitch-by-pitch:

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Friends, today we help a person in need, and that person is Jayson Werth. Jayson is, and has been, a man in search of a self-image. Feel, for just a moment, his anguish: the anguish of a man condemned by his creator to look like something — and yet perennially thwarted from discovering what that something is. He has sought, as any of us would, guidance from those who know him best; he has seen himself through Brad Lidge’s eyes, as “a cross between Jesus Christ and the Geico caveman”; he has untombed the esoteric secrets of Facebook, and thus learned of shocking and uncanny kinships; he has walked countless miles and studied countless faces, craving always that moment of deep reflection, of thrilling recognition, of sudden, crystallized wholeness.

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