A few weeks ago, the venerable Prof. Cyril Morong executed a rather interesting projection for Albert Pujols, comparing similar and even dissimilar players to Pujols to get a feel for how well he would perform at and beyond the age of 35.

In short, the Angels look like they need either majorly bumped revenue or a World Series ring collection in order for the projected Pujols to be worth his contract.

Sure, science may say that, but what about dated video games?

Well, let’s turn to Baseball Mogul 2008, the addicting baseball simulation game that feels dangerously close to spreadsheet management. Why not a newer version of the game, such as Baseball Mogul 2012? Well, what’s the fun in that?
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Many thanks to A. Brown for shoving this in our collective chests, like an aristocrat pushing a cooked turkey into the hands of some bewildered serf.

So apparently, Mets pitcher R.A. Dickey is poised to mount Mount Kilimanjaro in what is likely a dramatic attempt to compensate for his inability to sling a 95-mph zoomer. And if this double-awesome show of Mountain Mantality was not awesome enough, the 37-year-old knuckle-man is also training with this impressive oxygen-deprivation mask:

Which makes us ask: How long until Hollywood makes this true story even more truer and explosiontastic?

Possible plots:
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As you all undoubtedly know, I spend about half my waking hours researching my Fangraphs pieces, which means about 5 of the 20 daily hours I spend working at the computer go the sole scouring of Wikipedia, our culture’s depository for generally agreed-upon knowledge. Anyway, for reasons somewhat beyond me, I ended up recently at the Wikipedia entry for the Caribes de Anzoátegui, a top baseball team in the Venezuelan Winter League, wherein I spotted this subtle typo:

I dunno, perchance it’s just society, but I am not certain whether (1) the author merely misplaced a G, or if (2) the author — likely an ESL such person — tried to sound out “foreign” and ended up with a meng-like solution. And therein lies the quandary: Does the mere doubt make me a racist?

Yes. Probably.

I take comfort in assuming, however, that my colleague Dayn Perry — Mississippi native — would have only considered the second option, while Boss Carson Cistulli (Boss ‘Stul for short) — who spends literally half his time in France, the other half travelling to France — would not have even noticed the error in his French-addled mind.

Reader: Also take note that Dmitri Young is no longer on the Caribes. Which is sad.

🙁

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Not Babe Ruth, no. Not Lou Gehrig or Barry Bonds. Not even Neifi Perez.

No, the hitter with the best statistics in the history of baseball is none other than Scott Munninghoff, a right-handed pitcher who participated in only four major league games in his playing career. Munninghoff, or Muney, as I secretly call him, had one career plate appearance — in 1980 — and in that PA he cracked a triple.

This brings us here:

Munningham is not the only player to hit a triple in his only major league at bat, but he hit his tripz in 1980 — just the right environment to get an edge over Eduardo Rodriguez, who cracked a triple in 1973.

Here, dear baseball brethren, is you MLB wRC+ leader:

Batting 1.000 is kind of impressive, I guess. But hitting 1008 with wRC+ is easily far more impressive. Quantitatively, 1008 is precisely 1007 better than 1.000.

Eat it Barry Bonds, there’s a new daddy in town — and he’s a triplin’ daddy.

Our sources have released yet-seen footage of the Jonathan Papelbon negotiations with the Philadelphia Phillies GM, Ruben Amaro Jr. It cost many lives to retrieve this information:

Many thanks for the share belong to reader M. Santaspirt — no, that’s too obvious — Matthew S.

Let us delve once again into the rich mine of baseball’s greatest names and nick’d names. Though I am partial to the spectacular names of unspectacular careers, let us pause for a moment to consider the moderately impressive career of a one

Bill Knickerbocker.

Knickerbocker, as we all know, means “New Yorker.” Naturally, William Hart Knickerbocker was born and later died in California. Of course.

Ol’ Knickers played 10 seasons, got some MVP consideration, served in World War II, and finished his career with more caught stealings than steals — even once, in 1936, leading the league with 14 whoopsies and only 5 pilfers. He was basically David Eckstein 0.1.
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Will White was — and in some senses, still is — this man:

You, dear reader — likely bespectacled and alone in a little gray cubicle of life — will notice a strange tingling sensation in the anterior chambers of your eyeballs as you look at yonder picturegraph. This is the feeling of MAJESTY enrapturing your ocular cavities. Do not be alarmed, but do know you will likely require the visitation of a physician and/or mortician at some point today.

For above we have featured:

THE VERY FIRST EVER
GREAT MOMENT IN SPECTACLES HISTORY.

Yes, the faint, white circles around the honorable Will White’s eyes are nothing less than Baseball’s First Glasses (according to this spurious site). And couched appropriately beneath those darling rounds — why, the curled mustache of king.

Also he’s bald.

That, in the biz, is what we call, “A Grand Slamming.”

Will White was a pitcher for Red Caps, Reds, Wolverines, and Red Stockings, and pitched as old as age-31, which in modern years, is about 65 years old.

White’s career reached an obvious down-slope, however, when in 1885 he twirled a scant 293.1 innings of 3.53 ERA ball. A clearly broken man at that point, he pitched only three more games before presumably spending the rest of his days crawling through the depths of some grimy coal mine, drowning the sorrows of his ever-failing vision on cocaine-laced, alcohol-rich Coca-Cola.

The brother of this man, Deacon White, obviously got the first hit in the first inning of the first professional game in history.

And, unsurprisingly as Science has led us to understand that the Mustachioed Gent is in every wear Superior to the Smooth Lipped Ninny, the good Deacon White sports a lip fur salaried not only to catch soups, but fast- and curve-balls as well:

Why of course Deacon played for the Forest Citys, Bisons, and Alleghenys. What else would you expect?

I’m never one to enjoy others laughing behind my back, so when troublemaker Dayn Perry put forth a spurious Pauly Shore quote recently, I determined to find the actual source of the quote. Why? Well, when Carson Cistulli found out I didn’t know Vin Scully’s name, he mocked me publicly for weeks and garnished my wages.

I figured the quote was not indeed that of Pauly Shore, but it seemed old-timey enough to be real and possibly important, so I — as every good investigator does in Step 1 — opened a Google and searched:

“I once thought this game of base ball to be something paltry — a trifling, a merest emanation. Yet, lo, across my years I have learned that the end of the base-ball season is as redolent of death, of foreordained annihilation, as the vicar’s withered corpse.”

Which led me to happen upon this:

It doesn’t take a word wizard to see I had stumbled onto something both very poetic and very frightening.

Obviously I didn’t click on the page — my computer has enough angry, Russian viruses as it is — but I think we can all agree I had seen enough. Slicing in a few words and non-sequiters here and there, and BOOM! we’ve a James Joyce poem:

e-at-- --gry
… ball field ball game
         ball of fire
                  ball over

ball up ball valve ball-park
         where daddy took me tuesdays
… base base 64 base metal base-court
         baseball baseball bat baseball player
                  sign the ball! sign the ball!

…… dead dead beat
         dead code dead end
                  dead ground dead hand
dead head dead horse ……
daddy’s gone, season’s gone
…… dead dead beat
         dead code dead end

year leaped
         leaper leapfrog
lost time with the goldmine
                  leaping leapt lear learn learnable
learned …

daddy never left
         he was here at the
… ball field ball game
         ball of fire
                  bawl over

NOTE TO THE READER: My father is fine and well and is neither dead nor haunting a ballpark.

When we think of Washington Nationals prospect Bryce Harper, we usually think of this mug:

Well, prepare to have that little world rocked like an infant in a cradle built out of a pure dose of Alice Cooper’s aura. Behold:

Not only is this 19-year-old outfielder sporting some early-career facial hairz, but he his also being penciled in by some as the starting center-fielder for the Washington Nationals. That’s a lot of awesome for a fella two years younger than the drinking age.

Oh.

And he might be Zorro. Just — please — don’t tell Sgt. Gonzales…

I am wagering you, dear reader, just read the above caption in Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice.

Do not worry, such is only normal when face-to-monitor-to-face with Arnold’s acting majesty. From his treasure trove of a film archive, most critics agree that A. Schwarzenegger’s best on-screen performance was as the baby-toting lead in Junior, but his second-best feat of ACTING was no doubt his risky portrayal of Mr. Freeze in one of the batman movies oh who really gives a crap.

Well, little-beknownst to, y’know, everyone, Mr. Freeze is in fact the real-life father of base-baller David Freese, who’s unimaginable Game 6 heroics in the 2011 World Series not only amazed a nation (America) and sickened a sub-nation (Texas), but also no-doubt earned the highest marks from his fictional real-life father.

Now, the government removed the cameras I had stowed in Mr. Freeze’s home office, or something, so we are left to our imagination-bones to try to figure out what his immediate reaction was / would have been ’twere he not one of the worst fake super-villains of all time.

Feel free to add your own suggestions in the comments.

A multitude of thanks to Brian S for the idea, the image, and one of the poll questions. Consider me merely a conduit of his genius.