I went home to my mother’s house this past weekend to paint her kitchen; she’s gearing up for the yearly rummage sale. Amongst the possible rummage items were my Starting Lineup figurines, all of which were Brewers players from the 1988 and 1989 seasons. I used to have a Kirby Puckett figurine from 1989, but somewhere along the line he vanished: I might have traded him for some cards back in the day, or he might have been the victim of another rummage purge by my mother. At any rate, I salvaged these guys from the purge-in-process.

Your 1988 Milwaukee Brewers

As you can see, none of them are still in their packaging. I was only seven years old when I got these, and I was more interested in crudely recreating one of the copious Brewers losses that I watched on TV or at Milwaukee County Stadium than I was in “resale value” or whatever. First I would write inning-by-inning scripts of the games (because, you know, I already wanted to be a writer and stuff) and then I would act them out the best I could with the seven or eight figures that I had.

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The universe is not required to be in perfect harmony with human ambition.
-Carl Sagan

Last night, however, the universe was in perfect harmony with the ambitions of Matt Cain, who, arguably, is more than human.

—

To all those who emailed me about Carl Sagan in various MLB team hats: if I haven’t gotten you a jpeg yet, I will. Twenty teams were requested, so, you know. Also, make sure that when you leave a comment requesting said jpeg that you enter a valid email address in the comment apparatus.

Carl Sagan was awesome. He “simultaneously emphasiz[ed] the value and worthiness of the human race, and the relative insignificance of the Earth in comparison to the universe.” This complexity aligns him with the aesthetics of NotGraphs, where we both celebrate the wondrous oddities of a human-made game (see any number of Carson Cistulli’s posts), and yet are all too aware of our insignificance as individuals and as a race of beings (see any number of Dayn Perry’s posts).

Baseballs and planets: of the same stuff.
All-Stars literary made of star stuff.

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I didn’t really buy this, as it was an all-fan giveaway at Miller Park on Sunday for the Brewers-Padres game. Actually, I didn’t even get to go to the game because I had to work ten hours. But one of my bosses, who did not have to work ten hours, got to go to the game with one of my employing organization’s board members, who didn’t want his bobblehead, so said boss gave me the bobblehead, which was very nice of him.

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Yeah, it’s been a tough year so far. I’ve had my pee mishandled, rumors started about me having STDs, reputation tarnished.

What’s that? Oh, uh, I’ll have the tagliatelle and a double Johnny Walker, neat.
Black Label if you have it.

I can’t even get a second look from that blond over there. It’s lunch time! I’m Ryan Braun! I hit a homerun yesterday. It was pretty cool. So it’s like come on, ladies, you know what I mean, bartender? Hey, can I get another double Jay-Dubs to go?
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Last night, Brewers infielder Taylor Green hit his first major league homerun.

Green’s current Brewers teammate (and longtime minor league teammate) catcher Martin Maldonado — who also recently hit his first big league homer — was, maybe, very excited for Green:

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Today, when I woke up, I felt a heavy crust over my eyes. But the crust was not a physical crust; it was, as the French say, crasse-de-la-vie, that which accumulates on our minds as we move through life, unaware. I lie in bed for a long time with this so-called crust on my eyes. I feel it weigh my eyes to the back of my skull. I spread my fingers out over the sheets. There is no reason to wipe my eyes — there is nothing actually there. There is no reason.

“I look in the mirror and think, ‘What is this thing?'”

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Titanic 3D “is not currently playing in or near the location you have selected.” Now that that’s out of the way, you can return to what’s important: Baseball.

Carry on.

It’s happening. After a series of cannibalistic attacks in the past week or so, I think we can say two things for sure: the Mayans were right, and we have chosen the form of the Traveller — not a delicious-if-irritable Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, nor a giant slor, nor a large and moving torb. The apocalypse will be brought to us by zombies, folks.

In honor of this, the last MLB season ever to be played and watched by fully living human beings, I offer you these images from the future — i.e. the 2013 MLB season that will be played and watched entirely by zombies.

Zombie Greinke: barely more unnerving than actual Greinke.

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Hi! I’m Kent Tekulve! I’m being reborn! Right now! Out of the very fabric of NotGraphs!

I’ve been to the other side, and I have a lot of neat things to tell you. Like, baseball, over there, on the other side? Way different! You wouldn’t believe it! Like for instance, over there, on the other side? The bases are filled with things. They’re actually bags full of stuff! But that’s not the differentest thing about the bases even. What’s even differenter about the bases over there is that the stuff that they’re filled with, well, one never knows what they might be filled with! Like, you can be running and step on a base and POW! Landmine! There goes your leg! But sometimes they’re just filled with jelly and stuff, so they pop and you slip and then you and the infielder nearest to you just roll around laughing getting covered in jelly. For minutes! They stop the game just so you can laugh and roll around in jelly! Boy howdy, that’s something, over there, on the other side.

Look how happy I am! Look how happy I am to have never stepped on a landmine! I’ve had my share of jelly though. It actually even tastes okay. It’s also funny when the bases are filled with whoopee cushions. Let me tell you, as a pitcher, that sure takes the sting off giving up a homerun: here you just gave up a homerun but then the batter has to round the bases and cause four big old farts before he even gets to homeplate! I tell you, if I knew when the bases were going to be filled with whoopee cushions, I’d throw meatballs all day and pray they’d hit ’em out. I’d die of laughter! I’m Kent Tekulve! Look at me!

Wanna know another thing that takes the sting off a homerun when you give one up over there, on the other side? When they hit home runs? The balls vanish not into the bleachers full of fans, but into a interdimensional cesspool, where they (the balls!) end up in new universes where they lead new lives! One of them ended up back here and became the President of the United States! What a country!

The coolest thing about the interdimensional cesspool, though, is that all the balls have cameras built into them, so when they arrive in a new universe and begin their new lives, a reality television show automatically begins about them! You can follow the new lives of all your favorite homerun balls! MLB FanCave has nothing on the promotional tactics over there, on the other side, let me tell you. No, sirree!

Well, time is a little different over there, on the other side. It’s actually been four days since I started talking to you. I wish I had more time to tell you all the cool ways that baseball is different over there, but now it’s my turn in the rotation again. I hope the bases are filled with whoopee cushions today, or quicksand, or mayo. That’s always funny. Mayo! Gee whiz! Okay, gotta run.

Oh geez, I seem to be stuck here, in the very fabric of NotGraphs. Oh dear, haha…