Softball, generally thought as a game for drunkards and women, was hoisted up by a group of great men.

The final score of the game between Team Harlem Nights and Team Ghost Dad:

America -1
Fascism – 0

If you had the wherewithal and courage to keep a list of your life’s biggest regrets, you would have to find room in the upper margins to squeeze in “Not watching a softball game played by Red Foxx, Eddie Murphy, Sidney Poitier, Bill Cosby, and Richard Pryor.”

These giants stand poised and somewhat attentive as they prepare for battle on the condensed field. Mr. Tibbs will pitch, thank you very much.

Red has the most manager-like name, so he manages. Every clap of encouragement jiggles his dancing lady tattoo. Eddie Murphy wonders if he locked his Maserati.

The third baseman was literally on fire once.

And Ghost Dad himself, where should he play? Catcher? Too tall. His lack of power doesn’t play at first base. Ghost Dad shall haunt center field.

The game was won with a walk-off homer. Who hit it? It doesn’t matter.

Because it’s not whether you win or lose, it’s whether or not you played softball with Bill Cosby.

Photo credit goes to Buzzfeed.

After hitting a dinger, Melky Cabrera proceeded to proceed through the dugout, giving false high fives all around.

In honor of Melky’s grand promenade, I offer the dulcet tones of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s Procession of the Nobles.

Watch:

Noble, indeed.

Listen:

procession

(GIF originally found on Reddit)

The Dodgers 1970 scouting report of Dick Allen:

Dick Allen doesn’t need a country. Doesn’t need a position. His country is his steely gaze. His position is that you should go to hell with your judgments.

He’ll fill those holes in his bat when he God-damn feels like it. Dick Allen is tired of you reporting on his potential, too. Go to the next man, see if he cares. (Author’s note: Allen was traded to the Dodgers the year after this report was written.)

You don’t win Rookie of the Year and become an All-Star by pushing cars downhill, dickweed. Cars need to go up. Dick Allen is the man to make that happen.

(Report provided by the National Baseball Hall of Fame.)

When he wakes up…
Yea he knows he’s going to be, he’s going to be that man who makes that catch for you
When he goes out…
Yea he knows he’s going to look, he’s going to look damn sexy making that catch too

When he jumps up
Yea he knows he’s going to keep, he’s going to keep Martinez from going for two
And if you’re worried
Well you know that Robbie G, that Robbie G will have no problem pulling through

But he would run 500 miles
And he would run 500 more
Just to ram his face against the outfield fence to help preserve the score

ROBBIE GROSSMAN!
(ROBBIE GROSSMAN!)
ROBBIE GROSSMAN!
(ROBBIE GROSSMAN!)
ROBBIE GROSSMAN ROBBIE GROSSMAN LA LA LA!

ROBBIE GROSSMAN!
(ROBBIE GROSSMAN!)
ROBBIE GROSSMAN!
(ROBBIE GROSSMAN!)
ROBBIE GROSSMAN ROBBIE GROSSMAN LA LA LA!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Oh, sorry honey. I just the worst dream.

I was in the future, and the Marlins had just won the World Series.

I know. After everything they did. After all the teardowns we did of them, they still won. It was so … so scary.

Fernandez and Ozuna ended up signing long-term money-friendly deals early, and Stanton stayed put. They somehow built a team around a core of young players. Loria was trying so hard to screw it up, but he couldn’t. The Marlins won the World Series.

And nobody knew what to think of it. Like, we were happy for the players for winning in spite of their circumstances, but  on the other hand, Jeffrey Loria won. That was the worst part. Nobody really gave two shits about the Marlins, they were way more pissed that the bad guy won. It was like the end of Empire Strikes Back, but we were Luke, and enjoying baseball was our lightsaber hand.

I mean, from the Expos, to blowing up two World Series teams, to the ballpark fiasco, to the 2012 fire sale, to suing season ticket holders … AND THIS GUY WINS?! IS THERE NO JUSTICE?!

And they had this big parade and everything. It was the worst. All these people in brand new Marlins hats lined the streets. People kept yelling “I LOVE YOU MIKE STANTON!”

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Elimination number: 128

Boiled down to the bones of it, it’s just you and the game. You try to exert your will, but you ultimately bend to its own. You are at the mercy of the game.  The Gods and the numbers have conspired against you. Your fate has been written.

Not many things are on your side. Your opponents aren’t on your side. The writers  are not particularly on your side. Recently, history has not been on your side. There are still some fans and some interested parties with a rooting interest in your achievements, but — now more than ever — you are alone in your journey.

Save for chance. Chance will always be your companion. Chance will not always be welcome, mind you. He will be fickle. Ground balls will grow eyes. Wind patterns will change. Umpires will miss calls. Chance will seem like your enemy.

But it is not always a parasite — a leach. Sometimes it will buy rounds all night. Chance knows that if it only took, and never gave, it would cease being itself. It would be something else. Damnation, perhaps.

Others seem to be in better graces with it. For some, it lays nothing but golden eggs. For you, it is as inefficient as a 100-year-old house.

But it still gives. It has too. It gave last night, for what it could. Chance doesn’t always come to aid at your greatest time of need, but it still comes.

Chance knows there is no Goliath without a David.

I’ve been pretty heavy-handed with this theme recently, and this post wasn’t necessarily planned. However, as Dave Cameron pointed out, the baseball GIF game has changed, and therefor this specific one needs to be addressed.

Otto Respighi wrote Pines of Rome as the second installment of his Roman trilogy. The final movement, Pines of the Appian Way (edited here a little, for time), is meant to depict Italian soldiers marching up the historic Via Appia through the break of morning.

Imagine, if you will, that Yu Darvish’s pitches are not unlike the Italian soldiers, and the fabled road is not unlike the hitters’ swing plane. The pitches, like the soldiers, march through it valiantly — with grandeur. And in either case, the end is spectacular.

Watch:
(Author’s note: The present author has gained maximum enjoyment by waiting until the GIF is fully loaded, then starting the tune right as the pitches are leaving Darvish’s hand.)

Listen:
(Author’s note: This is best heard through a good pair of speakers/headphones, and, in any case, as loud as physically tolerable.)

pines

If you don’t follow Carson Cistulli on Twitter:
1. Good call.
2. You may not have seen that the current author has single-handedly legitimized NotGraphs.

As it happens, I have video evidence of actual Major League Baseball player Rajai Davis reading a post that your’s truly made for the very site you are viewing at this moment. No more will NotGraphs be known as a holding cell for mediocrity and Internet grab-ass. We are done simply being an oasis for underpaid semi-professionals and rudderless ne’er-do-wells. No more will Jeff Sullivan refer to us as “motherless mama’s boys.” We are NotGraphs. We have purpose. We are the world of the World Wide Web.

Thank yous go to the MLB Fan Cave for apparently making this happen, Mr. Davis for making my day, and most importantly to me for making NotGraphs a thing people cared about for even a minute.

God bless you all, and God bless David G Temple.

A few days ago, Nationals prospect Anthony Rendon made news when he got called up to replace an ailing Ryan Zimmerman. More recently, the Tigers decided to recall reliever Bruce Rondon to the majors. This may lead to some confusion. Don’t be a boob at your next dinner party, you need to know the difference between these two prospects. Consider the following quiz a service to you, fair NotGraphs reader.

It’s time to play the game sensation that’s sweeping the nation.

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It’s been quite some time since the present author went looking for people looking for love in baseballing places in his groundbreaking first post for NotGraphs.

Now that the new season is upon us, however, we must again turn to the Missed Connections section of Craigslist dot org to find would-be lovers searching for a modicum of affection amongst the filthy masses known as baseball fans. Observe:

Our first entry does not inspire much hope. I can’t speak from experience, but I imagine drunk people with cameras are not too hard to come by at Tigers games. You should have said more then, sir, and you should have said more now. You will never find your one true love with such scant details. However, if you have her picture, a reverse Google image search might help.

First off, and I speak from experience, most girls do not like to be described as “thick.” Though, props to you for crossing the eye line of this lady while performing what had to truly be some manly “messing around going over a poll.” Nothing is a bigger panty-dropper than a dude acting like a dipshit.

Moving on…

Poor Sam. He met the woman of his dreams, and he can’t even remember her name. However, depending on his definition of “cornhole,” she will most likely have a very vivid recollection of him.

This post is totally Milwaukee — directions based on street corners, beer, Brewers, and do-it-yourself car repair. Godspeed, 37-year-old male.

If you think, fair reader, that I will name any of my future fantasy baseball teams anything but The Kennesaw Mountain Cuties, then you are the dumbest fucking person alive.

This has been Looking for Love in Baseballing Places.