I came across an article in The New York Times yesterday, by the esteemed Tyler Kepner, about 35-year-old Chicago White Sox slugger Paul Konerko. In it, I learned that Konerko doesn’t subscribe to the “See the ball, hit the ball” mantra so many baseball players have found salvation in. Konerko, as the article points out, is more of an intellectual; a thinking man. And it was Konerko’s final quote in the piece, discussing his future as a potential hitting coach, that in turn got me thinking.

Never say never. But I’m thinking the game might only get one crack at me.

As someone who’s only ever been a recreational athlete, and having watched baseball my entire life wondering what it might be like to play the game at the elite MLB level, I was a bit taken aback by the quote. Baseball might only get one crack at Paul Konerko. Not the other way around — i.e., Paul Konerko might not get a second crack at the game.

I have to admit, I never thought of it that way. I always figured someone who plays baseball for a living — someone like Konerko, who’s made millions upon millions of dollars while doing it, and doing it well — was taking a crack at baseball.

But perhaps Konerko’s right. Baseball, after all, is a game of failure. It beats men down. And as I grow older, and I hope a very little bit wiser, I realize more and more that it’s that very aspect of baseball — failure, and overcoming it — that I love most about the game.

Paul Konerko, like so many others, chose to try and make a living playing baseball. It’s a tough road, with no guarantees. So many don’t make it. Konerko did. Baseball took its best shot, a fastball, at Konerko; it’s “crack.” Konerko recognized what was on the way, squared up, and slammed it down the left field line for a stand-up double.

Image via Curved White.

Last week, I gave you those baseball players that make up the latter half of my top 10 most favorite baseball players in the whole wide world. If you missed it, and would like to read my most scientific of scientific reasoning, here’s the post. However, since then, I’ve had to make one change to those very rankings. Here they are, in short order:

10. Melky Cabrera and Coco Crisp. It’s a tie. Actually, to be more specific, Melky Cabrera and Coco Crisp’s afro.
9. Kirk Rueter
8. Paul O’Neill
7. Tony Fernandez
6. Mark McGwire

Without further ado, I present my top five:

5. J.T. Snow

The more I thought about this most fruitful exercise, the more I thought about J.T. Snow. And I’ve come to the realization that, deep down, I’ve always had an affinity for slick-fielding first basemen. And that love affair began with J.T. Snow. The scoop at first, it’s an art. And Snow was an artist. He wasn’t the greatest hitter, and, even though he spent the majority of his career in the National League, I always kept a watchful eye on Jack Thomas’ career. And, hey, on top of winning six straight Gold Gloves, Snow saved young Darren Baker’s life. That counts. (On an aside, I’ll never forget Dusty Baker’s reaction in the dugout after the incident. Baker knew, as we all did, that when he got home that night, he was a dead man.) In the end, two years after his retirement, Snow’s career ended the way so many players’ don’t: He signed a one-day contract with San Francisco, and left the game once and for all a Giant.

4. Ken Griffey Jr.

“The Kid.” That swing. Along with John Olerud’s, the sweetest swing I’ve ever seen. It’s rare for a player so highly touted — a first overall draft pick — to not only meet, but exceed lofty expectations. Ken Griffey Jr. did, and more. He played with his father, he played with swagger, and he played center field the way I did in my dreams. Junior was the reason I wished I didn’t bat right-handed. Junior was the reason I tried, at the very least, to switch hit.

Last summer, I was in Seattle to watch the Mariners only a few of days after Junior announced his sudden retirement. I spoke to a man outside Safeco Field, who left a written message on a photo of Griffey Jr. that adorned the ballpark’s wall. (I did, too.) The man, this baseball stranger who I’d never met before and will never meet again, was super emotional as we spoke, after I asked him to describe what Griffey Jr. meant to him. “[Ken Griffey Jr.] built this ballpark, man” he said, fighting back tears. “He saved baseball in Seattle.” It was raw emotion. “I wanted one more chance to see him,” he said. We all did.

Junior did it all, from playing with his father, to playing at home in Cincinnati, to returning to Seattle, where it all began. Full circle. If healthy, there’s no doubt he goes down as one of the best ever. Growing up, it didn’t matter where you were from or who you rooted for. You wanted to be like “The Kid.”

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With Cody Ross set to return to the San Francisco Giants lineup tonight, it’s a toss up between Giants fans and Aubrey Huff as to who’s more excited.

Upon learning that Ross was ready to make his debut, the San Francisco Chronicle reports that Huff texted Ross the following:

Thank God you’re back. I can go back to first base.

After Huff’s adventures in the outfield, I think that’s something we can all get behind. At the same time, what about Brandon Belt, Aubrey? It’s Belt’s birthday, for crying out loud! And what about my Belt-owned fantasy team, Aubrey? So selfish.

In all honesty, I find Ross’s return mostly meaningful because it finally gives me the opportunity to post the photo above, a play on rapper Rick Ross’ “Rise to Power” album cover. A pretty damn good play, too, if I must say so myself, courtesy of the folks at The City Graphics.

Ross’ rise to power in last year’s postseason was something else. From zero to hero. It’s one thing to homer off robot Roy Halladay. But to do it twice, in the NLCS? My word. And that beard. What a beard. I had the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team confirm my suspicions: Even the beard is Boss.

In San Francisco, Ross is Boss. Actually, Ross remains Boss. And the Boss is back.

ADDENDUM: Brandon Belt’s been sent down. Blame the Boss, if you must. I blame Aubrey.

It was only a matter of time before this happened, really:

Dynamite, indeed.

H/T: SportingNews.

For only the 68th time in his illustrious career, and only the ninth time since 2008, Mariano Rivera, 41, blew a save.

Alex Rodriguez, like the rest of the baseball world, can’t believe it. A-Rod’s nothing short of flummoxed.

Getty Image, yo, via daylife.

As if you or I needed another reason to love Canadian women.

It’s the glitter, the extra effort, that really makes the signs, and the proposal. (Click on the image to embiggen.) Make no mistake about it: Those ladies are gritty. Forget that get down on one knee, emotional stuff. Stand up and yell. Loud and proud.

And I’ve got to give it up to the gal on the left. On her feet, Mike’s Hard Lemonade in her left hand, sign in her right. She knows, like I do, that there’s never a good time to put down your drink. As for wanting to be Jose Bautista’s HR Queen, get in line.

Well done, ladies.

And if you — denizens of NotGraphs — need me, I’ll be out back singing O Canada, eh.

That would be a Getty Image, via the always reliable folks at daylife.

Presented without comment. Well, other than: Coco Crisp’s new hairdo is better than yours.

That’s how it’s done, folks. An afro, and earmuffs.

Here’s another one:

That thing’s glorious.

There isn’t much else to say but: Thank you, Coco Crisp. I’m nothing short of inspired.

More thank yous: To The Associated Press and Yahoo! Sports for the images, and to my brother from another mother @25th_Hour for sending the afro my way.

It’s not just any baseball glove chair, either. “Joe,” according to Chicago’s Museum of Contemporary Art store, is:

… a full-scale leather chair inspired by the baseball glove of New York Yankees legend Joe DiMaggio.

You know, I’m not sure I ever really thought about it until this very moment, but Joe DiMaggio is a fantastic name. Joe DiMaggio. Perhaps the perfect baseball name. And now, while I’m thinking about DiMaggio, I can’t help but picture Jerry Seinfeld sitting at the coffee shop, saying, slowly, in awe, “The Yankee Clipper.” Helluva nickname, too. DiMaggio had it all.

But, the chair. The beautiful chair. More from the MCA Store:

Leather and foam, with the designers’ signatures etched into the heel of the baseball glove. 5.5″ tall x 10.5″ wide x 6″ deep. Made in Poland and packaged in a wooden Vitra Design Museum box.

For some reason, I’m intrigued by the fact that it’s made in Poland. I’m also a touch intrigued by the “Vitra Design Museum box” it comes in.

At $415, which is about $300 Canadian these days, thanks to the high-flying loonie (or is it the beleaguered greenback?), I find myself seriously consider purchasing “Joe.” Because baseball may never meet contemporary Italian design again.

Daps, as the kids say, to MightyFlynn, whose Tumblr blog brings wonderful things like “Joe” into my life.

You’re in for another treat, as the day of lists and bullet points at NotGraphs continues. You’re welcome I’m so sorry.

Last week, “in these very electronic pages,” as the ever eloquent Chairman Cistulli likes to say, I mentioned that upon watching Melky Cabrera high-five Joe West, and then pick something off his bat and eat it, I had to make some changes to My Most Favorite Baseball Players in the Whole Wide World list. Well, what kind of writer basement-dwelling blogger would I be if I didn’t share said list with you?

Now, please keep in mind, I grew up, and remain, an ardent supporter of Toronto’s Blue Jays. I was a freshly minted 10-years-old when the World Series trophy began its two-year northern vacation in 1992. In celebrating Toronto’s back-to-back championships, I was so hopped up on sugar I might as well have lined up and snorted the stuff.

Part I, players 10 through six on the list, is below, and not as Blue Jays centric as Part II will inevitably be. Shall we? We shall.

10. Melky Cabrera

He high-fived Joe West. He picked something off his bat and ate it. You’re damned right that was enough, at this moment in time in the universe, to crack my top 10 list.

9. Kirk Rueter

I was enthralled by Rueter’s 1993 debut with the Montreal Expos, Toronto’s baseball cousins, whom I always kept a close eye on. Rueter didn’t allow an earned run in his first two career starts, and finished his dream rookie season 8-0. Back then, pitcher wins weren’t everything. They were the only thing. Though he spent the majority of his career in San Francisco, Rueter, the furthest from a power pitcher, was the reason I rocked, for a short period of time, a blue Expos hat.

8. Paul O’Neill

It’s funny, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always despised the New York Yankees. It’s in my contract as a fan of another team in the AL East. But I could never find it in me to hate Paul O’Neill. He played the game — wait for it — the right way. At least that’s what it always looked like. In the late 90s, O’Neill was the consummate Yankee; America at its finest. And watching him play game four of the 1999 World Series hours after his father died was about as emotional as baseball has ever been for me. There’s a reason no Yankee wears #21. And, let’s be honest, the brilliant Seinfeld cameo helped. O’Neill hit two home runs for little Bobby!

7. Tony Fernandez

It was always the way Tony Fernandez threw the ball, from short to first, the side-armed flick, that endeared him to me, and so many others. He could field like nobody else. So smooth. Even the way he held his bat was different. An influential part of the up-and-coming Blue Jays of the late 80s, even in departure, traded to San Diego with Fred McGriff for Roberto Alomar and Joe Carter, Fernandez left his mark; the trade was the most crucial the Blue Jays have ever made. And Fernandez, for his part, always thought of himself as a Blue Jay. You could tell. It’s what made his return to Toronto in 1993 so special, as the Jays set out to repeat. In 48 games with the New York Mets to begin the season, Fernandez’s wOBA was a disappointing .293. After being reacquired by the Blue Jays, Fernandez, home again, hit .306 the rest of the way, with a .354 wOBA. Home, as they say, is where the heart is, yo. After winning the 1993 World Series, Tony was off on his way again, with stops in Cincinnati, New York, and Cleveland. Until he came home, to Toronto, again, for the 1998 and 1999 seasons. As much as Fernandez couldn’t get enough of Toronto, we couldn’t get enough of him. I’ll never forget June 1999, when, three months into the season, Fernandez flirted with .400. After a season in Japan, and a quick tour of Milwaukee in early 2001, Fernandez came back to Toronto again, a third time. It was only fitting. Fernandez had to retire a Blue Jay. Thanks for the memories, Tony.

6. Mark McGwire

The first non-Blue Jays jersey I ever purchased was a red, St. Louis Cardinals Mark McGwire one. It was the summer of 1998, when McGwire and Sammy Sosa were Chasing Maris. Like so many people, the home run brought me back to baseball, too. I ain’t mad at you, Mark.

This exercise, and the agonizing decisions that came with it, was a lot more difficult than I originally imagined. Who makes up the latter half of your top 10? Tell me in the comments below. Please? (I have to, I’m Canadian.)

And stay tuned for Part II, dropping in the coming days. And, one more thing: Follow me on Twitter. Why, you ask? I say: Why not?

Image courtesy LIFE, via — who else? — Google.

This one comes courtesy of NotGraphs reader — and quite possibly New York Mets relief pitcher extraordinaire — Francisco Rodriguez.

When there’s an ejection in baseball, I like to think Joe West knows about it. It’s innate. The Great Ejector closes his eyes and, boom, he’s there, tossing whoever needs to be tossed.

Sunday afternoon on the South Side of Chicago, when Joe Maddon ejected the entire umpiring crew, Joe West was there, figuratively speaking.

Because an ejecting party without Joe West is hardly an ejecting party at all.

Thank you kindly, Francisco Rodriguez. Keep up the great work in New York, if you actually are K-Rod.