If I learned anything over the offseason, it’s that ESPN’s Enrique Rojas has got Latin America covered. And I mean covered. If there’s baseball news coming out of the region, Rojas is bringing it to you.

He’s a must follow on Twitter. Even if, like me, you are the furthest from fluent in Spanish, but enjoy reading words like “beisbol” and “Cardeneles.” And then saying them over and over in your head, in your finest Spanish accent.

Seriously, though. Rojas. The man owns Latin America. Edgar Renteria disrespected by the San Francisco Giants? Rojas let us know. Octavio Dotel to the Toronto Blue Jays? Rojas dropped that bomb. Vladimir Guerrero to Baltimore, and Jose Bautista’s long-term, arbitration-avoiding deal in Toronto? Boom, Rojased.

Heard this: Enrique Rojas knows how old Jose Contreras really is.

Thanks to the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team, a unit I’ve developed quite a fine rapport with since I joined the NotGraphs team about three months ago, I’ve learned of some of Rojas’ previous scoops, in years gone by:

In 1961, Cuban intelligence knew the Bay of Pigs Invasion was coming. It was an Enrique Rojas tweet that alerted them to it.

In October 1962, it was Rojas who let the world know of three-way talks between the United States, the Soviet Union, and Cuba; the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Years later, in 1993, Rojas tipped Colombian authorities to the whereabouts of Pablo Escobar, the world’s greatest drug lord, whose Medellin cartel fashioned itself “the New York Yankees of the cocaine world.”

In 1994, Enrique Rojas — still bringing the top-notch reportage, showing no signs of slowing down — broke word of another significant three-way deal: NAFTA.

Impressed? You should be. Now give it up for Mr. Rojas. We likely wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.

Image courtesy Christopher Hall.

So that these guys never, ever make hip-hop music, if I can call it that, again.

Please note: some of the language is a touch NSFW.

Go Bears. And: You’re welcome I’m sorry.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G6-ks_UP988

For the sake of that little guy, I hope Michael Young is a member of the Texas Rangers forever.

One day, that young fella’s going to be a blogger. And he’s going to find that video. And he’s going to march upstairs and ask his mother, “Why?”

H/T: Old Time Family Baseball. I’m not sure what I’d do without you.

Were there an award for longest NotGraphs post title, I’d have just won it. And were I to give a speech celebrating the acceptance of said fictional award, I’d only thank Ken Griffey Jr., and the fine folks at Nintendo. Because it doesn’t get much more creative than Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball.

By now, I trust you have mastered R.B.I. Baseball 3. It’s time to move on to bigger, brighter and better ways to slaughter your productivity. I present — actually, Ken Griffey Jr. presents: Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball.

Be warned: the website’s a train wreck. And you’re going to have to download something called a Vizzed RGR Plugin to play the game. While I have no idea what the hell a Vizzed RGR Plugin is, because I trust anything and everything I find on the Internet, I downloaded it. I did it for you, yo. And I’m proud to report my laptop is alive and well.

Now, as you’ll soon find out, there are a number of things that make Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball, for Super Nintendo, one of the greatest games of all time.

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On Friday night, Down Under, in the future, David Welch of the Sydney Blue Sox pitched the game of his life: A playoff no-hitter of the Adelaide Bite. It was the reincarnated Australian Baseball League’s first no-no, and Welch, a Sydney native himself, did it in front of his hometown fans. All 1,162 of them.

Welch struck out 10 and walked three. He was, as the kids say, “in the zone.” And, believe it or not, it was the third no-hitter Welch, 27-years-old, has been a part of. He combined with another Aussie, Simon Beresford, and two other pitchers, on a no-hitter for the Helena Brewers back in 2005, and in June, 2007, Welch threw a seven-inning no-hitter for the Huntsville Stars.

That’s a lot of no-hitters, yo.

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Are you a gentleman? Because I’m a gentleman. A serial door holder. You could be 15 paces away, I’ll wait. There’s more: I’m known to carry groceries for old men and women in my neighborhood. Alright, I’m not really known for that, but if a tribal elder asked me to carry his or her grocery bags, I certainly would.

I do say “thank you” a lot. Probably too much. When I hand over loonies and/or a toonie for coffee at the drive-through every morning, I say “thanks.” It’s out of my control, really; I’m Canadian. Bottom line: I live with chivalry.

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Here at NotGraphs, I like to think we’re in the business of educating. (Like most educators, we’re also paid very, very handsomely.) We’re here to educate on some of the less nerdy wonders of baseball, the game we all hold closest to our bosom. To educate on, sometimes, certain wonders found on the internet that are tied to baseball in only the loosest of ways.

Like what you’re about to watch. (See what I did there?)

Below is the transcript of a recent instant message conversation I had with a good friend of mine, who I’ll call NotKien …

NotKien:

Bro. Go to YouTube. Search “Teach me how to Dougie Chris Brown.” Watch the video. Tell me what you see.

I, of course, obliged.

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Last week, in these very electronic pages, in a post entitled Declarations of Loyalties and Disloyalties, the legendary Dayn Perry, among other questions, asked:

In your dreams, what position do you play?

Center field, yo. There’s no doubt.

Growing up, I was a portly young lad. As much as I wanted to play second base, and emulate my idol Roberto Alomar, I didn’t have the speed, or the range. And probably not the arm. I wouldn’t know; I never got to the ball. In the brief time I spent wheezing around the middle infield, my UZR was Jeter-esque. It wasn’t long before I found myself behind the plate and, finally, at first base.

Years later, having shed the excess poundage, I’m a beer league center fielder. I’m the captain of the outfield. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Is there a better view? The catcher’s, maybe. But that’s hell on your knees.

I live for the chase. That moment the baseball meets the bat; when the ball is launched into the air, and the center fielder is pressed into duty. There’s nothing quite like getting the perfect read on the ball, and making a catch in stride, at full speed. There’s nothing quite like making that split-second decision to dive, to get your uniform duty, and nothing quite like sliding on fresh grass, the baseball in your glove, another out made.

Watch, from the corner of your eye, a baserunner head back to third base on a fly ball to center field, readying to tag up. Beg him to test your arm. Make the perfect throw.

Climb a fence and bring back a baseball destined to leave the yard. Meet, in mid-air, for one fleeting moment, the Baseball Gods. It’s the height of defensive baseball consciousness.

Center field. It’s where I want to be, and want to remain. There’s no better position.

Image, of undoubtedly a future center fielder, courtesy Erica McDonald.

Watch, friends, and learn. And wonder, as I do, what’s in store for Vernon Wells when he returns to Toronto …

He’s good. Persistent, yet polite. He even asked Mora, “Do you prefer Melvin?” That’s how we roll up in Canada.

The props certainly help, too. A picture of Eva Longoria for Evan Longoria to sign? Our heckler, one Marc Richler, is certainly cultured. A harmonica? Only the terrorists hate music. And while not a prop, Mr. Richler’s got the voice. The “I know you hear me!” taunt, while not groundbreaking by any means, is a personal favourite; simple yet always effective. Extra points, as well, to Richler for getting those seated near him involved.

An excellent performance, all around. Nine NotGraphs out of 10.

File what you’re about to witness under Dayn Perry’s How to Improve Baseball.

Note the batter’s fine acting job after getting hit by an off-speed pitch, the double-360, and his eagerness in getting to the mound. Impeccable form, even though he went down in defeat.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m quite certain I’d find chicken fighting much more entertaining than the mostly underwhelming basebrawls we witness every summer. At the very least, it would guarantee everyone’s involvement in the proceedings. There’s nothing I hate more than watching the relief core’s walk of shame back to the bullpen after only words, and not punches, are exchanged.

And know this: Gandhi — whom the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team has learned was quite the baseball fan back in his day, Babe Ruth his favourite player, believe it or not — would have wanted it this way.

Hat tips: To Royals Review, and our baseball-loving cousins in the Far East.