As you may have noticed, Arizona’s license plates read, “Arizona: Home to Sadness.” This is objectively true, of course, but last night Arizona’s Major League Baseball Franchise, which is represented by poisonous snakes, provided the state’s beleaguered denizens with a board-certified base-and-ball miracle.

Prior to last night, a Law of the Universe, theretofore believed to be immutable, was that if the home team surrenders five runs in top of the 10th, then a loss is a fait accompli. Those plucky Snakes, however, declared that if coming back from five down in extra innings is a crime — much like loving you — then lock them up and place the key somewhere safely out of the prisoner’s reach. Yes, thanks mostly to a Ryan Roberts amble-off grand slam, Arizona, metaphorically, murdered the Dodgers with a sharpened cargo hook.

And that brings us to the most stirring image of any such game: the WPA chart. Behold:

In certain circles, such a rarely spotted WPA chart is known as “The Leftward-Facing Raygun,” but the learned discerner may also note a stirring resemblance to the Objective Pipe. Regardless of how this Rorschach strikes you, though, you should know that the Arizona Diamondbacks are here for those with nowhere left to turn.

(A hearty please and thank you to Hannah’s Tweet repository)

While in the minors, Mike Moustakas and Eric Hosmer had heard rumors of the exploits of the last great Royals prospect, Alex Gordon. They figured they needed to find a way to honor him. With the help of Edna Mode, they finally reveled their inspired costumes to Gordon. He was without words.

Or the outfits could have had an entirely different meaning.

And there’s not much more to say, is there? These Ports of Stockton, they are good at celebrating.

Until last night, a confluence of circumstances known for centuries as “The Gentleman’s Whoops-A-Daisy” was presumed to have been lost to history. Here, for instance, is proof of its diminishing cultural footprint.

Time was when a man of high breeding would often swing for the downs against a tailing pitch and somehow konk it off his own top story for the amusement of all those assembled in the parlor, particularly chaste maidens who seemed likely to birth sons. But, for reasons sufficient unto those scoundrels who oppose things like monarchies and legacy admissions, The Gentleman’s Whoops-A-Daisy has fallen out of fashion. That is, until Mr. Eric Thames of Toronto, Ontario, U.S.A. revived it last night. Bear humble witness:

Thankfully, Mr. Thames was not seriously injured by his curator’s efforts. And solely because of Mr. Thames’s toil, no one in the world will ever die again.

As you may have noticed, here at NotGraphs we occasionally rely upon the kindness of readers to lead us by the clammy hand to content worthy of our revered imprimatur. Usually, this entails sending us a link or even vague hints at search terms. As you are about to learn, however, this writer is not averse to wholesale plundering of the reader’s innermost thoughts.

Cherished reader Reillocity, who maintains a philosophic calm despite his triumphs in Muay Thai, regaled us in the Busy Businessman thread with tales and examples of a thing that does things to things (URGENT UPDATE: Noble reader glassSheets also played an extra-vital role in doing my work for me). It is my belief that the Internetting Gentleman will appreciate what happens next …

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Normally, I am one to mock without ceasing those who would soliloquize on the Mobile Cellular Telephone during a delightful game of base and ball. However, it is good for the temperament — and helps prevent typhus and pleurisy — if the Businessman occasionally becomes the Leisured Businessman. And that, unfortunately, entails using the portable horn.

Of course, if the Businessman can conduct Business while still keeping his wits about him, then miracles follow …

You’re damn right he made the sale.

Just your typical Triple-A lifer.

If only Fernando Perez was a better ball player. Then again, if he was, it might be unfair to the rest of the men in the world. He’s — forgive the fawning — an excellent renaissance man even without good baseball results at the time being.

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Jeff Francoeur throws out Michael Taylor at first base from right field.

Your second major league hit was denied by getting thrown out by the right fielder. Yea… that sucks. I bet he remembers that one for a while. At least it wasn’t going to be his first major league hit.

There is a small, good, round miracle to be found in the moving video images that follow. The miracle is not that Derek Lowe has finally hit his first major-league home run. No, the miracle is that the ball that Mr. Lowe smote for his first major-league home run, through a series of adventures and fortuities, managed to beat Mr. Lowe back to the dugout.

Once more, for the deserved emphasis: Derek Lowe hit a ball for a home run, and the ball made it back to the dugout before he did. While I am very much a liar, in this instance I do not lie:

I care not to plumb the relevant databases, but I attest that this has never happened before. On this, I would bet the lives of millions of strangers.

When is a foul ball something more than a foul ball? When it’s off the thunderstick of “America Brawn” Mike Laga, and it is propelled, with certainty but not vengeance, out of Busch Stadium and into the undeserving firmament.

The Mike Laga Foul Ball from JoeSportsFan.com on Vimeo.

When this happens, you stand, applaud, weep, tremble, genuflect, sign over your first born, and hope that King Laga I shows mercy upon you.

(Laga Love: Joe Sports Fan)