It goes without saying that the lifeblood of any capitalist enterprise is the ability of said enterprise’s brain trust to market their product effectively and creatively. This is known in some circles as “finding synergy” and in others as “relentless douchebaggery.” Whatever you call it, FanGraphs is all in!

It’s with this in mind that Dark Overlord David Appelman has revealed to me just this morning a cross-promotional project that’s sure to raise the profile of the FanGraphs brand.

“What’s the project?” you’re obviously asking, breath hella bated.

The answer: FanGraphs: The Movie.

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See that above? That’s a snapshot of a graphical box score available at Back to Baseball, which is a computer Web site that is fast becoming very beautiful to me. How beautiful? Cheryl Tiegs, make room at the front of the line!

The Revolution smiles upon this because you can see the play-by-play of any game going back to 1950. Once more, for maximum emphasis: You can see the play-by-play of any game going back to 1950. Now who among us can best let the burdens and obligations of adulthood wither on the vine while we toy around with this thing?

(Lingering embrace: BBTF)

In the spirit of Newt Gingrich in Front of Stock Photos, here’s umpire Joe West — in front of an imploding Kingdome.

Thanks to reader Matt D. for whited-out Joe West.

Fretful that zombie ants and their killer fungus overlords will soon make a delicious hash of us all? Distract yourselves with the latest in computer news! Here is said news in miniature …

Indeed, Prodigy users, Crash Bandicoot enthusiasts and other computer people will be pleased to know that the flinty innovators at Interpretation By Design, who have always been there for those with nowhere left to turn, have concocted a flow chart that tells you which MLB squad most deserves your rooting interests.

I answered the questions with so much integrity and uprightness that I feel like I should go out and buy a magistrate’s wig. My reward? I’m told I should be a Padres fan. There’s nothing wrong with the Padres, of course, but I am, by righteous birth and earned-in-the-streets inclination, a Cardinals partisan. At this point, I must assume that someone — that hellhound Dave Cameron, perhaps — has altered my factory settings.

And what of you, page viewers? What does the flowchart tell you? And if it differs from your innermost baseball longings, what will you tell the zombie ants when they order you to declare final loyalties before disemboweling you and feasting on your still-steaming viscera?

(Curtsy: NotGraphs reader Paul, who, reputation has it, is as good at push-ups as he is algebra and romance.)

Do you have a voice as sweet as honey-baked ham sans ham, which I imagine would be quite sweet? (Food metaphor! … Actually, food simile, but rules of usage, much like parents, just don’t understand.) If that describes you and your pipes, then the Chicago Cubs are leveling their Uncle Sam-like pointer finger in your direction. That means they quite possibly want you!

Yes, the Cubs have teamed with CareerBuilder.com, which is a computer Web site that helps you build your career, to find a a new public-address announcer. Some qualifications:

If I were Rick Reilly, at this point I would include yuks like … “Preference given to those who are also left-handed relievers. Ha!” Or: “Don’t worry about the whole ‘play-off games’ part. Ha!” Or: “His doctor told him to play 36 holes a day, so he went out and bought a harmonica. Ha!”

Instead, I’ll focus on the grim “periods of extreme weather” throwaway line and warn you that in Chicago we sometimes have … THUNDERSNOW!!!1!1!!!ONE!!1!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJt4nV6hM1Y

ARGH!

But seriously, the Cubs are looking for a new P.A. announcer, and by using the Careerbuilder.com interface you can —

Shit: THUNDERSNOW!!!1!1!!!ONE!!1!

Above you see Yankee both-hander Pat Venditte. Yes, Mr. Venditte is a switch-pitcher, which is beautiful and angelic on a number of levels. As someone whose left arm is barely prehensile — it’s more of a lobster claw that on a good day could maybe pen an untraceable ransom note — I am ceaselessly amazed by anyone who can do anything with both hands. But Mr. Venditte can get professional hitters out with both arms, and that, in purely objective terms, is the greatest accomplishment in the annals of human history.

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Did you know that Major League Baseball 2K10 is available for the PSP game console?

In case you did not, I’m here to help. What follows will be an exhaustive, penetrating review of this gaming product. It will be rich in tech-speak, measured and sober in its appraisals and free from any whiff of mixed motive. If there’s one thing on earth I take seriously, it’s my ability to provide expert guidance when it comes to gaming, gaming machines, and the gamers who game them. If games and gaming are your River Styx, then I am your Charon, and I propel and steer our ferry not with a mere boatman’s pole, but rather with something long and electronic and related to playing video games. Otherwise the metaphor wouldn’t work. Anyhow, without further throat-clearing, please enjoy this REVIEW among reviews.

First, the packaging. It’s sensible, adequate and even charming in its tethered exuberance — early adopters like us won’t be surprised that the modest bifold laminate sheathing evokes a Hockney painting glimpsed in the gauzy half-light of late morning —

Actually, no. Nope. Nope. Nope. No, I’m not going to review this product because I’ve never played it. I don’t play video games. Putting me at the switch of the contemporary video game would be much like watching a howler monkey trying to open a coconut.

No, all of this strained and affected video-game talk on my part has been nothing more than tidy baseball-y rationale to post this: some guy who batters, deep-fries and then tries to eat a PSP …

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E81j9M64Ssc&feature=player_embedded

And the people say: apropos of nothing!

You may recall yesterday that you read of Padre Cameron Maybin’s gastrointestinal pratfalls that came to him courtesy of Panda Express. You may also recall that Mr. Maybin took to The Twitter to express his disdain for Panda Express, and finally you may recall that it subsequently came to light that a prominent member of the Padres ownership hootenanny spends his downtime, presumably under cover of night, as CEO of Panda Express. From that point, the plot, much like a Chinese entree made with too much cornstarch, thickened.

The NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team undertook rigorous delving (i.e., I happened to run across what follows in my Google Reader) and, well, behold what Mr. Maybin now says on The Twitter:

Man just got back on the wagon panda express was great today, now I’m ready for action…. Best oriental cuisine around… Let’s go…!

That kind of cynical capitulation should lead you to a couple of assumptions: one, Mr. Maybin received a talking-to or at least a hard, knowing glance; and, two, he’s not yet eligible for salary arbitration.

In related news, I can’t say enough good things about Dave Cameron’s line of handcrafted origami hobbits! My shelf is overflowing!

You’ll recall that not long ago thinking-man’s powerlifter Leo Martin gave us a walking tour of Safeco Field’s latest culinary offerings. New to the menu was a delightful little pie known as the “Apizza.” Indeed, it looks like my kind of slice — thin crust, pleasingly blistered, and a sauce-to-imported-cheese ratio calibrated to please anyone who’s fond of Bach and cats. (Though I prefer Guided By Voices and dogs, please allow me to traffic in stereotypes in peace.)

But what about the others? What about those not cosseted away on the enlightened Coasts, those forgotten, teeming denizens of America’s Heart Attack Belt? Those who view a trip to the ballpark mostly as tidy rationale for a shootin’ match between their LDL and triglyceride levels? The Apizza, unlike brawling in churches, does not speak to them. Perhaps this will …

That, best friends, is a pizza topped with cheeseburgers, fries and McNuggets. So a little respect, please. If you’re interested in the evolution of this pizza, from this point forward known as “The Conway Twitty,” then please, please, please click here.

In the final photo, you’ll find that this pie is of course best served with Dr. Pepper, a tape measure, a throwing knife, a votive candle, what appears to be a 9mm semi-automatic, and barbecue sauce. I’m not sure what local ordinances will say about the constituents of such a “full-meal deal,” but everything’s a negotiation.

So, enterprising team owners who fear the turnstiles won’t click often enough during the upcoming season, know that The Conway Twitty is here for your measured consideration. If you put burgers, fries and chicken offal on it, they will come.

But they might not leave.

So this is an actual thing …

Hey, I thought it was a cool moment. Both guys handled themselves exceptionally well, and Galarraga in particular showed that a sense of equanimity is possible even in the throes of a screw-job, which is something of which I am wholly incapable. With that said, is this all it takes to sustain a narrative these days? I get that there are moments in time that, as book editors are wont to pretend, CHANGED EVERYTHING, but this happened roughly eight months ago. Have we really had time for sober reflection on anything beyond the epidermal layer of consequences? That is, how do we know that Joyce’s blown call CHANGED EVERYTHING?

And wouldn’t this make a better, I dunno, “Vanity Fair” article or something? How are you going to wring 250 pages out of this story? Sure, we’ll get the back-story on Galarraga and a portrait of the umpire as a young man, but what then? Pictures? Blank pages for note-taking? Clip-out flashcards so you can memorize details of their lives? Mazes? A choose-your-own-adventure chapter or three? A carved out space in which you can hide weed? If nothing else, they should change the title from Nobody’s Perfect: Two Men, One Call, and a Game for Baseball History to I Kicked the Sh*t Out of It: Two Men, One Call, and a Game for Baseball History. I’m surprised I even need to say this.

On the celluloid front, remember the story of the two Indian pitchers who signed with the Pirates after winning a reality show? The least shocking news ever is that their story is going to be a movie. Also unsurprising: The shlock merchants at Disney will be at the switch.

Normally, I don’t trust any Disney outputs that don’t come to me from the loving arms of Pixar. Partly, this is because I’ve never forgiven them for the sadistic lacerations I suffered from watching Old Yeller. (Seriously, you’ve never heard of rabies vaccinations, you rubes?) Mostly, though, it’s because you and I both know that Disney will one day kill us all. Combine Disney’s dubious sense of aesthetics with the central ingredients of bad cinema already present in this story, and the potential for groan-inducement is both boundless and without bound.

The one consolation is that Tom McCarthy will be writing the script, and McCarthy knows a little something about making good movies. Let’s just hope that the suits let McCarthy use the light, aware touch he showed in The Visitor, so we don’t end up with something like the provably awful “Outsourced” set on a baseball diamond.

Also: Actual. Baseball. Now. Please.