There are a number of mysteries in this life. Like what scabies are, for one. And if they’re just a combination of scabs and rabies, for another one.

Something that was never a mystery — to Kansas City first baseman Willie Aikens, at least — was whether his fly ball against Philadelphia’s Dickie Noles in Game Five of the 1980 World Series would be a home run.

“This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I live before his time,” Aikens seems to say while laying down his bat — if not necessarily in those same words or meter or even language.

This weekend I found myself, in succession:

1. In a depressing, rundown coin shop with sunbleached boxes of forgotten baseball cards, each coated with layers of increasingly-marked down price-tags

2. Purchasing a box of 1989 Sportflics baseball cards for six dollars

3. Opening packs of Sportflics baseball cards in my living room and seeing, in their shiny plastic coating, a reflection of myself.

For those unaware, Sportflics were an engineering marvel, a golden age of ballooning among the baseball card culture. For the low, low price of 79 cents, nearly double what a pack cost in those days, a kid could rip open a pack to find three whole whopping cards. But these were no ordinary cards. These were cards instilled with Magic Motion: a ridged plastic coating that caused the image of the card to move when you tilted it, theoretically. In reality it just made the picture hard to see most of the time.

Maybe I’m a Sportflic, I thought, ridden with angst, as I pulled a Gregg Jefferies out of a foil wrapper. Here I am still trying to convey thoughts and feelings with words, while the rest of the world is leaving me behind. No one has time to read words anymore; the future will revert to hieroglyphics, sad trumpet noises, animated GIFs and smell-o-vision. My fate is sealed, I thought. Then I looked at the cards again. But why must I martyr myself for the sake of literature, that fickle trollop? Why not join the future, already in progress.

And so, after relearning Photoshop for the hundredth time, I bring to you the latest in internet baseball pseudo-analysis, combined with the pointless charm of the Sportflic. I bring to you: the GIFCard.

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Cubs color man Jim Deshaies called it the “best mustache in the majors.”

Objections?

(Below, the naked, uncut version of this clip.)
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Miami right-hander and 20-year-old Cuban emigre Jose Fernandez has, just seconds before the composition of these very words, finished his first inning as a major-league pitcher, retiring the New York Mets on three consecutive fly-ball outs (box).

And by virtue of this post, reader, you will be able to tell your grandchildren when you’re much older and much less useful than right now: “I was there, a long time ago, when Carson Cistulli made the first GIF of Jose Fernandez’ first pitch.”

Will you cry? Yes, a little. But only because of your sciatica. Because you will develop terrible sciatica, it seems.

Morning, guys. Hey, did you hear? There are bagels in the conference room. Seriously, go grab one quick.

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In the time it took the author to capture and render into GIF form the footage here of Cincinnati prospect Tony Cingrani’s 11th strikeout tonight (against Detroit minor-leaguer John Lindsey, in this case), the left-hander also recorded his 12th and 13th strikeouts — a total he’s compiled in just 5.0 innings and 15 batters.

Click this hyperlined text for a box score of the game in question.

Watching Jose Bautista do what he’s done since arriving in Toronto has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my baseball-watching life. And Bats did it again on Wednesday night, moments after being fooled by a first-pitch breaking ball from Indians closer Chris Perez.

Trust me: Jose Bautista is worth the price of admission. He will get you out of your seat. He’s done it before, and he will do it again. And, as you can see from the reactions of the paying audience, above, the act never, ever gets old.

All praise be upon my friend the @BlueJayHunter for the GIF. He’s one of the hardest-working bloggers in blog business, and a Canadian gentleman, to boot.

Hi there.

Did you know that you are pleasureable to Mike Schmidt? You are. He really finds you very silly, in all the best ways. The very sight of you brings him joy.

Oooo-hooo-hooo-hoo-hoo! 😉

To Mike Schmidt, you are a rainbow capybara with dolphin friends, singing kind songs in a summer rain. When you talk to Mike Schmidt, he feels your voice pour over him like a refreshing waterfall in a world without war or violent crime — a world that smells like clean laundry, where you smell like organic cilantro, where that cilantro is tickling the corners of his nose, too, forever.

Yes, Mike Schmidt just likes to look at you, to see you smile; he loves to see you flourish. He hopes that you are doing well, and that you will continue to amuse him for as long as you both shall live, which Mike Schmidt wishes would be forever and ever, because he just cannot get enough of you.

Mike Schmidt thanks you for being you.

For all of the digital ink that has been spilled this offseason with regard to Atlanta catcher/outfielder/noted cast member of 1969 film Easy Rider Evan Gattis, little has been written about the private checklist he maintains for every plate appearance, the contents of which has been recovered by our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team and reproduced below (and each particular of which we see him fulfilling in the GIF embedded here while hitting his first major-league home run tonight).

To wit:

Sometimes people are like, “Stop making GIFs of Matt Harvey’s slider every second of your life,” and other times they’re like, “Stop signing all your business memos to me as ‘Private Private Dancer.'”

What the world needs to learn, though, is that Carson Cistulli is a private private dancer, and that Matt Harvey’s slider — like this particular one to San Diego’s Jedd Gyorko from ca. 20 minutes ago — needs to be captured and rendered into as many animated GIFs as there are sands on the shores.