Look, the merging of these two categories was bound to happen at some point. Is this the best possible vehicle for it? I can’t say. What I can say is that the impending doom of this very Internet site is leaving me with a bit of a inclination to make sure this happened at some point. Now it has. Will it make the eventual “50 NotGraphs Posts That Will Remind You How Great David G. Temple Was” retrospective at BuzzFeed? I can’t say, though I’d like to let the editors of BuzzFeed know I am available for consultation on the matter.

Nevertheless, here’s an Anthony Rizzo highlight in reverse:

Here is some music for which to accompany it:

yakety

As feelings of mortality and transience plague the average NotGraphs reader’s psyche, allow me to provide the following examination on the dying flame that is baseball. When last we convened we examined some of baseball’s smaller deaths, like the loss of some of its dear follicles. Today we engage in the pre-post-mortem itself, and look at when major league baseball, in its current (and, for comedic purposes, unchangeable) state of being, expires.

The cause of death for baseball might surprise you: it is not steroids, or zombies, or steroid-ridden zombies. Instead, it’s a far more subtle disease, almost a tooth decay, wrought by our own vainglory that brings down the sport. The horrible, unspoken truth is this: someday, because of our love for pomp, circumstance, and the archaic need to identify players from 500 feet away using only opera glasses and programs, we will run out of numbers. Teams are retiring numbers constantly, as if one-to-two-digit numerals were some sort of renewable resource. In time, each team will run out, and without the necessary digits to compose a roster, will have to disband and forfeit immediately.

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Over the weekend, the minor league GM of the Myrtle Beach Pelicans (Rangers Single-A), Andy Milovich, offered to undergo a prostate exam during a game.

“It’s not like I would be getting it at home plate,” Milovich said. “I’ll likely do it from our radio booth and the fans will see me from the shoulder up.”

“…and, Jorge Alfaro steps up to the plate. Alfaro is 1-for-2 on the day, with a double in the 4th inning that drove in one. And speaking of one being driven in, the prostate exam has begun here in the booth. First pitch to Alfaro is low and outside, a ball. Speaking of balls… yes, here they are, in the booth, right there, we’re looking right at them. Never thought I’d see the day.

“And that sound you just heard was Andy Milovich. Perhaps the radio booth was not the perfect place for a prostate exam, Andy? Of course, anywhere is a perfect place for Coors Light, the official beer of the Myrtle Beach Pelicans. This game, and this prostate exam, brought to you by Coors Light. Taste the Rockies. But definitely don’t taste whatever is on this doctor’s finger.

“Speaking of doctors, what kind of doctor is agreeing to do a prostate exam in this medically sterile, bacteria-free radio booth? If you have a malpractice case and need a lawyer, like Andy Milovich probably should, just call Jacoby and Meyers, sponsors of this broadcast and Andy Milovich’s prostate.

“There’s ball two to Alfaro, and coincidentally that’s the same number of balls as we’ve got right on the table here, next to this delicious Hebrew National Hot Dog, available at the ballpark, in your grocer’s freezer, and right next to this prostate exam right here.

“The pitch, and Alfaro pokes one just past the pitcher’s mound. And speaking of poking….”

Inventor of the essay and non-stop Frenchman Michel de Montaigne argues within his ample works that a necessary condition for experiencing real pleasure is the certain knowledge that one must eventually die. Without acknowledging the end of a thing, one is necessarily haunted by the inevitability of that end. But by recognizing death as fact, the reality of the present moment can be enjoyed without reservation.

Nor is this summary of Montaigne’s work merely an attempt by the present author to exhibit for everyone his Wide Reading. Rather, it serves as some context for the the following announcement — namely that, approximately three months from now, all contributors to NotGraphs.com will cease contributing to same and that the site will remain frozen in its then-current state until the end of time.

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Rob Neyer launched FoxSports.com’s Just A Bit Outside Grantland-like site-within-a-site last week, announcing in his introductory post that actor Jeff Garlin would be writing for the site. He had to take that back a couple of days later (oh, Hollywood…).

Which reminded me to let you know… despite what I thought was a firm promise, God will not be writing for NotGraphs this week. See, I reached out to him (her?) at a particularly desperate moment a few weeks ago, asking for some help with post topics — inspiration, perhaps, or if he wanted to send someone down to just write the whole thing for me, my door is always open. And I was pretty sure I saw some lightning afterwards, or a shooting star, or some sign or another that there was order in the universe and we aren’t all just accidents of evolution. Anyway, the sign indicated to me that even though God was busy that week, he would be willing to take a couple of posts off my plate this week, especially since he’s been working on a new study regarding the ability he gives someone to grow facial hair and how it relates to the ability he gives them to throw a fastball, and he wanted to share some preliminary results. I didn’t get anything in writing, because, you know, I figured if there was anyone’s word I could trust, it would be God. But now it’s Monday, and despite the early interest, now I’m not getting an answer to any of my e-mails, voice mails, or prayers (hey, that also sounds just like my current experience trying to find a part-time babysitter for my 9-month-old son… but that’s a piece for a different website!), so I think I just have to suck it up and admit to myself that it’s not going to happen. God will not be writing for NotGraphs.

In fact, it seems like he may be deciding to smite down the entire site. Hopeless Joe is getting very concerned.

The network didn’t show it, but in the bottom of the third inning of that recently contested contest of All-Star contestants, a group of protesters hung a large sheet sign that read, LOVE WATER, NOT OIL.

Though radical, and arguably a waste of a good bed sheet, the action hardly qualified as unprecedented. Indeed, on the occasion of five previous All-Star games, activists hung similar, if equally untelevised, signs of civil protest.

LOVE WALKER, NOT EARL

In the summer of 2011, with the wedding of Prince William now behind them, Americans turned their attention to syndicated TV. The stakes were high, as cooking- and trucking-school commercials competed for advertising time in the coveted 1 p.m.-4 p.m. “total burnout” slot. Competition went cutthroat as the summer wore on, and in efforts to sway viewers from a quirky sitcom starring Jason Lee, the producers of Walker, Texas Ranger body-slammed a Chase Field gate attendant and leg-whipped an usher in the commission of hanging their sign.
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Welcome to the latest installment of the Ironic Jersey Omnibus. The mission of the Omnibus remains constant: to catalogue the jersey choices available to fans and discuss which, when worn, convey unspoken sentiment to one’s fellow man. Today, we venture into the Steel City to discuss the Pittsburgh Pirates.

Being a baseball fan can make a person feel helpless. We’re so vital in our own lives: we get people to fall in love with us and kill each other in automobile accidents and learn how to skydive and quilt. But when we go to a game, we become a smudge of color, a tiny fraction of the din, an unformed emotion in the periphery. We devote our energy and emotion to the game of baseball and it scarcely knows we exist. It knocks us down and never apologizes, again and again.

Such is particularly the case for the baseball fans of Pittsburgh, whose team seems to roll and pound like the tide. After twenty years drowning in the undertow, the modern incarnation of the Pirates seems to be teetering on the crest, trying to maintain their balance. After a magical 2013, this year the team has managed to maintain some playoff aspirations despite early prognostications and performance. For their fans, a fall into the familiar depths would be more painful than most; who knows when they might resurface next time.

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Clayton Kerhsaw will pitch in front of this camera on August 14th, or not.

While Clayton Kershaw has dedicated much of his 2014 campaign to lowering the self-esteem of opposition batters, it’s also the case that he’s recorded zero starts in front of a straight-on center-field camera — i.e. the sort of camera angle which might best allow a viewer to fully appreciate what Clayton Kershaw is throwing and how he’s throwing it.

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Below, exclusive to NotGraphs, is irrefutable evidence that irrefutably answers the question of the week: Adam Wainwright did, in fact, groove one for Derek Jeter.

Reports that Wainwright gave Jeter a “pipe shot” remain unconfirmed, as none of us are willing to look at those pictures.