Today we celebrate the life of Steve Balboni as part of our on-again, but mostly off-again, feast-day series.

Life: A native of noted City of Champions and Bare-Knuckled Violence (i.e. Brockton, Massachusetts), Steve Balboni parlayed two plus tools (power, mustache) into a major-league career that saw him hit home runs in over 5% of his plate appearances. That his peak seasons overlapped with the increased popularity of card collecting in the mid- and late-80s has likely contributed to his own enduring popularity among the children of that era.

Balboni the Ample teems with animal desire.

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As a well-traveled and well-practiced “explorer” of the World Wide Web, I assumed that I knew everything there was to know about finding my way around in “cyberspace.” Thus it was with considerable shock and disorientation that I learned, somewhat recently, of the possibility of exploring the web in an entirely new way. Google’s Search by Image feature, to put it bluntly, promises to do for the web search experience what Providence Grays shortstop Arthur Irwin did to the baseball glove: revolutionize it, or, at least, add some comfortable padding.

Because this innovation pertains so directly to our own experience as “tech-savvy” 21st-century sports enthusiasts, I wanted to take a few minutes to highlight its possibilities. As with so many great innovations, I find that it reveals truths that we knew all along, but could not have fully embraced — until now.

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I mean Anagram Contest Winners.

VERY HONORABLE MENTIONS:

From Big Daddy V:
DELMON YOUNG: Ungodly Omen

From Reillocity:
JOSH REDDICK: DJ Horsedick

From Valen Dreath:
PABLO SANDOVAL: Panda Oval Slob

From Well-Beered Englishman:
JOE BUCK AND TIM MCCARVER: Dim Jock, Vacant Cerebrum

From Danny Knobgobbler:
CARSON CISTULLI: Local Crisis Nut

AND THE WINNER:

From Chris Cwik:
MADISON BUMGARNER: Bang me, Mr. Dinosaur

In which Pete Rose translates towering works of poetry.

In today’s episode, Pete Rose will translate Ezra Pound’s imagist opus “In a Station of the Metro” from the original English into Pete Rose American.

Mr. Pound’s original:

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

Mr. Rose’s translation:

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
Grocery list: Cigarettes, olive loaf, whore, a plan.

This has been “Poetry, Translation by Pete Rose.”

Recently, in the midst of an auto trip from Chicago to Grand Rapids, the author opened (for reasons that remain mysterious) a pack of 1987 Topps at a Starbucks in Michigan City — and documented the experience for America. With a view to capitalizing cynically on the success of that first post, the author presents this hastily composed sequel, in which he opens a pack of 1990 Fleer at a cafe right by his tastefully decorated apartment in Madison, Wisconsin.

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It was a different time, you understand. 1957, or ’58…

It was 1957. The Braves had just returned home to Milwaukee after besting the New York Yankees in the World Series. A crowd of 750,000 people — a number greater than the entire population of Milwaukee proper even at its peak in the early 1960s — met their hometown nine (and then some) in the streets to celebrate.

The Milwaukee Sentinel of the day, its front page bestamped with a large, red, racist image of a Native American…

…relished the fact that the team defeated was the Yankees, depicting them as, among other things, “bushed.”

Smoke signal’d!

It was a different time, you understand.

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It was an emotional weekend at NotGraphs Staff Headquarters in Kamloops, British Columbia. Tears were shed, throats were punched, and the situation grew desperate when Eno Sarris poured out all the Kokanee in a fit of beer-righteous rage. Somehow, in the eleventh hour, a hasty and ill-advised compromise was hammered out, and we can now declare the results of the mercifully completed Villanelle Challenge.

Separate winners were selected from the staff and from the readership. The latter will have the honor of having their poem read aloud during a subsequent episode of FanGraphs Audio by none other than the until-this-moment-unaware Carson Cistulli, while Dayn Perry shudders as the structured rhyme violates his delicate sensibilities. They will also receive, via postal mail delivery, a 1983 Topps Von Hayes baseball card in Very Good condition, retailing at $0.03. The winner of the staff division will win a Dick Allen shrinkydink, which is naturally priceless.

Without further ado, the envelope:

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Winners get their anagrams featured in a post later this week! What a prize!

These will not be the winners:
JUSTIN UPTON: Justin Up? Not.
MIKE TROUT: Mike Tutor
STEPHEN STRASBURG: Pets Banter, Shrugs
ANDREW MCCUTCHEN: Mac Crunched Newt
CLAYTON KERSHAW: Cy Heals War Knot
JUSTIN VERLANDER: Revel, Ninja Turds
BJ UPTON: BJ Up? Not.

These are a little better:
DUSTIN PEDROIA: Pa, I Dun Steroid!
BUSTER POSEY: Super Best, Yo.

(No, this is not the first time I’ve posted about anagrams.)

A simple request this weekend begat a nerdgasm: Maury Brown asked for favorite concert on twitter, and just a little listicle tickling jarred something loose.

It wasn’t so much the particulars of the list. I’ve liked a lot of bands, and in my case, it was as easy as picking the best of each genre. Phish played from before midnight till dawn of 2001 in the swamps in Florida, that was pretty amazing. One of the hipster halloween shows — Flaming Lips in London or Fischerspooner in New York — had to be there, although since I was a perfect Kenny G in New York, I suppose that’s the pick. Arthur Lee and Love got the ‘orchestral arrangement’ pick. Amon Tobin’s ISAM got the electronica pick, even if Goldie at The End in London was epic. Burning Spear with 500 people on the beach in Negril got the reggae bid. The Meters at the Fillmore for funk. Goldfinger and Reel Big Fish together in some category or another, even if Less Than Jake’s spiderman dude makes for a lot of fun. Ratatat at Terminal Five has to register.

When I got to the hip hop entry, the saber side of me began to percolate.

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Villanelle week. By now you should know. Villanelle week.

Others have tried:

• Regarding Who Isn’t the Boss of Me
• Villabelle
• Fantasy Choices I Have Made
• Nick Punto, One Time, Tried to Break His Bat
• Who Should Be in the Hall of Fame?
• Tale of VandenHurk

Only one can succeed. This is poetry. Only one can succeed, and that one is me: