Q: Please rank the following players: Aardsma, Abad, Abreu, Abreu, Accardo, Aceves, Ackley, Acosta, Adams, Adams, Adams, Adams, Adams, Adams…

Q: I’m in a keeper league with my kids. My son just turned 7 and his estimated cost is going to be about $24,000, including private school. My 2-year-old daughter — too young for school — is only going to cost about $2,500. But obviously she’s going to be less productive. I can’t quite fit them both into my budget, so I’m wondering which one I should cut. The easy answer is my son, but since he’s been on my team for so long, I feel some ridiculous sense of loyalty. The other thing is that his cost is likely to stabilize over the next few years, while my daughter’s cost will definitely go up — and I’m not yet sure if she’s going to be worth it. At least with my son, by this point I have a good sense of what he is. But that’s the problem with young players, right? Advice?

Q: My league just added cholesterol to our categories — any ETA on when we can expect that up on the site?

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You may recall that in this beloved space we have previously regaled you with tales of the Cruz Missile. And on this day I am pleased to inform you that the Cruz Missile is back, and this time his glory is both boundless and without bound. How boundless? So boundless that it’s too large for me to embed. In what other ways does WordPress hate freedom? I intend to find out and then file a breathless dispatch on the matter. Nonetheless, please do click the above link — wait, here it is again! — and luxuriate in its wonders.

And since every post needs some kind of visual hook, my hope is that this will meet the needs of the Internetting Gentleman:

I am wagering you, dear reader, just read the above caption in Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice.

Do not worry, such is only normal when face-to-monitor-to-face with Arnold’s acting majesty. From his treasure trove of a film archive, most critics agree that A. Schwarzenegger’s best on-screen performance was as the baby-toting lead in Junior, but his second-best feat of ACTING was no doubt his risky portrayal of Mr. Freeze in one of the batman movies oh who really gives a crap.

Well, little-beknownst to, y’know, everyone, Mr. Freeze is in fact the real-life father of base-baller David Freese, who’s unimaginable Game 6 heroics in the 2011 World Series not only amazed a nation (America) and sickened a sub-nation (Texas), but also no-doubt earned the highest marks from his fictional real-life father.

Now, the government removed the cameras I had stowed in Mr. Freeze’s home office, or something, so we are left to our imagination-bones to try to figure out what his immediate reaction was / would have been ’twere he not one of the worst fake super-villains of all time.

Feel free to add your own suggestions in the comments.

A multitude of thanks to Brian S for the idea, the image, and one of the poll questions. Consider me merely a conduit of his genius.

The headline from The Associated Press reads: “No fan rally planned for Texas Rangers this year.” Last October, the Rangers were lovable losers. This October, they’re heartbreakers; failures. Now I’m no Texas supporter, but I can’t help but feel for the Rangers. What a way to lose. I’d prefer it if there was another fan rally.

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Because a dumb Dolphins-Giants game is the only sporting event of any note this early Sunday afternoon, you’ll no doubt have a moment in your schedule to reflect on the following GIF, which depicts the most important part of Cardinal reliever Octavio Dotel’s seventh-inning Game Seven strikeout of Ian Kinsler.

Not for nothing is Nolan Ryan known as “the William H. Macy of principal owners of major-league franchises.” Nor was his emotional range on display more conspicuously than during the late innings of Friday night’s World Series Game Seven.

From irascible:

To world-weary:

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Inspired by the events that transpired last night in the world of baseball (!!!!!) and in the world of Project Runway finales, I spent the afternoon making my own Game Six Win Probability Graph t-shirt (apologies to Dave Cameron, who surely never meant for this to happen).

I hope the judges don’t knock me for my styling

You can make your own memento of the %^(*$%%(@RFJingest game ever. Instructions, kind of: I printed the win expectancy graph and went over the lines with my trusty Sharpie so they would pop when I traced them… Then I just slotted the page under a white t-shirt and traced the lines with a fabric pen. I sewed red beads onto my shirt for hot playz, but you could also just do it in a different color. Embroidery would also be an option and a pretty easy one if you have a water soluble fabric pen (and who doesn’t), but I didn’t have time for that today. Then I cut the collar and sleeves off of my shirt because I’m a girl. Viola!

When I think about the end of baseball season, I think about the soul-crushing Canadian winter: I know it’s coming, there’s nothing I can do to delay the inevitable, it gets worse every year, and there’s no way I can possibly prepare myself; it is utterly depressing. It’s a long season, no doubt, and now there’s only one game left. Where does the time go?

Below, 27 of my inner-most thoughts on baseball — game six, the World Series, and more — as we prepare to say goodbye …

1. About last night: That was some silly, silly shit. I can’t really describe it any other way. It didn’t make sense. The comedy of errors, on the field and in the dugouts; the home runs and the lead changes; the many final at-bats of Albert Pujols’ Cardinals career; Mike Napoli’s ankle; Nelson Cruz in right field; Matt Holliday’s wrist; God telling Josh Hamilton he was about to hit a home run. I mean, I like to think of God as being a pretty busy cat, but even he was enthralled by last night’s baseball game. And can you blame him? It had it all.

2. I don’t think I can call what I watched last night simply a “baseball game.” That doesn’t do it justice. It was so much more. It was theater. I almost felt underdressed, watching the 10th inning on television at home.

3. I saw a billion similar tweets as the drama unfolded: “If you’re not a fan of baseball after this …” and “If anyone ever tells you baseball is boring …” etc., etc. Look, nothing’s changed: Some people are morons. They think baseball’s boring. They don’t appreciate the game. We don’t need them. To hell with ’em.

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A portrait of the artist as a different, less attractive person.

After a series of rigorous medical-type tests and appointments with important cardiologists, it’s come to my attention that the place where I hate the Cardinals is in my heart.

Please recognize: when I say heart, I’m not using the word metaphorically — like in the Rod Stewart song “Faith of the Heart”, for example, or the other Rod Stewart song “You’re in My Heart”. Stewart doesn’t intend to suggest that the unnamed woman he’s addressing is in his actual heart. She’d have to be only, like, three inches tall, were that the case. And even then, there are so many questions to ask: how did she get in there? can she get out? does she live in a particular ventricle? It’s absurd.

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Last night’s game was riveting. But, you see, I am a Phillies fan first, a Peter Gammons fan second, and a baseball fan third. Which is why this snapshot provided me with a great many minutes of enjoyment:

There’s really not much more to say about this except that sometimes God gives Josh Hamilton the strength to hit home runs and sometimes God gives me pictures of Peter Gammons that just LOLGammo themselves.