While I’m inclined to agree with the author of Ecclesiastes* — in a general sense, at least — that there’s “nothing new under the sun,” I’ll also submit that the particulars of all the things under the sun change with enough frequency that it’s important for humans to taxonomize them, lest we (i.e. humans) are overwhelmed and compelled by fear to crawl back into all our mothers’ wombs**.

*Part of my habit of deferring to anyone who identifies himself as “son of David, king in Jerusalem.”

**Awkward, gross.

And so it’s without anxiety, but with a small mustard stain on my shirt, that I submit this confidently worded statement on two popular 21st century games and the respective pleasures they provide.

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News — nay, “news” — broke yesterday that a Chicagoan saw Red Sox GM Theo Epstein meeting with Cubs chairman/owner Tom Ricketts at a Starbucks. The resident/spy was “99.99% percent” sure it was Epstein.

Genuine American Hero, Tim Souers, then helped us illiterate fans, illustrating the event for us with most chilling, photo-realistic detail:

Do your eyes a favor. Read some Cubby-Blue.

Depending on which fan base you ask, Mr. Nyjer Morgan of Milwaukee’s Brewers is either the People’s Champion or a cad, masher and stinker. Whatever your opinion of Mr. Morgan and his outputs, though, it is always heartening to see an Aqua Velva Man in quenched repose, flush with accomplishment and awash in the warming glow of triumph …

Brewers infantry helmet atop head, which contains multitudes, reasonably priced alcohol-water within reach, and a belt-and-title smile that suggests, at once, self-satisfaction and misrule in the planning stages — When not hard at work, Mr. Nyjer Morgan is a Leisured Gentleman, and with that you must cope.

(Please and thank you: Rhett Bollinger)

Gorman Thomas threw the ceremonial first pitch at Sunday’s first game of the 2011 NLCS. Thomas is one of the seminal Brewers from the 1982 club which also challenged the St. Louis Cardinals in the playoff, albeit one round later. This is what Gorman Thomas looked like back then:

Thomas wasn’t born in Wisconsin — he’s actually a southern boy, from South Carolina, but that’s the kind of rugged facial hair we Midwesterners appreciate. If Robin Yount and Paul Molitor were the Ryan Braun and Prince Fielder superstars of that 1982 team, than Thomas is the Corey Hart — a power-hitting southern boy with wild facial hair (although Gorman pulls it off… a little bit better).

This was the first time I’ve seen Thomas outside of highlights and pictures from the heyday. But really, one look at the man swinging the bat in the powder blue and gold and then one look here, at the man throwing out the first pitch for the navy and barley, and, well, was anything else really possible?

Sure, we’ve gone from the total package to a classier, mustache-only look, but these are simply the things that happen with age. Good for Gorman — coming back to Milwaukee, supporting his team, and probably living the Wisconsin lifestyle. A true Wisconsin legend, in the flesh.

Please do consider this the consummate and most important guide to Modern Baseball yet invented.

For fans of imbibing drank and consuming meat cylinders, Baseball has long been the sport of choice. The following infographic (after the jump) offers some of the single-most important tidbits of infotainment for the industrious and economical Baseballer.

Of course we all know:

Price * Quantity = Total Bill

And likewise:

(Price * Quantity) / ((Hot Dogs + Beer) * Condiments) = Baseball

Therefore, the following observations are naturally of the greatest criticalness:

1) The Rays lead the league in pricey hot dogs. Note: The Rays price their dogs at $5.11 — just 11 cents more than the more typical $5.00 charged by many other stadiums (i.e. an extra 2.2%).

2) One must wonder if there is a correlation between cheap beers and West Coastiness.

3) Cheap hot dogs in New York. Also expensive hot dogs.

4) The fans in Oakland have little to no reason to not attend an A’s game (wealthy fanbase, cheap baseball experience). Except, of course, the fact they have to watch the A’s.

5) Average attendance went up, but did stadium capacity also increase or something? I thought the league was supposed to be having a down year attendance-wise this year.

Behold the infographicness:
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The author, having lived in Wisconsin for only slightly more than a year and owning no previous ties to the region, has nevertheless found himself smitten with the present incarnation of the Milwaukee Brewer ballclub. As an entirely eager, but equally unaffiliated, Believer, he (i.e. the same author) has developed a convert’s zeal wherein said Brewer club is concerned.

Below is a product of that zeal: a prayer for Milwaukee and its baseball team on the eve of the League Championship Series.

Milwaukee Brewers!
You removed the fig leaf from existence momentarily
and revealed all the wild kindness beneath it.
You published a new version of the OED
with only the words marked “vulgar” from the bigger edition.

I heard you declared “dance party” as a business expense
on your income taxes, is that the case?
I heard you voted Malcolm in the Middle for president.
I’ll admit: I didn’t even know that was a thing.

I’m so excited, I’d like to devise
a creation myth from your current roster
if I have time this week.

I’m so excited, I’d like to eat
hitherto unknown encased meats,
inundated with equal parts kraut and magic.

Let’s get a drink sometime, how about,
during the next lunar eclipse or whatever.

I’ll be the one at the bar
wearing 10 fake beards as a joke.
You be the ones all high-fiving,
shouting “good game” indiscriminately
to every last person who’ll listen.

As International Man of the Internet Eric Freeman noted via the Twitters, Natural Born Enthusiast Nyjer Morgan was yelling “Fuck yeah” even as he approached the mic about to broadcast his voice into a million American homes. It was with zero surprise, then, that Morgan continued to ejaculate same glorious ejaculation as TBS on-field reporter Miss Thang placed same microphone in front of Morgan’s speech organ.

The other obvious point is: no one cares. Nyjer Morgan, man of a thousand flaws, is the best possible Transformer: sometimes man, sometimes Joy personified.

UPDATE: Below is another, clearer video (from SportsGrid). The relevant part is around the 1:20 mark, but it’s all pretty great.

Video stolen from YouTube user pilz42424 via SB Nation’s Brian Floyd.

Notice how the writer chose to spell “honour” in the headline? That’s a sign of class, lads.

So the Tigers struck a mighty blow for Flyover Nation and those inclined to resist the tractor beam of the Yankee-Industrial Complex. In honor of those Tigers of Detroit, we present your Daguerreotype of the Evening, which is of a Tiger and is tinged with with accoutrements of base and ball. It is called — for reasons that shall soon be made clear — “The Bengal of Pederasty”:

Tigers, congratulations. Tigers fans, congratulations. Bengal of Pederasty, just stop it.

Even the kids, i.e., seven-year-old Victor Jose Martinez, who’s got it down pat, what with the bubbly, the peace sign, and the goggles. Hell, he’s already even built like a baseball player.

Our Investigative Reporting Investigation Team was in the Bronx late last night, obviously, and inside the visitors’ clubhouse when the Tigers got down to the business of celebrating their game five victory. NotGraphs spoke to Victor Jose during the festivities. He wasn’t drunk, but he was, in his words, “loving life.”

NotG: Give me your car keys.

Victor Jose Martinez: Naw, naw, I’m good, man! Here, have some champagne! Woo!

*At this point, young Victor Jose gave us the old champagne shower.

NotG: Keys. Now.

VJM: Oh, for fuck’s sake, man. Here.

*Victor Jose fished out his keys from his back pocket, and handed them over. Then gave us champagne shower number two.

NotG: Tell me how you feel right now, young man.

VJM: Best day of my life. So far. I’m just so proud of these guys, each and every one of them. We played hard. We did it for Jimmy, man. Where is that bastard? I want a cigar! Woo!

*Champage shower number three.

NotG: Isn’t it past your bedtime?

VJM: You know, the Yankees, man, they played hard. They deserve a lot of credit. They were a formidable opponent. Much respect to New York.

NotG: No, seriously, what time do you go to bed on school nights?

*Victor Jose grabbed Victor Martinez, his dad, as he was walking by.

VJM: I love this guy! Pop Dukes!

*Victor Jose hugged his dad, and they shared a champagne shower, as only a father and son can do after they beat the New York Yankees in the postseason. It was bloody beautiful to watch.

NotG: Remember this in the morning, young fella: Gatorade, and two Tylenols, preferably extra strength.

VJM: Thanks, man! See you after the next round! Woo!

Image courtesy Reuters, via Daylife.

The Florida/Miami Marlins, in advance of moving into a football-free abode of their very own, are busy re-branding themselves as the Señor Frog’s of baseball. First came the fashion-forward logo, then came the hat festooned with said fashion-forward logo. And now? Now comes … this. Click and fathom. My God, click and fathom:

That, friends and enemies, is what’s going to happen each time a Marlin (meaning, mostly, Mike Stanton) hits a home run. Once more for emphasis: This is going to happen.

Over at SBN, Grant Brisbee insists, with evidence, that this is a real, true thing conceived by, presumably, people paid in U.S. currency to conceive of things.

To what should one liken this thing? Would this be the output if Poseidon sexually assaulted Jimmy Buffett? Is it a rendering of the rarely glimpsed Kennedy Compound? Is this what “Eyes Wide Shut” meant? The entrance to a Very Infectious Seafood Restaurant where even children get the senior’s discount? Or just: The fuck?

Since the Marlins have already crossed the pastel-colored Rubicon, there’s really only one final step to take. Purchasers of season-ticket packages also receive … an evening of carnal pleasures with the Official Marlins Reverse Mermaid!

Undersea Baseball Yes!