Because Oriole Jim Johnson plays for the Orioles, there’s a strong chance that no one — perhaps besides his teammates and Buck Showalter and Buck Showalter’s grizzled and nameless manservant — knows who he is.

In fact, there appears to be at least one reason to know who Jim Johnson is — and it’s embedded above these electronic words.

The footage you see here is taken from the ninth inning of Baltimore’s victory over Boston last (Monday) night. With a 1-0 count against Adrian Gonzalez, Johnson threw this 97 mph offering with 6.2 inches of armside run and 5.8 inches of “rise” (relative to a spinless ball, that is).

While the pitch was classified by Pitch F/x as a four-seamer, the dramatic movement — combined with the fact that a number of Johnson’s pitches are classified as two-seamers, too — suggests Johnson’s pitch might be either.

Of the 14 fastballs he threw Monday night, Johnson got whiffs on four of them (28.6%) — about four or five times the league average for swing-and-misses on fastballs.

In a potentially related story, every woman in the Baltimore area woke up pregnant.

Brooks Baseball. Brooks Baseball. Brooks Baseball.

This past weekend, my good friend Will Smith joined me in a private public screening (as in, we paid to watch the movie behind closed doors, but the theater was filled with strangers) of Moneyball, starring Brad Pitt.

However, I must say the film’s pace surprised me — the book Moneyball actually felt much faster-paced in its 301-page glory — and though I rather liked the film (see Rob Neyer’s review for an opinion much like mine), it never hurts to spice up a Hollywood movie with extra love and action scenes — and maybe a Michael Bay credit.

Suggested Change #1: Replace Jonah Hill with Danny Glover.

We all know Hill played a nerdier version of Paul DePosta, but why couldn’t Danny Glover have brought a little grit to the role?

Glover, instead of working with the Cleveland Indians front office, could have been a wise janitor for the Tribe who doesn’t take crap from the players and lives in a broom closet under the press box until Beane has a protracted, dramatic conversation with Glover in a rain-drenched Progressive Field. The conversation would go like this:

“You don’t need big names to win,” Glover’s character would say.

“What do you mean?” Beane would ask over the roaring rain.

“I can build you a team, using numbers, spreadsheets, and mother’s basements. But what do I know? I’m just an old, beat-up janitor.”

“If I gave the keys to my kingdom, what would be your first move?”

“An efficient manager,” Glover says, snatching his mop and turning away, “never gives out his secrets.”

“Well then you might as well tell me,” Beane says, tugging a fedora over his brow, “because I just hired you to be the Assistant GM of the Oakland Athletics.”
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The conclave of beauty and discernment that is the NotGraphs readership will no doubt recall Brian Cashman’s fondness for the invoking and toking of something called “The Objective Pipe.”

Yes, the Objective Pipe — it is a thing and we are a people of things. And so in celebration of Mr. Cashman’s loosed Id and in commemoration of this thing which has become such a cultural touchstone that it is worthy of measured consideration on the part of all living artists, I present to you a painting of the Objective Pipe.

My preferred medium, as beholders of restaurant-quality artstuffs are no doubt aware, is my kid’s coloring-book app on the iPad. And as is the case with all my work, the tableau that follows is one-half impressionism, one-half abstraction and a bonus one-half of stupefaction.

Now, please and thank you, gaze upon my toil like Cameron Frye agape before a sprawling Seurat. And by all means, click to absorb as the artist intended …

Lo: Brian Cashman’s Objective Pipe being smoked in its natural habitat.

You no doubt noticed that this work of art contained multitudes. So indubitably does it contain multitudes that there is now a NotGraphs category called “Things That Contain Multitudes,” a phylum to which this post now belongs.

And now I shall finsh this carafe of absinthe and then make palliative love to Anaïs Nin.

While in the minors, Mike Moustakas and Eric Hosmer had heard rumors of the exploits of the last great Royals prospect, Alex Gordon. They figured they needed to find a way to honor him. With the help of Edna Mode, they finally reveled their inspired costumes to Gordon. He was without words.

Or the outfits could have had an entirely different meaning.

Believe it.

By now you’ve heard that legendary Marlins’ closer Leo Nunez (28) is actually Juan Carlos Oviedo (29). Eric Augenbraun has nicely filled in the details. It is a sad situation, and one hopes that Oviedo (who probably just didn’t want people back home in the Dominican to know he was playing for the Pirates and Royals) manages to resolve things and gets back to playing in the majors again soon.

However, the truth has to come out, and our crack Investigative Reporting Investigation Team has unearthed many other major leaguers players and even executives are working under assumed names. Read on for The Truth, and don’t say you weren’t warned. Your world may never be the same.

Assumed Name: Real Name

Alex Gordon: Jim Halpert

Jason Bay: Alexei Ramirez

Scott Baker: Joe Randa

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In the fourth inning of Sunday’s Seattle-Texas game, young Italian gentleman Alex Liddi hit the third home run of his young career off of Ranger lefty Derek Holland. Among the diverse reactions to Liddi’s homer, ROOT Sports’ cameras found this gentleman’s — whose behavior might be best described as “angry” and “shirtless.”

“But Carson,” perhaps you’re saying, “shirtless isn’t a sort of behavior.” To which I reply, “Sure, maybe I know that, but try explaining it to star of stage and screen Carroll O’Connor”:

Amen to the very shirtless and angry Michael Barr for drawing the author’s attention to the above.

Names have been placed into nomination, and fierce, charged, brawny, rippled, turgid, veiny, sweat-kissed back-channel negotiations have trimmed the list down to 10. Here, then, are your fortunate nominees for the nickname of “Victorian Sex Rebel.” Interested in the spittle-flecked arguments for or against the hopefuls in question? Don your parliamentarian capris and wade into the nomination thread. Then and as always, vote like no one’s watching …

The Diebold Robot and his Lidless Eye thank you for contributing to the appearance of honest democracy.

Last week, Carson bestowed upon us the brilliance of “Maybe it’s just society,” drawn from the mind of Vernon Wells and turned into pixels on this very space. For the uninitiated, observe, very much indirectly from the horse’s mouth (i.e. Vernon Wells):

Why would you waive your no-trade clause [to accept a trade to the Angels] and then opt out one year later? I never really thought about using it. You do a contract and you ask for certain things. That happened to be one I asked for and got. To be honest with you, I think about it as often as I think about the money.

Maybe it’s just society, but people put too much on struggling. All of a sudden, everything is negative — you’re a bad guy; you’re unhappy. It’s a struggle, yeah. But that’s all it is. I’ve struggled before. Baseball is such a different game. You can be an All-Star one year, struggle the next year and become an All-Star again. It is what it is. This is a great place to live, a great place to play. I’ve got a lot of good years left and I look forward to having them there.

Carson has created the meme, but what good is a meme if it is not sustained? So it is, without further ado, I present Some More Things That May Be Due To Society.

1. An objectively unfortunate Hamburglar costume.

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I’m not writing, here, about the stat that looks the best on your fantasy team’s roster. I’m writing about the most aesthetically-pleasing number that has ever appeared on the back of a baseball card. And here it is.

(Scan discovered at jeffscards.net. Click to embiggen.)

See it? I am of course referring to the bold, italicized 2.76 ERA that Jimmy Key led the American League with in 1987. It’s fast. It’s confident, but not arrogant, as if to imply “I know didn’t have to face George Bell and Jesse Barfield this season.” It even sounds good when spoken out loud: “two-seventy-six.”

Got something better? I don’t think a better looking number can be unearthed, but if you think you have one, leave it in the comments.

Recently, we were chagrined to report on the grim inner workings that led to The Logo That Killed America. Today, it is with grievous regret that we must present to you the next deadly step: The Hat That Killed America …

Not since the penis of that man on the subway has there been such an unwelcome reveal. Godspeed, Marlins rooters. Godspeed.