For a generation of Toronto Blue Jays and Canadian baseball fans, it is the home run. The home run that forever changed Toronto’s baseball destiny. The home run that represents, perhaps defines, one’s fandom. And I’m not talking about Joe Carter’s 1993 World Series-winning walk-off.

What made Roberto Alomar’s call to Cooperstown this week so enjoyable for me was the reliving of past glories. Up here, they’re all we’ve got.

I was 10-years-old when Alomar sent a 9th inning 2-2 Dennis Eckersley pitch into right field for a two-run home run, to tie game four of the 1992 ALCS between Oakland and Toronto at six apiece, completing a rather miraculous 6-1 Blue Jays comeback. I don’t remember watching Toronto take an early 1-0 lead on a John Olerud home run, or watching Jack Morris get tagged for five runs in the Oakland half of the third, but for some reason, I remember Alomar’s home run. Vividly.

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After a rookie campaign that saw him slash .282/.388/.599, post a 2.6 WAR in just 374 plate appearances, and win ROTY honors, Bob Hamelin has been of little use to the common baseballing fan.

However, were one ever to get curious about Hamelin’s career stats, and were one to search for said stats on FanGraphs, and were one — instead of typing Hamelin’s entire surname into the search box — were one to type only the first three letters of it, then one would find a rather peculiar and LOL-able thing: namely, that there have been seven players with the first name “Ham” in the history of the Majors.

Here they are below, with very, very, very, very, very important notes.

Player: Ham Allen
Given Name: Frank Erwin Allen or Homer S. Allen
Years Active: 1872-1872
Teams: Middletown Mansfields
PA / WAR: 66, 0.1
Notes: Was born either in Augusta, Maine, or Hamden, Connecticut. Died either in Natick, Massachusetts, or Hamden, Connecticut. Died either on February 6, 1881 or January 7, 1892. Is generally mysterious.

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As a sort of sequel to today’s earlier post (featuring, again, a very important image of Matt Murton), reader John submits the above — what he calls “Magical Cedeno.”

A semi-industrious google search reveals no clues as to the authorship of said image (so, anyone who knows, please don’t hesitate to make note of it in the comment section).

The same google search does reveal, however, the following two images, which are sure to push us slightly further towards something like world peace.

First, courtesy of Razzball, is a screengrab of Cedeno with the Pirates. Men aged 18-Infinity will undoubtedly take some pleasure in the upper-lip part of the middle infielder’s body.

Second, from the official website of Venezuelan baseball club Tigres de Aragua, there’s this photo of Cedeno in a shirt that I, personally, will describe as “festive.”

It’s been a good week for Adrian Beltre, what with the reigning AL champs sending all that guaranteed cheddar his way.

There’s also a lot to like about Beltre. He’s an acrobat at the hot corner, that “home run swing from one knee” thing (pictured above, gloriously) is objectively awesome, and one must admire the flinty resolve of a man who rose again from the unspeakable horrors of a torn testicle (shudder).

Also adding to Beltre’s appeal is what appears to be a bizarre and preternatural loathing of having his head touched. Dig it. Dug it? So Beltre’s part Brooks Robinson, part Howard Hughes.

Conventional wisdom says Beltre chose not to exercise his player option with the Red Sox because of the allure of the market and the promise of millions. Video evidence, however, suggests it was because Victor Martinez wouldn’t leave his precious dome the hell alone.

While enjoying an adult beverage last night in the City of Broad Shoulders, reader John brought to my attention the above image, which, as the title of this post notes unlyingly, features saber-hotty Matt Murton on a frigging unicorn.

The image, so far as I can tell, first appeared at Bleed Cubbie Blue, courtesy of user santoswoodenlegs. My guess is, it will continue to appear — in the pleasant dreams of every NotGraphs reader.

And what antics transpire within?

This morning, whilst savoring my morning ritual of Fortnum & Mason and The Sydney Morning Herald, I ran across this item about the charter jets used by most American sports teams. It seems like Delta has a good grip on the business, holding contracts with half of the MLB franchises.

The article is worth checking out for some insight into the business side of the charter service and a cool slideshow of what the planes are like inside, if you’re not a baseball player/journalist/groupie and have never had the pleasure of seeing one.

Apparently the NBA configurations have 60″ of legroom between seats. That’s five feet! You could lay David Eckstein out in front of you as a floormat and you’d both be perfectly comfortable (especially if you were considerate enough to remove your shoes first).

If, like all of world history’s best people, you find yourself still in bed at around 10am ET or so, then it’s entirely possible you missed this news. So, now, here’s this news (courtesy of ‘Duk):

BBWAA.com visitors hoping to glean some knowledge about today’s Hall of Fame announcement are being greeted by something else this Wednesday morning: Nonsensical, yet colorful, gibberish posted by opportunistic hackers who have taken over the writers’ site.

The image above, specifically, is what you would’ve seen had you been awake this morning at that time.

As of this moment, the identity of the perpetrators is still unknown; however, the NotGraphs Investigative Reporting Investigation Team has learned that “big-time nerds” are almost definitely responsible.

Moreover, Friend of NotGraphs and Beloved Pole Dan Szymborski suspects that there is still some foul play afoot, as evidenced by this tweet:

There’s much handwringing today in Baseballville as the vote for this year’s Hall of Fame class is set to be announced at 2pm ET.

Certainly, the National Baseball Hall of Fame is important — not just to fans of the sport but also, owing to the meaning of the sport, the country generally.

But there are other some other pretty great halls of fame in this big, wide world. Below, please find a list of the more notable ones — a Hall of Fame of Halls of Fame, if you will.

Academy of Interactive Arts & Sciences Hall of Fame (Video Games)
Last year, Mark Cerny, inventor of Marble Madness, was inducted.

Burlesque Hall of Fame
Yes, please!

Cuban Baseball Hall of Fame (Salón de la Fama del Béisbol Cubano)
From Wikipedia: “With the discontinuation of professional baseball in Cuba in 1961 and its replacement by the amateur Cuban national baseball system, election of new members in Cuba ceased.” Another organization, the Federation of Professional Cuban Baseball Players in Exile (Federación de Peloteros Profesionales Cubanos en el Exilio), has held elections in Miami more recently.

Dance Music Hall of Fame
From Wikipedia (emphasis so mine): “When the nominees were selected the ballots were sent to an international voting committee of over 1,000 dance music experts.”

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Yesterday, Tim Marchman asked perhaps one of the great questions surrounding the baseball community today: What the f*** is with this Jack Morris s***? It’s a thought-provoking question, as is the rest of Marchman’s musing on the topic, as can be seen here (in case you’re incredibly dense, the language here* occasionally isn’t suitable for children or the weak of heart).

*Marchman’s site has a category titled “Bad Language.” There are six articles tagged in it. The subject of this piece, remarkably enough, is not one of them.

Many people have weighed in on the Jack Morris Hall of Fame issue, but I don’t think anybody has spoken to my inner being quite so well as Marchman does with that single question. The more I think about this Jack Morris s***, the less I can decipher what the f*** it’s about. Is it about people supporting a player based on one exceptional moment? Do people think that Jack Morris is legitimately one of the best pitchers ever? Is Jon Heyman just vindictively going after an “internet zealot”? I mean, what the f***?

Of course, if it were that simple to answer the question of what the f*** this Jack Morris s*** is about, Mr. Marchman wouldn’t have to ask it. Perhaps today, when the results of the Hall of Fame voting are released, we’ll have a better idea of just what the f*** this Jack Morris s*** is all about. Until then, and likely for the foreseeable future, we’ll just have to wonder: what the hell?

So this is purty cool: the fledgling Chicago Baseball Museum is hosting a party on February 3 to celebrate the 100th birthday of the great Buck O’Neil, who passed away in 2006. The details can be found in the link above, but, really, they had me at “Doug Glanville, guest speaker” and “cocktails.”

I can say little about O’Neil’s grace, dignity and historical import that hasn’t already been said much better by Joe Posnanski in his wonderful book, but I’d be pretty pleased if my son grew up to be a fraction of the man Buck O’Neil was (hope is long lost for yours truly).

O’Neil was born in Florida and spent his playing career in Kansas City; however, he spent time as a scout with the Cubs, and Chicago was in many ways the nerve center of Negro League baseball. So it’s fitting in some way that Chi-town play host to an event celebrating the man who’s mostly responsible for the revived interest in the Negro Leagues.

Also, since I live in Chicago, all NotGraphs readers who attend the Buck O’Neil gala are welcome to stay in my home and drink my beer.*

(* – Although my love for all of you is both boundless and without bound, this is absolutely not true. Hope to see you there, though.)