In the wake of rookie Joc Pederson’s first big league hit, one ex-jock is reminded of something equally momentous. What follows is a reminiscence.

The story begins, as similar tales so often do, in the summer of the thirteenth year. A fresh-faced lad with sun-kissed cheeks and skin the texture of smooth jazz, I stood manning my position at shortstop when suddenly, as if called upon by the forces of misapplied punition, a keen and throbbing discomfort suddenly announced itself in the region of my left cheekbone.

With timid fingertips and fearful spirit I examined the affected area, and to my great horror the sensation of a sharp, stabbing pain accompanied the discovery of a small, knotty protuberance. What manner of menace is this, I wondered, even as I assumed the crouch of a heads-up shortstop, that should spoil a sun-kissed cheek whose texture, heretofore, has been of smooth jazz?
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I was sat on the aluminum checker plate floor, my back leant against a corner of the fake wood panelling of the elevator car, legs stretched diagonally across the floor. On the floor by my side was a large pepperoni pizza and a can of Mirinda orange soda. I had to go down to get the pizza from the delivery guy because the buzzer thing wasn’t work properly. The elevator was on the ground floor so rather than waiting for it to come up, I ran down the stairs, opened the door, got the pizza, paid the guy, and hurried straight into the elevator.

The annoying, pompous music that the TV channel plays when it’s going to a commercial break was in my head. My hands were warm from the underside of the pizza box. And then there was clunk. The elevator stopped. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth floor. Rangers 7-5 Cardinals. Top of the ninth about to start. I pressed the 5 button, then the 4 button, then the ALARM button. Nothing happened. I pressed the ALARM button again. Nothing happened. Top of the ninth about to start, probably started. I took my phone out of my pocket and moved it around to see if there was a signal a few inches this way or that way. No phone signal. But low down, around sock level, there was a Wi-Fi signal. Not my Wi-Fi; a neighbor’s.
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All you need to know is that since Mike Fiers joined the rotation on August 9th, the team is 10-19. That’s really all you need to know. Before he joined the rotation, the team was 64-52 and in first place. Now they are 74-71 and have a 20% chance of making the playoffs. Clearly, that is all you need to know. Nothing else could possibly be to blame, and despite his performance, the statistics speak for themselves. Only the team win-loss statistics. No other statistic is even worth taking a look at. Because it all comes down to wins and losses. Not the wins and losses in the games he pitches, so please don’t look at those numbers, those numbers are irrelevant. Team wins and losses since he was called up. That’s how we should judge him. And those numbers are terrible. So it is all his fault.

They should trade him to a team I like better.

We all have our reasons for mourning the inevitable heat death of NotGraphs. Not the least of these (for the present author) is the opportunity it affords to buy random bags of baseball cards in thrift stores, write third-rate witticisms about them, and somehow be reimbursed in some twisted, neo-Bolshevik parody of capitalism. One could make the case that this, not the newspaper, is the real tragedy of the modern media revolution. But we must continue on. Join me. There will be time to mourn when the work is done.

One of Ken’s favorite activities, according to his 1990 Topps card, is bicycle riding. I can imagine this. I can imagine Ken on a windless day, his face utterly placid, bicycling impossibly slowly into an empty horizon.

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It has been a year hence since I made a series of bold predictions, all of which came true, I assume. And now it is time to press forward and prognosticate and pontificate about this very season’s future.

The following events will occur during the 2014 MLB Postseason:

Prophecy #1

A heretofore unknown bench player will hit two key home runs and a extra-clutch double. This will propel him into additional playing time in 2015, where he will generally be a nondescript disappointment.

Prophecy #2

An NL manager will use the word “flabbergasting” in a post-game presser. The world will trend on Twitter — but not for the reasons you might expect.

Prophecy #3

A call to the bullpen will go disastrously wrong!

“You want to speak with Fernando Dogney?”
Rollover to animate.

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Hey, folks, it’s me, Jonny Venters, about to have Tommy John surgery for the third time. Just wanted to share a few tips on how to take care of your elbow.

1. Elbows love to get up close and personal with doors and walls. You may hear a cracking sound, but that’s just the way an elbow laughs. Even if it hurts, it’s good exercise for your elbow to bash into hard objects. You know how they say that everything that’s worth it hurts a little bit? That definitely goes double for elbows. So keep hitting it into stuff, even if you’re in serious pain and need to seek medical attention.

2. Elbows love being hyperextended. You know how some joints only let you move parts of your body one way, like knees, and, uh, knees? It may seem like elbows are the same way, but that’s just what they want you to think. In truth, elbows can flex in every direction. You may have to force it if it’s been a while since you bent your entire arm backwards, but, trust me, if you pull hard enough it will bend. If you’re not strong enough to do it on your own, tie your arm to a horse and let him run free. You’ll see just how much your elbow can turn then!

3. Ice is for wimps. The best thing to put on your elbow is a cinder block. That will teach it to complain. Ugh, I hate when people are trying to put ice on my body. Ice is cold. I don’t like cold things on my body. You know what’s nice and warm? The blankets they give you right before elbow surgery. They’re my favorite.

4. Elbows are like cats. They have nine lives. So the first 8 times you bust your elbow don’t really count. Wait until number nine to seek help. That’s the trick with elbows. They’re always acting like they don’t work anymore, but they’re just jokesters that way. Don’t listen. Keep doing what you were doing until the arm completely breaks off. That’s your elbow’s signal that he’s had enough playing for now.

5. Health insurance? Naw, what do you need that for? It’s not like it covers elbows anyway. At least my policy doesn’t. Not anymore.

Edited to add: No offense meant, really. Sorry if this came off as insensitive. I feel bad for Venters and it sucks he needs elbow surgery yet again. I wasn’t trying to make light of real person’s real injury, just trying to write content that some fraction of you will think is marginally funny. It is very easy to forget these are real people when you sit down to try to come up with a topic for a blog post. I’m really not trying to imply that it’s Venters’s fault that his elbow keeps falling apart or that this is a book someone should write.

• New Derek Jeter-themed iPhone app looks at statistics and tells players when it is time to retire.
• Everth Cabrera arrested for driving driverless car.
• Rangers announce robot will replace Ron Washington for remainder of season.
• Cards, Brewers exchange texts after controversial hit-by-pitch.
• Jonathan Lucroy has broken his smart phone.
• Justin Verlander tweets naked pictures of himself while on mound during start.
• The calculator on Chris Davis’s phone does not display enough digits to show his batting average as anything greater than zero.
• New technology able to bring Bud Selig back to life.
• Watch a robotic arm count the Astros television viewers on his robotic fingers.
• Did a computer generate these headlines? Click here to find out.
• The 123,456,789 things you need to know about Justin Verlander’s e-mail password.

OK, thought experiment: If a writer – be he a certifiable genius or a certified loon – were to change just one letter in each of, say, six recent headlines, what would happen? Well, here’s what would happen.

Yost Says His Players Try Too Hard In Front Of Large Crows

With the Royals on the verge of their first playoff appearance since 1985, manager Ned Yost is worried that his team is feeling the pressure – but only in one particular circumstance. “They do just fine in front of large crowds,” he told the Kansas City media. “It’s large crows that give them a problem.”

Among the concerns, he said, is the matter of crow intelligence.

“Some species have learned to use tools, other to store food and others to predict behavior,” the skipper explained. “One species uses crumbs for bait fishing! Imagine what a large crow could do, then, were it to lure Butler with strips of crispy bacon.”

Compounding the threat, he added, is the collective name of crows. “I mean, a ‘murder‘ of crows? Jeez, why not a ‘bloody slaughter’ or ‘grisly massacre?’”

The team, he said, is trying to appease the crows by playing smart baseball.

“Problem is, they’re trying too hard. Just yesterday, Gordon took a ‘random walk’ to first base. I don’t mean he took an indiscriminate base on balls. I mean that upon hitting a line drive to right, he took a series of random steps that mirrored the route of a molecule through gas or the search path of a foraging animal. Needless to say, he got thrown out at first. Also needless to say, the crows got pretty riled up.”

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The image above was discovered by the author on the Facebook page of Rangers pitcher and cross-cultural ambassador of handsome Yu Darvish. What is not at issue here is just how much time the author has been spending on Yu Darvish’s Facebook page, or to what end. What is at issue is just what the above image, which was captioned only in Japanese, might have been intended to depict, reflect, or connote. For this, reader, I earnestly solicit your help.

I was basking in the glory of my almost fully-funded campaign to keep on writing after NotGraphs is gone when I was reminded that I never wrote the second part of my Pennant Race preview. It’s so easy to forget about the National League. They’re like the Hopeless Joe of leagues. Really, any league without Mike Trout is pretty hopeless these days. I mean, sure, there’s Kershaw, and there’s, um, Jonathan Lucroy, and Jacob DeGrom, but everyone else? Meh, they couldn’t even crack the Royals’ starting lineup.

NL EAST
Quite a race going on! Oh, wait, I was reading the standings backwards, kind of like my doctor when he was reading my x-rays (oops– who needs their good kidney anyway??). Quite a race for last place, with the Mets, Marlins, and the truly wretched Philadelphia Phillies all battling it out. Meanwhile, the Nationals seem well in control, with the best record in the league. Of course, you never know what can happen even when you think you’re in control of something. Like your bowels, for instance. One minute, you’re totally in control, and the next… well, I’d rather not talk about my brother’s wedding, if that’s okay. I’ll just say that if you invite me to your wedding, you shouldn’t surprised if you end up having to throw away the cake. That’s all I’m going to say about that. And probably all I need to say about the NL East.

NL CENTRAL
The race everyone thought it would be. Pirates. Brewers. Cardinals. One of these things is not like the other. And, indeed, with an 8-game losing streak (or “a typical eight day stretch for me”) by the Brewers, the Cardinals are now back on top, with deadline acquisition Justin Masterson leading the charge. Oh, no, that’s his ERA, not his K/9? Ooh, pulling a Joe there, aren’t you? Justin, Justin, Justin, that’s the worst start in a new organization since I joined the Peace Corps in February and was sent to Ukraine. I’m not saying the entire conflict over there is my fault… but I’m also not saying it isn’t. Luckily, I’ve been transferred to Iran. Also, the Reds, wow. Positive run differential, terrible record, don’t you think it’s about time to fire Dusty Baker?

NL WEST
The Dodgers and Giants look to have playoff spots pretty much wrapped up, while my preseason pick, the Rockies, languish with the worst record in the league. Has anyone else ever asked themselves why the Rockies seemed like a smart name for a team when a mountain doesn’t even have a face? I wrote an essay about it, but my dog ate it. I probably shouldn’t write essays on raw meat anymore. I would use paper but I hate getting paper cuts. Much better to get salmonella. Good weight loss plan, that salmonella. A few days of diarrhea and I’m back to my fighting weight. Too bad it always coincides with another one of my brother’s weddings. Hey, my internal editor is telling me I’m writing too much about poop this week. Sorry about that. Next week, my column will be completely poop-free — and, by then, my computer should be too.

The National League — it’s one of the leagues! And I’m almost a person! Until next time…