No-hitters graph (through 2012)

The annual feature returns. The 2010s’ errors-per mark is up slightly from last year, the walk rate is down, and there have been more perfect games from 2010 onwards than in any completed decade.nohitters 2012

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Bookworm’s Soliloquy

So, @ranjit programs his glorious robot to cull spam floods. How, you ask? In lipogram fashion, with inspiration from…um…yours truly.

This is such a glorious honor that, obviously, I must post lots of lipograms, such as right now. Starting with a bit of angsty writing.

I am still trying to know who I am,
to find out without guilt,
how what is not can touch what is.
Not just distracting it,
pulling us away from work and from duty
only to drop us off following a short duration of play
without changing how our minds focus.
And not distorting it past what it is,
I am not so cool and hip as to
latch on to any passing fad,
throw away faith and truth for casual doubt.
No, it is how I can look into a book
and latch on, and find it latching back
so that I am caught up in it all,
having to find out what occurs
(though nothing occurs)
and caring, caring too much than I think I should,
frustration, mourning, loss,
an itch to craft my own finish,
a fool’s laugh–
what audacity that I’d know so much!
That I could find what I want–
but who can know what I’d want, but I?
And a crushing guilt,
an iron, unforgiving sound intoning
“bad you, bad you for caring
and not caring about a world full of pain.”
So I pull into my soul, out from this too-full world,
afraid to talk to anybody
(anybody would laugh at this stupid prioritization, I am paranoid),
trying not to cry.

Instructions

Tell me what you want from me
All that I should do or be
Next time I am what I was.
Tell me what to do because
I do not know what is right
I’m not like you, I’m not bright.
Tell me how I shouldn’t count
Any summitting amount.
Tell me how I shouldn’t add
All the totals that I had.
Tell me how I must subtract
What is myth from what is fact.
Tell me not to multiply
Joy increasing, balls that fly.
Tell me how I must divide
Myself from what might bring pride
Because it still might bring shame,
Tell me to ignore the game.
Tell me I control the fate
Of the future, with force great,
So if we get something wrong
It’s since I followed along.
Tell me that my job is large.
Tell me that I am in charge.
I will know what to do then
Next time I’m seven again.