Chalk this up as -- oh, let's see -- the 1,430,909th thing I love about the MLB Network:

It restores, through lively anecdotes and vintage highlights, so many memories of wonderful players and moments that escaped from the baseball vault of my mind.

I mention this now because I was watching a show called "Prime 9" on MLB the other night -- funny how the clicker always seems to conk out there -- when I was reminded of a player I would never hope to forget in the first place.

The show's premise is basic yet engaging: Nine players players are counted down and briefly profiled in a certain category -- say, the Greatest Defensive Third Basemen, for instance, or the Most Improbable World Series heroes, or maybe the Best White Red Sox Utility Infielders of the '80s (that one hasn't been made yet, curiously).

The topic the other night was What Might Have Beens, and typical of the Only Channel I Need, the list was smart and compelling. Satchel Paige was No. 1 and Bo Jackson was No. 2 -- and you can never go wrong reminiscing about either of those two. Lyman Bostock, a pet cause of mine for a long time, also got his due, as did our own Tony C.

But one name captured my attention more than the others. And let me tell you, it sure was a treat to watch footage of James Rodney "J.R." Richard throwing a baseball like few men ever have.

If you don't remember Richard -- a genial, gigantic righthander who won 74 games for the Houston Astros from 1976-'79 and struck out more than 300 batters twice -- all I can say is that "awesome" doesn't do him justice. He was 6-feet -8-inches tall, with legs thicker than your average backup catcher. And judging from the highlights on the MLB Network -- at one point, he's shown whiffing Reggie Jackson on a hellacious breaking ball Jackson missed by roughly the length of Dustin Pedroia -- I'm confident saying he was the most imposing pitcher, in terms of both stature and stuff, I've ever seen, Randy Johnson included.

‘‘I never thought I would walk a jockey. I must be the worst manager ever in the history of baseball right now, walking a guy that just came from being on top of Big Brown to beat the White Sox.’’

- White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen, after intentionally walking cleanup hitter (and apparent two-sport Triple Crown threat) Dustin Pedroia tonight.

Late, late tonight, I promise I'll be back with my first Red Sox column since - well, I think since Papelbon whiffed Seth Smith and the Sox rejoiced in the Rockies. (That's my way of saying it's been way too long.) But the basketball has been put away for the summer, the wimpy Lakers appropriately vanquished, and from here on out we'll be all about baseball until the leaves turn. I'm looking forward to it.

In the meantime, I filled in as the DH today at one of my longtime favorite sites, Rich Lederer's BaseballAnalysts, and my guest column concerns a topic that is central to TATB's existence. Jenna Fischer? Lovely guess, but nope. Today, we're talking about . . . baseball cards. Do check it out for a nostalgic dose of dorkiness, and also to learn why that Steve Stroughter card always made the 12-year-old me laugh. And still does.

I realize this is two ridiculously irrelevant posts in a row - some might say more - but I just noticed this while poking around the so-addictive-it's-life-altering SI Vault, and as someone who got his Red Sox baptism during the doomed '78 season, I just had to share.

The article, titled "These Are The Boston Manglers," appeared in the May 1, 1978, issue of Sports Illustrated. The author? Some cat named Gammons. (Don't know what became of him. Probably a blogger now. Shhh, don't tell Bissinger. He'll freak.) The theme of the article, as you may or may not have gathered from the clunky headline, told the story of the relentless Boston offense, with Gammons emphasizing the contributions of Jim Rice, who'd go on to earn the AL MVP that season, and No. 9-hitter Butch Hobson, who, well, would not, despite these early-season words of praise in SI:

Though he is only 26, because of his determination and attitude Hobson is the most respected member of the Red Sox. When he first came to Boston, there were doubts about his fielding. In one season he made himself into a third baseman of a rank just below the Yankees' Gold Glover, Graig Nettles. "He wears out us coaches," says Johnny Pesky, one of the men Hobson calls on to hit practice grounders by the gross. In a stretch of four games this season, Hobson made half a dozen brilliant plays. And though he strikes out a lot—162 times in '77—only Rice and Fisk can equal his clutch-hitting performances on the Sox. Last season 14 of Hobson's homers came after the seventh inning. With 16 RBIs in the first 13 games this year, Hobson appears to be headed for another 100-RBI season—if he can avoid having to undergo elbow surgery.

Now, I doubt anyone remembers Hobson with more distorted, misty-watercolor fondness than I do. He was my favorite player as a kid, and your favorite player as a kid ought to be your favorite player for life. The number "4" in my email address? Hobson's number with the Sox. Not a coincidence. And don't call me a dork.

I can say without a moment's hesitation that there has never been a Sox player in my lifetime who played harder (or more recklessly) than Hobson, and his hustle often led to spectacular plays; he was a recurring character in the "This Week In Baseball" highlights. Ol' Butchie never saw a dugout he couldn't dive into in pursuit of a popup. Bat racks feared him.

But the most ardent Hobson admirer has to chuckle at even an understated comparison to Nettles as a defender, especially considering what happened later that season. Hobson, plagued by bone chips in his throwing elbow, made 44 errors that season, becoming the first everyday player since 1916 to have a fielding percentage below .900. Any patron who dared to sit in the boxes behind first base was in the line of fire. It was only after Hobson went to his iron-skulled twit of a manager in tears and said, "I'm killing the team" that he was mercifully shifted to a DH role. Of course, it was actually The Gerbil who was killing the team, but we'll leave that story in the archives for today.

As for Nettles . . . he won his second straight Gold Glove that season, and his legendary and spectacular defensive performance in Game 3 of the '78 World Series lives on as a clinic on how to play the position. He might have been a colossal jerk, but he was a colossal jerk who could throw around the leather.

All these years later, I'd like to think Hobson could have stolen the same October moment, had fate been kinder to him and the ballclub that season, had his body not betrayed him, had his arm not gone on the fritz.

And you know what? I imagine Gammons does, too.

Just a quick tip of the cap to one of our longtime favorites, Julio Franco, who retired at age 49 yesterday, ending a 31-year-career in professional baseball. Yep, that's correct - Franco was paid to play baseball for 31 years, 23 of which were spent in the big leagues. We give you a few moments of note from a truly distinctive - and quirky - career:

He signed with the Phillies in 1978 and made his major league debut four seasons later in Philly, where his teammates included Mike Schmidt, Steve Carlton, Pete Rose, Tug McGraw, and of course, Porfirio Altamirano . . . was swapped to Cleveland in the infamous five-for-one Von Hayes deal in December '82 . . . was an established star with the Indians in '84 during the inaugural season of my beloved Maine Guides, the Tribe's Triple A team which has been defunct for 20 years . . . played with fellow 29-year-old Terry Francona and 25-year-old John Farrell on the '88 Indians . . . earned the All-Star Game MVP award in '90, getting the winning hit off "Best Damn Sports Show" drooler Rob Dibble . . . won a batting title with the Rangers in '91 . . . went to Japan after the '94 strike, and later batted .423 and .437 in two years in the Mexican League . . . in 1997, was already one of the 10 oldest players in the league according to baseballreference.com . . . compiled over 4,200 hits in the US majors and minors, Japan, Korea, the Dominican, and Mexico . . . hit .309 with a 111 OPS+ for the Braves at age 45 . . . on one legendary road trip to L.A., hooked up with all four of the Golden Girls, including Rue McClanahan twice . . . became the oldest player to homer in the majors when he took a young whippersnapper named Randy Johnson deep a year ago today . . . was the last active player to face a pitcher who also faced Ted Williams (Jim Kaat) . . . said his goal was to collect a paycheck and a pension check from a team in the same year, which would have happened had he stuck around until age 50 . . . retires with a .298 average, 2,586 hits, and 173 homers in the majors . . . according to Wikipedia, which is never wrong, many of his early bios have his birthdate listed as 1954, which would make him 54 - but very likely still a couple of years younger than Miguel Tejada.