Tommy Hilfiger, the People’s Preppy, has undertaken a uni reboot for some famous teams, and among those teams is the Yankee-Industrial Complex that is near and dear to us all. Here is what Mr. Hilfiger has wrought:

It’s fine except for the jersey. And what does that jersey even look like? What a failed white rapper would wear to rehab? Something off the back of a member of the soda-jerk’s local? I have no idea.

(Hat tip: Me. Because I found this on the Internet.)

Also:

There must be something in the water in Kansas City.

What is it about the players in royal blue that inspires such melodious intent? First we had a triptych to Jeff Francoeur that drew inspiration from the righteous tunes coming from Barry Manilow and Sara McLaughlin, and now Will McDonald at Royals Review has added Bruce Chen and Mike & The Mechanics to the musical lineup.

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In our ongoing attempt to discover precisely how many words a picture of words is worth, I offer you the following, bespectacled reader: a tweet, courtesy of the Washington Post’s Adam Kilgore, concerning Miguel Batista’s fastball velocity (or lack thereof).

Regard:

Inspired choice by Mr. Desmond, I think, to go with Iowa there. Everyone knows that Miss California generally brings the gas.

H/T: Answer Dave

What you’re about to witness comes courtesy of loyal NotGraphs reader Reynaldo, who said:

I have no idea what the purpose of this video is, but when I saw it I thought of Notgraphs so here you go.

The purpose of the video, to these eyes at least, is educational. Never, ever test Ichiro’s arm.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2grLJR7eaM

Boom, Ichiro. Literally.

Thank you, Reynaldo. Thank you so damn much.

Joe West has been known to kick the sh*t out of an ungentlemanly scoundrel or three, but he won’t kick the sh*t out of this one …

You’re welcome, Jim Joyce. The Great Ejector has laid aside his abiding and hardwired passion for ejections in order to make a simple, pedestrian out call and clean up the hash you’ve made of history.

Armando Galarraga, perfection is yours. Republic, you are saved.

(Manly hug to Navin, who makes love to Photoshop like few others.)

A picture tells a thousand words.

Well, except when it’s a picture of three words, as it is in this case. This picture tells three words. Namely, “thornton named closet.”

Some links for your perusal, if you happen to be traveling along the Information Highway today. Is the Internet still called the “Information Highway”? Why are we still capitalizing “Internet”? So many questions.

The New York Times, they’re up first, with Learning to See the Strike Zone With One Eye, the story of Southeast Missouri State pitcher Jordan Underwood, who lost an eye after being hit in the face with a line drive.

Three weeks after a line drive crashed into his face and destroyed his left eye, Jordan Underwood sat at Logan’s Roadhouse in Oklahoma City and decided his tea needed some sweetener. He opened a packet, extended his arm to the glass and proceeded to pour sugar all over the table.

“That’s the first time I was, I guess, mad,” said Underwood, then a control pitcher at an Oklahoma junior college. “It really hit me. I was going to have to make some adjustments.”

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The yearly cycle for a bad team should be familiar to most.

There’s the uplifting dawn that is spring with it’s bird-chirping optimism. There’s the disillusionment of summer, when, as if wilting in the strong noon-time sun, everything that can go wrong does go wrong. And then there’s the softly-falling sadness of the offseason, when even jaded fans pine for the good old days – because flawed baseball is still baseball.

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Just so we’re clear, there was no meteor. There was — and always will be — fearless Joe West.

High five, down low, to my esteemed — and much, much smarter — colleague Albert Lyu for this, The Great Ejector’s latest adventure.

Remember the taut .gif tale of Adrian Beltre’s visceral hatred of having his head rubbed? If Beltre thought that getting the hell out of Boston would spare his dome from such vicious assaults, then he is gravely mistaken:

Third baseman Adrian Beltre’s torment has already begun and his smooth head is already under siege.

Not surprisingly, shortstop Elvis Andrus is spearheading the attack, but there are plenty of teammates who have caught the contagious compulsion to rub Beltre’s head.

“Oh yeah … a bunch of times,” Andrus said. “He better get used to it. He might kick my tail, but I’m going to do it.”

There’s a lesson in here for Andrus and other would-be assailants: Adrian Beltre does not forget. For instance, you’ll recall that Victor Martinez was the main offender in Boston. Beltre certainly recalls:

“Sometimes I thought about killing him,” Beltre said. “But I thought about it. … I have a family so I didn’t.”

You know how you make jokes and you’re half-kidding? One gets the chilling sense that Beltre is maybe 5% kidding when he says he’d like to murder Victor Martinez and leave his tortured corpse in a shallow grave. Or perhaps put his head on a pike outside the Rangers clubhouse to serve as a warning for all who would emulate his dark ways.