Paul Lukas of the ever-excellent Uni Watch has a new column over on ESPN about a new trend in MLB clubhouses. Specifically, as you can see from the picture, the column is about bat knob stickers styled in the same way as the team’s jersey numbers.

This is minutia even to people who deal in minutia, as Lukas says, but I still think it’s really, really cool. Way cooler than the old way of just writing the numbers on the bat in sharpie. Personally, I think I’d buy a sheet of these Brewers-styled ones if they were to ever be made available. Check out the article for more on what teams use these and how many more could in the near future.

The extemporaneous nature of broadcasting makes for many a hazard. After all, there can be only so much stagecraft involved when the events that drive the broadcasting aren’t preordained. Chip Caray turns a hit into an out, Ernie Anastos gives the weatherman a rather curious directive (NSFW!), and so on.

Now what happens when you introduce crowd shots into this volatile melange? Chaos. What happens when those crowd shots are of 20-somethings disinclined to resist their beery urges? I’ll tell you: silence — beautiful, beautiful silence, awkward in the extreme — followed by a noble yet failed effort to smother the silly-giggles …

History teaches us that Daniel Webster won the debate over protectionist tariffs only after he stuffed his paw down the bodice of an onlooking chaste maiden and thus reduced Senator Hayne, his loyal opponent, to guffaws, spit-takes and high-fives. I have no doubt that the current debt-ceiling loggerheads will be resolved only when one of the combatants makes with the groping.

Thankful boob grab: With Leather

Reporters who don’t confide in loved ones that Orlando Hudson is the most enjoyable ballplayer to work around, simply haven’t covered one of his handful of teams. The “Dog” addition to so many is merely a cultural norm based off of what, Snoop Dogg’s popularity? I don’t know? But for Orlando it very well could pertain to his constant barking. The man never shuts up, and I say that in a very appreciative way. In an SI player poll, when ballplayers were asked who talks the most, it was O-Dog by a landslide, something like 30 or 40%.. For a player poll that’s a huge response, considering the universe of answers that could be given.  Anyway never-quiet second baseman sat down with me and shared this, the fourth installment of the Inside The Baseball Studio series where I take actual questions from Inside The Actor Studio with James Lipton and ask real players… Hope you enjoy,..

What is your favorite word?

I got so many, let’s go with Young Buck.

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Topps, world-famous makers of cardboard cards, has, for the first time, issued a baseball card for a former president. Here’s an image, festooned with the autographs of said Leader of the Republic Emeritus …

By all means, click and embiggen! And please dig the autograph!

Regardless of what you think of President Zen El and his policies, it’s nice to see President Zen El happily lobbing the cowhide. Congratulations, President Zen El!

The following is an excerpt from the recently-discovered masterwork, written by hand on a single jumbo-sized two-ply toilet paper roll deep within the catacombs of Kaufmann Stadium. The exact origins of the piece are unknown, but it’s believed that the majority of the passages were transcribed from folklore by a drunken, unemployed Trey Hillman, who hid in the boiler room for weeks after his 2010 dismissal. As for the work itself, it is best read aloud, in a detached voice, deploying copious pauses and wielding a mindset that is ever mindful of the pointlessness of the human condition.

(56th Chorus, as told by Gil Meche)

At another hospital
I almost died
With bursitis
Craning backward at the Ruthian
Rooftops on the Bronx
And at my fellows

Bannister was dying of diabetes
Not enough strong blood
     I had too much.
Bass was dying of die-sadness,
Others had elbows
     Like my Uncle John.

Old Dominican Runelvys
Had Tommy’s Awful Disease,
     the bloating of the belly
     by untamed thyroid
     And the endless wait.
     When it did end
     everything he threw
     turned to glass.

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Have you ever wanted to see a helicopter play baseball? Yea, verily. Have you also dreamed longingly of spicing up said game of helicopter baseball with bad baserunning, German brogues aplenty and a soundtrack that quite possibly features Yngwie Malmsteen? Well, despite the lessons of the past, present and future, dreams do come true! But only this one time …

Fans of that excellent film Anchorman may recall an appearance by erstwhile Athletics, Padres, Cardinals, and Pirates catcher/first baseman Gene Tenace. You’re forgiven, of course, if you missed it, as it’s really snuck in there. From the opening scene as the news team introduces themselves to the audience:

CHAMP KIND: Champ here! I’m all about havin’ fun. You know, get a couple cocktails in me, start a fire in someone’s kitchen, maybe go to Sea World, take my pants off. Anyway, I’ve become kinda famous for my signature catch phrase, “WHAMMY!” As in: Gene Tenace at the plate… and… WHAMMY! WHAMMY! [laughter]

Little known fact: Gene Tenace’s real first name is actually Fury. Don’t believe me? Sounds too ridiculous to be true, right? WRONG. Baseball-Reference is about to slap some sense into you.

Fury Gene Tenace. Got damn, I wish that were my name. And judging by his given name, Fiore Gino Tennaci, I wouldn’t be too surprised if he were some sort of distant relative to Carson Cistulli, no?

Rickey Henderson may be 52 years old, but the Hall of Famer doesn’t need to read the instructions when it comes to charming the Ladies of the World. That’s the case even when the Lady of the World in question is a coquettish little minx by the name of Kate Upton …

Mr. Rickey Henderson was absolutely through with it before you knew what to do with it.

Greetings from the afterlife!

It’s me, Alexander Cartwright. Today marks the 119th year since I passed on from the physical realm into Benny “The Jet” Rodriguez’s closet (no, it wasn’t a dream, Benny). Every once in a while when I am called upon or when I feel there is a pressing need, I’ll make a return on the anniversary of my death. So as my mere presence today indicates, there are some scores that need asettlin’. To hell with Ouija boards, we’ve finally moved into the 21st century, which is more than we can say for Mr. Selig.

Back in October it was brought to my attention by Bart (Giamatti) that that nitwit snake oil used car salesman was once again promulgating lies about the origins of the game for which he serves as steward. This time, when prompted by an autograph expert about his stance on that roaming band of drunken hacks, The Mills Commission, he gave this response:

As a student of history, I know there is a great debate whether Abner Doubleday or Alexander Cartwright really founded the game of baseball. From all of the historians which I have spoken with, I really believe that Abner Doubleday is the “father of baseball.” I know there are some historians who would dispute this though.

Thank you for taking the time to write to me. I hope that this has been helpful. I appreciate your interest in this most interesting historical subject.

Sincerely
Allan H. Selig

Do you hear that? That’s the sound of me dying of laughter.

What tommyrot! What bunkum! What flapdoodle! What codswallop!

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Let’s break down the perfect game-watching experience. A checklist!

Beverages, preferably of the adult variety.

A lack of pants, whether complete or partial, in order to keep the nether regions comfortable throughout.

So, I submit to you, perhaps the perfect-est seat for a baseball game:

Thanks to James Kannengeiser for pointing me to this Mocksession GIF.