Dearest NotGraphs,

*Presumably.
**I’ll spare you the web address, as you would only discover that the blog is really quite pathetic.
***When my wife asks why I bother posting to a blog that almost nobody reads, I have no dignified response.

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What we do is assign cool nicknames to players rather than perpetuate the tired, lamewad practice of assigning cool players nicknames. Last time out, Derek Jeter had sex with the nickname “L’homme Qui Aimait les Femmes” and left it a gift basket. So Mr. Jeter has been added to our Hall of Honouur, which is so stately, so regal, so much itself a celebration of the Norman Conquest, that an extra British-English unstressed “u” is required for proper spelling …

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The reader might be inclined to argue with the premise of this post — namely, that the gentleman pictured above (from this compilation of Louis CK clips of the early 90s) is Lenny Dykstra. Before doing so, however, he (the reader) would be well advised to consider that the consequences for being wrong in this matter are almost non-extant, while the spasm of joy produced by believing that said individual is Lenny Dykstra is pretty decent so far as joy spasms go (although decidedly less substantial than other joy spasms, which will go unnamed and nameless).

Furthermore, we must consider the ancillary value present here: that the gentleman pictured — even if he be a Pseudo Dykstra — has created a pretense for the rendering of the phrase joy spasm into electronic print. As if this weren’t already the best of all possible worlds!

Have you seen this, friend?

I like the looks of it. I am going to Borchert Field. I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

Part of me — the good part — hopes that the Tripoli Arab Patrol is a patrol made up of Arabs rather than a patrol in search of Arabs to be patrolled. But I’m still going to Borchert Field. I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

The Tripoli Arab Patrol is world-famous throughout Shrinedom, so it can’t be all bad. I’m told a band will play. I enjoy a good Sousa march. I’ll hope for a Sousa march, and I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

It will all unfold harmlessly, you see. The fun will approach such levels that a circus will come to mind. Or a riot. Would you call a riot “fun”? They promise laughter. I often find myself asking, “What’s so funny?” I ask this of myself sometimes when I’m alone. But I’ll go anyway to Borchert Field. I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys. “Who even has the energy anymore?” is something else I say a lot.

Milwaukee Gas Light Company is a name I can trust. Twenty-five cents sounds reasonable. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself in a grand stand. I’m on a budget like the rest of us. Does this look like scabies to you? No, not that. I hadn’t even noticed that before.

Yes, I suppose I shall watch them play baseball on donkeys.

I remember lying on the roof as a boy and looking up at the stars in mute suspension and talking about what scared me. I don’t believe I ever mentioned donkeys or Shriners. So I shall go to Borchert Park. The more I think about it, though, it seems quite possible that I would’ve mentioned donkeys and Shriners. That will give me something to think about on the bus.

“Should I watch them play baseball on donkeys?” is something I’m starting to ask a lot.

“Nite” sounds more promising than “night,” doesn’t it? “Night” carries with it the threat of menace. Or at the very least the threat of not getting to bed at a decent hour. I have a routine, you see. I suppose, though, that “nite” means the same thing. Stands to reason. They probably just spelled it that way in order to save space.

I don’t think I’m going to go see them play baseball on donkeys.

What do you think happens when you die?

The Mets’ ownership recently settled the infamous Bernie Madoff-related lawsuit for a reported $162 million. That money could have gone to much better uses, such as charities; or, better yet, the items listed below:

• 3.6 million: clipboards made of body armor.

• 1.62 million: buckets of baseballs

• 269,550: shares of Apple, Inc.

• 27,000: of these $6,000 toilets that include a touchscreen remote control and feet warmer.

• 6.37: seasons of Albert Pujols.

• 3.14159265: Cistullis.

• 1: episode’s worth of FCC fines accrued by Dayn Perry on FanGraphs Audio.

Oh, and a partridge in a pear tree.

The Brewers are placing a statue of maybe-literally-immortal Brewers broadcaster Bob Uecker outside of Miller Park this summer — nor, if the following tweet from Tom Haudricourt of the Journal Sentinel is any indication, does it appear as though Uecker is bashful about what crowds will see.

Uecker on his pose for the statue: “It’s kind of a Schwarzeneger-type thing. Beefcake, speedo, pretty buffed. It’s really enhanced.”

— Tom (@Haudricourt) March 21, 2012

Yesterday, Carlos Beltran tweeted this picture of himself alongside two “killer” whales / Orcas who are gratuitously public affecting AKA making out AKA greeting each other in a friendly way. The multiverse implications are obvious here: once you click, you will have turned away from the world without this photo (colder, darker), and walked into the world with it (kissier, happier). Here is an illustration, even more literal than usual:

The grainy image embedded here (the sort of image that one could, if one were so inclined, embiggen merely by clicking) is intended to indicate not only that (a) the author is a lifelong subscriber to The Good Life, but also that (b) MLB.TV now appears to be live on PlayStation 3 — which, by the Transitive Property of Home Electronics, suggests that it’s now available on other connected devices (Apple TV, Roku, Xbox 360), as well.

The audio options appear to be functional, too: I listened to part of Tuesday’s Red Sox game with the audio feed from Red Sox Television, and then switched over later to Red Sox Radio.

Courtesy of Carson, this Tweet:

Jason Giambi shares his wisdom with some of the younger #Rockies players: atmlb.com/yx5RV3 #RoxCommercials #StarWars

— Colorado Rockies (@Rockies) March 18, 2012

If you watch the linked commercial– and you should!– you will hear advertising creatives crying Giambi offering Yoda-like advice to Rockies players I’m not sure I can correctly name. Advice like, “Powerful Become You Are” to some guy in the weight room. (The commercial cuts out just before Giambi injects him with Pine Tar.) Enjoy.

Doorbell rings

Me: Ummmm, Mr. Selig, hi. What are you doi…

Selig enters the house and begins to look around.

Me: Yes, please come in. Can I get you something to…

Selig: This is a nice little place you have here.

Me: Thank you, sir.

Selig: I really like the decor. And please, call me “Commissioner.”

Me: Certainly, Commissioner. Thank you.

Selig continues to make his way through the house, snooping around.

Selig: What’s this?

Me: Oh that. That’s just my baseball card collection.

Selig: Baseball cards! I love baseball cards. Mind if I take a look?

Me: No sir, uh, Commissioner. Go ahead.

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