The following headlines actually appear on MLB.com today:

Giambi Gives Tribe a Brant New Day
Another Homer for Miggy Before Tigers Get Jiggy
Fish Feel LoMo-mentum Shift Late in KC
Blue Jays Lay Down Lawrie, Edge Red Sox
Hair Rays-ing! Walk-off Win Snaps Skid
Texas Bullish Against Milwaukee ‘Pen
Robbie Is Aptly Named as Astros Stun Athletics

The questions abound. When did this start? Who thinks it is a good idea? Why does the National League not get the same treatment? Does MLB.com have one person on staff writing their NL wrap headlines and another person, presumably 9 years old, writing their AL counterparts? Has MLB decided to market the junior circuit as their “fun” league? How long can this possibly continue before the eyeballs of Internet readers everywhere rupture from the sheer pressure of awful punnery? And, most importantly, what awful puns can we ourselves contribute?

Newly-acquired Royals outfielder Justin Maxwell has nice teeth.

And he should. From The New York Times:

Maxwell, from Olney, Md., is the son of Austin Maxwell, who was the presidential dentist for five years, starting in 1997. He handled dental care for President Bill Clinton, Vice President Al Gore and their families, and then for President George W. Bush before retiring from the Navy in 2002. Justin Maxwell, 29, was a star amateur player for much of that time and drew the attention of one of his father’s patients.

“My dad told me that when Bush was president — he’s a big baseball fan — during one of his appointments, he asked how I was doing at the University of Maryland,” Maxwell said. “And my dad said he had never talked about baseball, so he obviously did his research. I thought that was pretty cool.”

That was a conversation the elder Maxwell could share. As for what he saw inside the mouths of the presidents, that was strictly confidential.

“He was never allowed to tell me anything,” Maxwell said. “Even to this day, he’s not allowed.”

Now is a good time to be a fair reader of these electronic pages, fair reader. You see, FanGraphs is gaining traction as they say, becoming relevant in the larger world. Harold Reynolds invoked the name of Dave Cameron without either party’s head exploding. Vin Scully, baseball’s granddad, uttered the actual Uniform Resource Locator of the site in such a manner that he only kind of sounded like he didn’t know what he was talking about, but no more so than usual.

Dare I say, is it finally cool to read FanGraphs? Would this be something you admit to your friends or slip into your Match.com dating profile? If you feel it is, the below audio is for you. Take the FanGraphs ringtone and blare it loud in concert halls, doctor’s offices, city busses, etc. to show that you are a proud reader.  Have your mom call you on the hour, every hour, until everyone in your immediate surroundings know EXACTLY where you go to get in-depth baseball analysis.

(Please feel free to download liberally for putting in your phone/blasting from your whip.)

Also, for reference:

(h/t to reader The Return of Rambo Diaz for the inspiration)

The Hollywood, California picture-show movie executive thought he was making a demand that would be met. “You’ll play yourself,” he thundered at Keith Hernandez and then offered a liver-spotted hand.

Hernandez took a long, measured pull on his Yves Saint Laurent luxury cigarette, held it for a moment, exhaled slowly, and let the silence do the work for him. “I’m not going to play myself,” he told the Hollywood, California picture-show movie executive and then leaned forward to put out his Yves Saint Laurent luxury cigarette on the Hollywood, California picture-show movie executive’s liver-spotted hand. “That’s because I’m not myself.”

Keith Hernandez rose from the table, perched high-end shades on the bridge of his nose, buttoned the top button of his camelhair blazer with the other hand, and then with a third, spectral hand retrieved a pearl-handled .38 from his sock. A narrating voice — the voice of Hollywood, California actor Jason Robards — began to intone the following:

“Keith Hernandez was right. He was not himself, and these motherfuckers needed to know that. Keith Hernandez is essence. He is … musk. But he is not himself. Yes, he’ll be in the Brendan Fraser-Albert Brooks smoldering turd known as ‘The Scout,’ but he’s not going to play himself. This is because he’s not himself. All the other ballplayers, managers and broadcasters can play themselves, but Keith Hernandez is going to play … Keith Hernandez. Now it’s time for Keith Hernandez to get laid on an Air France Concorde.”

Keith Hernandez, you see, is not himself.

(Love shall be made to @theiri for bringing this to the author’s attention)

At least one reader to click on the button embedded here and take the following quiz — at least one such reader will probably die within the next calendar year. Unfortunate, that.

On a positive note: almost no mental strain whatsoever will be required of that same reader when he’s tasked with identifying the least important moments of his life in recent memory.

As someone who has chosen to watch the Astros, I’ve subjected myself to watching a lot of Brett Wallace. This does not bring joy into my life. I find this odd since I always have had a proclivity to players that have last names that could also be first names. I can’t explain this penchant, so don’t ask. I just do. Back off, OK?

To curb my Brett-Wallace induced depression, I did some research to create the all-first-name team, based on FanGraphs WAR. The following were the fruits of the search:

C – Russell Martin (3.9, 3rd among catchers)
1B – Allen Craig (2.3, 9th)
2B – Darwin Barney (0.4, 15th)
SS – Ian Desmond (4.2 ,1st)
3B – Ed Lucas (0.5, 25th)*
OF –  Austin Jackson, (2.8, 17th), Alex Gordon (2.5, 23rd), Jay Bruce (2.5, 24th)
SP – Matt Harvey (5.7, 1st), Cliff Lee (3.1, 19th), Lance Lynn (2.7, 28th)
RP – Addison Reed (1.8, 5th), Joe Nathan (1.6, 12th)

*= As there were no candidates among qualified batters, I had to set a 200 PA minimum to find a third baseman.

Much has been written, including on this very website, about Adam Rosales’s past week: DFA’d by the A’s, picked up by the Rangers, DFA’d by the Rangers three days later, picked back up by the A’s, DFA’d the next day, and then claimed by the Rangers again. Or by Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, depending on whose NotGraphs post you believe.

But over here at NotGraphs investigative headquarters, we’ve discovered that all of this DFAing has made Rosales begin to wonder about whether he might need to look for a new career… and he’s decided to become a computer programmer.

Among his very most recent follows on Twitter is the account for Codecademy, a site that provides free computer programming lessons that, according to the person writing this NotGraphs post, is a great idea that can get a writer really excited to sign up, and then the lessons are kind of interesting for about an hour, but then it’s impossible to get motivated enough to ever click on the site again, even months later (although maybe that just means I’m not cut out to be a computer programmer).

Anyway, I think it’s great that Rosales is using his down time productively, and hopefully someone will find a new major league use for him soon.

Belovéd, yesterday Craig Calcaterra, of Hardball Talk, foretold of the coming of a cinematic experience so singularly important that it dwarfs any of the petty and mundane concerns that make up our lives. When this film, Mr. Go, arrives from South Korea upon the shores of these here United States, we are compelled to drop everything and greet it with the awe and reverence it will clearly deserve. And yet, I am confused by so much in the following trailer:

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Popular Irish legend maintains that one can find — at the end of a rainbow — one can find a pot of gold guarded by a leprechaun.

Bulgarian legend, meanwhile, proposes that anyone walking under a rainbow will experience a change in gender. Common sense, really.

Meanwhile, during the second inning of Tuesday night’s FSN broadcast of the Mets-Dodgers game (box), potentially real, but probably mythical, broadcaster Vin Scully cited FanGraphs.

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This has been Men Surrounded by Things. Now go take a cold shower.