The image you see below is from a series of otherwise rather stupid photos of people wandering through haunted houses and making the precise faces you would expect to be made by those who wander through haunted houses. All of this is forgettable save for the harrowed young man in what appears to be a one-off cap of the dear, departed Expos …

Is he frightened of the imaginary ghouls afoot? Perhaps. Or has he worn that exact mug of unflinching horror ever since the moment he learned of the Bartolo Colon trade? Yes, it turns out. It also turns out that this is … your Daguerreotype of the Evening.

Depending on which fan base you ask, Mr. Nyjer Morgan of Milwaukee’s Brewers is either the People’s Champion or a cad, masher and stinker. Whatever your opinion of Mr. Morgan and his outputs, though, it is always heartening to see an Aqua Velva Man in quenched repose, flush with accomplishment and awash in the warming glow of triumph …

Brewers infantry helmet atop head, which contains multitudes, reasonably priced alcohol-water within reach, and a belt-and-title smile that suggests, at once, self-satisfaction and misrule in the planning stages — When not hard at work, Mr. Nyjer Morgan is a Leisured Gentleman, and with that you must cope.

(Please and thank you: Rhett Bollinger)

Notice how the writer chose to spell “honour” in the headline? That’s a sign of class, lads.

So the Tigers struck a mighty blow for Flyover Nation and those inclined to resist the tractor beam of the Yankee-Industrial Complex. In honor of those Tigers of Detroit, we present your Daguerreotype of the Evening, which is of a Tiger and is tinged with with accoutrements of base and ball. It is called — for reasons that shall soon be made clear — “The Bengal of Pederasty”:

Tigers, congratulations. Tigers fans, congratulations. Bengal of Pederasty, just stop it.

The Florida/Miami Marlins, in advance of moving into a football-free abode of their very own, are busy re-branding themselves as the Señor Frog’s of baseball. First came the fashion-forward logo, then came the hat festooned with said fashion-forward logo. And now? Now comes … this. Click and fathom. My God, click and fathom:

That, friends and enemies, is what’s going to happen each time a Marlin (meaning, mostly, Mike Stanton) hits a home run. Once more for emphasis: This is going to happen.

Over at SBN, Grant Brisbee insists, with evidence, that this is a real, true thing conceived by, presumably, people paid in U.S. currency to conceive of things.

To what should one liken this thing? Would this be the output if Poseidon sexually assaulted Jimmy Buffett? Is it a rendering of the rarely glimpsed Kennedy Compound? Is this what “Eyes Wide Shut” meant? The entrance to a Very Infectious Seafood Restaurant where even children get the senior’s discount? Or just: The fuck?

Since the Marlins have already crossed the pastel-colored Rubicon, there’s really only one final step to take. Purchasers of season-ticket packages also receive … an evening of carnal pleasures with the Official Marlins Reverse Mermaid!

Undersea Baseball Yes!

As any good parent knows, there are things in this world very much worth the price, even if that price is the pain and suffering of one’s spawn. Among those things? Hot, delicious pizza. A candlelit evening with Cheryl Ladd. Fist-pumping rock music. And, of course, a cowhide orb freshly smote over outfield fencing:

Suffer the little children? Yes, please.

If you missed last night’s rather taut Game 4 between the ST. LOUIS CARDINALS 🙂 and the philadelphia phillies :(, then you need but three pieces of information to consider yourself fully apprised and in good standing …

1) The forces of the right-wise and well-bred prevailed over the ungentlemanly hordes that have afflicted us for too long.

2) In the early innings, Shane Victorino encountered was long been known as the Gentleman’s Pratfall and then compounded miseries by indulging in what has long been known as the Gentleman’s Tippy-Toss-Silly. Click! (HT: Dan McQuade):

And 3) In the middle innings, Roy Oswalt’s engagement with a batsmen was momentarily made more delightful by the appearance of a puckish forest dryad hellbent on giving Skip Schumacher a hitter’s count:

And that, doe-eyed schoolchildren, is how America was saved.

It is known among the genteel that occasionally a gentleman prefers to take in a game of base and ball not with his wife and progeny, but rather with a paid Detroit whore. And for this very reason, Patrick Henry invented Craigslist. So it is not surprising that a certain well-bred, monocled spice trader recently took to the List of Craig in search of a female companion not necessarily averse to breathy sexual congress in a darkened Comerica Park utility closet:

looking for a reasonably attractive, relatively promiscuous, 23+ yo woman to accompany to ALDS game 4 tonight (10/4) at Comerica Park.

From relatively mediocre looking bald 33 yo man

Section 140, Row 8.

Face value plus sliding scale discount based on attractivenes and entertainment value.

PS – must have driver’s license, breakfast skills optional

True, the “mediocre looking bald man 33 yo man” bit is perhaps not the savviest example of targeted messaging, but, in his defense, those sound like pretty good seats. As well, kudos to this discerning patron for realizing that there is a time for the “relatively promiscuous” (e.g., at a ballgame) and a time for the “unthinkably promiscuous” (e.g., at a Dave & Buster’s in the suburbs).

(Consensual sex: SportsGrid)

I break no news when I tell you that the sign of a successful and vigorous gentleman is a carefully cultivated smoking habit. The modern gentleman does four things daily and with tidal regularity: ties a flawless double-windsor on the first attempt, makes love to ladies, conducts business, and smokes delicious cigarettes.

Given these incontrovertible facts, it should come as no surprise that the mellow, rejuvenating taste of Camel was central to Joe DiMaggio’s lionized hitting streak. Indisputable photographic evidence:

If the reader of these panels is left with the impression that Mr. DiMaggio’s choice in cigarettes had much to with his fame and material uplift, then that’s because Mr. DiMaggio’s choice in cigarettes damn well had much to do with his fame and material uplift.

It strikes me — as it surely will all sensible, right-wise folk — that, so long as we’re in the business of making schoolchildren memorize and recite things like the Pledge of Allegiance and various series of Arabic numerals, the Sons and Daughters of America can surely spare the time and brain space to commit to memory these sacred utterances:

My cigarette is the milder brand with less nicotine in the smoke — Camel. I’ve smoked them for eight years. They always taste great.

Remember, Sons and Daughters of America: You don’t have to smoke Camel, but you do have to smoke. That is, if you want nice things.

If you’ve seen Hunter Pence taking practice cuts on deck, you were likely left agape and bewildered. The swollen eyes; the mimed, by-rote hatchet chops; the hint of mouth-breathing — some call this menu of liturgies “The Murderer at large.”

Mr. Jimmy Rollins — man about baseball and town — was also struck by Pence’s crudities. And so he mocked them, and his well-intentioned mocking provides you with not only boundless joy but also your Daguerreotype(s) of the Evening.

First comes the power (click and marvel):

And then comes the glory (click and marvel):

The whole world loves you, Mr. Rollins. And so do I.

(Hatchet-chop: I Left My Heart in Ben Francisco)

It’s time for another installment of “Shorter Baseball Columnists,” in which we read mainstream baseball columnists and marginalized bloggers like Murray Chass so you don’t have to! Let us begin!

Shorter Dan Shaughnessy: How dare John Henry’s wife update us on his recent medical crisis when the Red Sox aren’t in the playoffs!

Shorter Rick Reilly: Yuk, yuk, yuk!

Shorter Gerry Callahan: The Red Sox faltered down the stretch because the players are bad people.

Shorter Rob Parker: Jose Reyes lacks the integrity and personal courage of, say, a Rob Parker.

Shorter Rico Brogna: I have some opinions on Jose Reyes’s contract status, and, boy, those opinions are weird.

Shorter Murray Chass: Beer is stupid.

The “Shorter” approach to Internetty commentary traces back, as best as one can tell, to Daniel Davies.