One of these men is the literary heir to Andre Breton and Tristan Tzara.

It has recently come to the attention of the present site that one of the major leagues’ 30 organizations has within its employ — for reasons that aren’t immediately clear, but remain entirely praiseworthy — has a scout who submits reports of a distinctly whimsical nature.

While not at liberty to reveal the identity either of that scout or the organization to which he belongs, there are indications that the work of that scout, however surreal, exerts some influence over the organization’s decision-making.

What follows, exclusive to this site and thanks to the generosity of the unnamed orgnizations are brief excerpts from reports that this Dadaist Scout has filed within recent years — all of them (i.e. all the excerpts) relating specifically, in this case, to the sound certain players produce when the ball comes off their bat.

The Sound off Miguel Cabrera’s Bat
Is like a weedwacker committing patricide.

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On the occasion of the latter’s fifth birthday, the author’s wife spoke with our niece this past weekend. Among the topics of conversation: that same niece’s capacities as a wiffleball player. Whether she has a future at the highest level of the sport remains unclear. If scouting reports courtesy of her own self are accurate, however, the bat will almost certainly play, regardless of position.

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My little nephew Danny has been really struggling at tee ball, so he turned to his Professional Baseball Writer of an uncle for advice. The only problem is, I also stunk at tee ball, so I may not have been the best source of information.

But what I lack in physical prowess, I make up for in analytical skills, so I tried to help Danny the only way I knew how — by installing a makeshift PitchFX system at his tee ball park. This new system, which I call TeeFX, has proven to be a wealth of knowledge when it comes to analyzing the various pitches a tee ball tee can deliver.

See that spot in the middle there? That’s where the ball is, so I told Danny that swinging at that would increase his chances off putting bat on ball. I think this small adjustment in approach could really help Danny turn things around.

When Danny’s father allows him to speak to me again, I will report back with further findings.

Prescriptions for Paxil soared in response to Matt Harvey’s injury.

It’s no secret that major leaguers, like other high-profile athletes, supplement their sporting incomes by means of endorsement deals for various commercial products. Some such arrangements are well known, of course: Robinson Cano for Nike, for example, and Joe Mauer for Head & Shoulders.

Not all such endorsements are so visible, however. Below are fives examples of lesser-known deals that presently exist.

Alex Rodriguez for Monsanto
“What we really wanted,” says Dave Harding, a spokesman for the influential agricultural/biotech company, “is a spokesman who embodied the principles upon which our business is built: being super rich and without any discernible moral compass.”

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Derek Jeter’s 20th major-league season will be his final one, the Yankees shortstop announced recently. As Mike Lupica noted in a stirring piece of investigative journalism from 2007 — and as Bradley Woodrum has elsewise confirmed in these pages just today — the Captain seems strangely immune to bad press. NotGraphs spoke with definitely a real scientist from American chemical company DuPont to inquire about their role in Jeter’s impeccable reputation.

For a player with such a long career, under such intense media scrutiny, and with rather a long list of sexy, famous ladyfriends — for all that, Derek Jeter seems to have remained almost entirely free of controversy. DuPont has had something to do with that, I understand.

Yes. We were able to devise a method by which to apply Teflon, our popular non-stick coating for pans, to his public image.

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Current All Stars of Siberian League.

Today was great day in Siberian Baseball League. Due to pleasant weather conditions, only seven games canceled! Here is recap.

In Novokuznetsk, it was close affair, but home team prevailed over Wolves. Not baseball club Wolves — actual wolves, I mean, which invade city with crazy hunger for human flesh.

Due to mining disaster, club from Kemerovo has had trouble recently. Their best player now four-year-old girl. She is maybe to be sold for prostitute, though.

Elsewhere, team from Omsk accidentally go to Tomsk, while team from Tomsk to Omsk. Said best player from Omsk, Jaromir Shlemenko: “God is cruel. Life is terrible. I die now.”

Tomorrow is big game for Novosibirsk. Their best player is on disabled list with addiction to Krokodil.

This is the time of year – post-World Series, pre-pitchers ‘n catchers, circa happy hour – when baseball writers, gazing into the nullity of topics for which to engage their QWERTY, begin pulling baseball stories out of their respective badonkadonks. It’s also the time of year when baseball players “avoid arbitration.” This is a legal term meaning “evade arbitration.”

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The past 24 hours have been filled with some considerable discussion of baseball writer Ken Gurnick’s hall-of-fame ballot, with which Gurnick selected pitcher Jack Morris to the exclusion of other, probably more qualified candidates.

Gurnick’s trespasses hold zero candles, however, to those trespassed against us today by very late Czech author Franz Kafka, who not only somehow retains a vote for the Hall of Fame, but has used that privilege to select only Bug Holliday, a clear attempt to help sales of his famous novella Die Verwandlung — or, as it’s known commonly in English, The Metamorphosis.

(COREY KLUBER is at home, listening to a French language-learning podcast.)

PODCAST HOST
In the conversation you’ve just heard, Romain has explained to Pauline his holiday travel plans. Now practice your speaking skills by repeating the following sentence from the conversation.

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That ugly, fascist thing known as “accountant’s truth” suggests to those gathered here today that the image embedded above depicts former Orioles first baseman Randy Milligan taking batting practice at the future site of Camden Yards in 1990. What the worthwhile and compelling “ecstatic truth” suggests, however, is that what one finds here is actually a photo sent to us from either during or just after the apocalypse — a time when Randy Milligan still partakes in batting practice, but only as a fleeting reminder of how simple and unfettered life was before the world destroyed itself.

Credit to MLB Cathedrals and probably some other entity for image.