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So I picked a fight with the Internet, and the Internet is beating me as though it entered a cheat code. The blow-by-blow …

Yesterday, I threatened to Ruin Everything^TM by posting the same thing as Eno Sarris, a mere hour later. Content redundancies are frowned upon, particularly by Dear Leader, so after I spent a sleepless, unmentionable night in the NotGraphs Dungeon of Citizen Reprimand, one would think the scales would have fallen from mine eyes. One would think …

Yet, lo, I awoke, fired a Tweet through the Internet, and watched disaster unfurl before me like Dave Cameron’s rolled-up knapsack of Medieval torture devices …

I thought Jose Reyes’s projected stat line was pretty cool, but it did not rise to the fleetingly rare level of “cool enough to repeat this four or five times in succession.” I don’t repeat things like that. I repeat drink orders just to be sure. And I repeat, usually in moments that don’t seem to occasion it, my refusal to quarter soldiers in my home during wartime because the third amendment means that much to me. But I don’t repeat Jose Reyes’s projected stat line. At least, not unless the Internet makes me.

So what does one say at this point? This? “I’m sorry, Internet. Please leave me alone.” Also: Et tu, Firefox.

On Friday night, The Great Ejector was ejected. Think about that for a minute, or ten.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

And, yes, you can absolutely trust NESN.com’s Jeff Howe on this one. He knows a guy.

Bravo, Boston. I am indubitably impressed. Bravo.

Early in January, we took a moment out of our busy schedules to appreciate some of the accidental, or pocket, tweets from Mr. Peter Gammons (@pgammo).

Four months later, the man whom no one has ever called George Plimpton for the 21st Century continues to refine his craft.

Below are five notable contributions to the genre of the pocket tweet — all from the past month.

5. This is from today, actually, and features one of the hardest letters to find while playing the Alphabet Game on a road trip.

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Texas Ranger starter C.J. Wilson suggested today via Twitter not only that (a) he’s occasionally frustrated by the questions he’s asked by reporters but that (b) he’d entertain the possibility of giving fictional answers in the future.

Fortunately, NotGraphs literally specializes in the very important field of fictional answer-giving.

Below are some questions that Wilson either has received or could expect to receive, all with answers taken directly from a most unlikely source — i.e. David Berman’s first and only book of poems Actual Air.

Regard:

Q. How does a pitcher have to act to become a true ace?

A. So dull that he only makes a brief appearance in his own life story.

Q. How’d you feel out there today?

A. Like a turtle tangled up in dry cleaning bag.

Q. What’s been the key to your transition from relieving to starting?

A. A wedding ring with an on/off switch.

Q. How does your cut fastball look to opposing batters, do you think?

A. Like rain in its original, uncut form.

Q. What do you like to do with your free time?

A. Rank the great shipwrecks.

Bob Uecker is a fixture of American high-brow culture.

Though Larry Granillo of mortal enemy Baseball Prospectus is right to suspect that I’ve thought such a thing in my head, I did not write the following entry for Bob Uecker at Urban Dictionary (emphases mine, everything else sic):

One of the most legendary baseball announcers of all time. Born in 1935, Uecker was raised in Milwaukee, WI. Uecker played major league baseball for 5 seasons, stretching from 1962 to 1967. Career highlights include being “intentionally” walked by Sandy Koufax and getting out of rundown against the mets. He is also an established comedian and actor. His words are that of pure greatness, similar to ones of a deity. Uecker has numerous famous quotes like, “Juuuuust a bit outside” and “Heeey Struck him out”. (Uecker actually says He but in excitement it turns out to be Hey) Bob Uecker won the Ford C. Frick award in 2003 and is a Milwaukee Brewer Hall-of-Fame member. Bob Uecker is more than likely a disciple of God, and one of the greatest men to every grace this beautiful earth.

Who is the author? That’s the million-dollar lire question.

We have some clues, though:

• Our author’s user name is Mitchell-Francis.
• User Mitchell-Francis wrote two other definitions: a (negative) one for Lopez Tonight and also for Jimmy jacked.
• As in, “Everyone’s real jimmy-jacked that this post is finally over.”

The pitch you see here was (a) thrown by Daniel Bard to Nick Swisher last year and (b) appears to possess changeup-type (or at least two-seam fastball-type) movement while also traveling at 99 mph.

Sean Murphy, who’s preserved the above-embedded GIF at his site, refers to the sequence as “baseball porn” — and for good reason, too: there’s something equal parts filthy, captivating, and primeval about what Bard’s able to do with/to/all up on a baseball.

Yesternight, Oakland starters Brett Anderson and Brandon McCarthy got to tweeting about this pitch — a conversation to which Man About the Internet @BigMike05 alerted me. Mr. Big Mike was also curious about how we might accurately characterize this pitch which, it must be said, defies superlatives.

As I say, filth is the definitive quality of the offering. Watching this pitch is like watching Christina Aguilera give a lap dance to a side of beef — i.e. both disgusting and impossible to look away from.

The question is, what ought we to call such a pitch?

Some ideas, from the dirtiest part of Dirtville:

• The Slavic Tongue Kiss — Tongue-kissing can be romantic, but not the way they do it in Eastern Europe.
• The Pantless Velociraptor — A velociraptor with pants is bad enough.
• The Well-Oiled Ambassador — Oiled with what, exactly?
• Hepatitis K — The filthiest possible virus.
• The Moist Handshake — Ick. Not so nice to meet you, actually.

How many words is this picture of word’s worth?

Courtesy of @MLBTransactions and the elderly R.J. Anderson’s watchful eye.

If there’s one thing a man wants, it’s to be immortalized in the very permanent medium that is Twitter.

That thing is what’s happening right now to Tampa Bay Ray, New Hampshire native, and Member of the Tribe Sam Fuld.

After the jump, you can find some prime examples of Sam Fuld-related panegyric. Feel free to embrace all the magic by clicking here.

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This is Brandon McCarthy’s actual Twitter profile photo. Yes, really.

For those wondering, Brandon McCarthy is firmly in the sweet potato camp, and I’m not talking about an attractive-soft-around-the-edges person. Then again, who’s to say he isn’t into that. But sweet potatoes – the vegetable – yea… McCarthy can get jiggy with that.

How do I know?

Is it my access to clubhouses? No.

Is it that I saw him at an all-you-can-eat sweet potato buffet? No, but I wish.

Is it because I follow his twitter feed? You betcha.

For those who argue Tweets are the banal inner monologue to the bored, I’d say, sure you’re usually right. But McCarthy – or as he dubbed himself, “the West Coast Joe Blanton” aka WCJB – has made having an account well worth my vastly dispensable time.

And without knowing any of you, I’m sure it’s worth your time, too. But what’s your favorite tweet of his? And WCJB, if you’re reading this, I too feel you on Arrested Development. Just do me the favor of buying a really nice suit (because you, not I, can afford it) then continually mention how much it costs.