Sunday, 11AM. “I know, I’ll write a post for tomorrow about the anticipation on Twitter regarding Ben Sheets’s upcoming start for the Braves.”

Sunday, 11:05AM. I type into the Twitter search bar: Ben Sheets. (And, really, I did type it in correctly. Double-checked and everything.)

A few results:

omg im folding my brother’s ben linens and his sheets are like brown but kind of satiny and wow they are pretty pimpin

— americosmo(@kawaiianpizza) July 8, 2012

Top 3 most inconvenient things: painting the nails on your right hand, realizing you have to pee after you’re comfy in bed, & fitted sheets

— DrinkDrankDrunk (@DrunkAtUD) July 15, 2012

80% of all textiles, fabrics, clothes, linen, drapes, bed sheets, etc. were made from #hemp until the Cotton Gin was invented in the 1820s.

— iStrainGuide (@iStrainGuide) July 9, 2012

What kind of Hallmark card says “Sorry I perioded on the bed sheets in your guest room”?

— Amelia Erfart(@Qu4rtKn33) July 9, 2012

Thanks, Twitter.

In this life, we’ve all got questions, the answers to which elude us. Sometimes, when — presumably — we’ve got nowhere else to turn, we need to ask athletes — in this case professional Major League Baseball center fielder Andrew McCutchen — these questions. Perhaps they have the answers, and would be willing to share them with us. Sometimes on this journey, we all need some guidance; a little direction.

Recently, a gentleman named Rocky Ord found himself in that position, a child along the way, his life about to change.

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Alright. There was a bagillion nominations, so we’re going to have to break this down a bit.

Newcomers to this endeavor should know: We are looking for the next great Hollywood baseball movie. Not a documentary, per se, as several of these players already have such. No, we want a Moneyball quality film made about one of these amazing men.

Below the jump will be a breakdown of the nominees, followed by the poll.
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The nomination process, which necessarily entailed the besoiling of things theretofore unsoiled, has climaxed, withdrawn, rolled over, and drifted off to sleep while reading a Buffalo Wild Wings delivery menu. Now all that is left is the voting.

Debauched functionaries have whittled down the list to a manageable 10, and from those 10 names you will choose one. That chosen one, because he was a super-tuffy and or scurrilous mountebank, shall forevermore be nicknamed “Museum of Questionable Medical Devices.”

Choose carefully, citizens, for those more important than you are watching …

Thank you for exercising the franchise.

People — and by “people” I mean “a select group of people who, one assumes, are accustomed to making poor life decisions” — people have, at times, expressed interest in hearing those portions of Dayn Perry’s FanGraphs Audio appearances which fail to make the actual, published episodes of same.

What follows is just such a thing — is, in fact, the entirety of the ca. 43-minute phone call I recorded with Perry on Thursday morning, which phone call ultimately produced six entire minutes of content.

Note that, unlike regular episode of FanGraphs Audio, what follows contains profanity (although, it should be said, less than usual for Perry) — and, as well, at least a full minute of the guest audibly evacuating his bladder.

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The Ironic Jersey Omnibus returns after a slight hiatus, this time examining the Colorado Rockies. The purpose, for those unaware or forgetful, is to examine a franchise and deliberate not on the finest jerseys available to the consumer, but those that hold a deeper message of joy, disappointment or hipsterism. As always, your comments and suggestions are welcome.

The Rockies are perhaps one of the greatest challenges to the Omnibus, not only because of the youth of the franchise, but because of the hyperbole created by Coors Field. Glimpse into, for instance, the haunted eyes of one Mike Kingery. The soft-spoken lefty with the career 1.0 WAR earned his name for a single season, hitting .349/.402/.532. Sadly, this sort of thing happens all the time in Colorado.

On the other end of the spectrum you have Dante Bichette. I have no idea what you do with Dante Bichette, his twisted physique or his oddly elfin face. The man received MVP votes four different times. And yet in 1999, a season in which he hit .298 with 34 home runs and 133 RBIs, he managed two come in at nearly two wins below replacement level. Along with Galarraga, Walker, and Castilla, he was one of the early faces of an exciting and slightly purple franchise. Bad as he was, it’s doubtful that you could wear his jersey without simply coming off as nostalgic or cheap.

That said, here are the nominees:

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You may not have heard of poet Toby Tacoma. Until now.

The greatest ever is what they will say,
Leading the squad by your words and play.
Sweetest swing when it’s time for clutch,
Oh, Captain! My Captain! Where are you Dutch?

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Readers, I think it comes as no surprise to anyone that this is a dull period in the sporting world. Meaningful baseball hasn’t been played since last weekend, the football preseason is weeks away, and soccer remains to be really stupid. It has gotten so bad in my household, I’ve been ceaselessly checking to see if my local basketball team has signed something called a Nic Batum.

Last night I was re-watching an episode of Hillbilly Handfishin’ on Animal Planet, and wishing desperately that there were baseball games to be seen. It seemed as if I were destined to spend yet another night of despair at the bottom of an absinthe bottle, when I got an idea.

The 2012 All-Star Game was a bit of a snoozer, frankly. Though it is has been historically tough to glean enjoyment out of an All-Star Game in general, this year seemed even worse. I chose to play a reenactment of the game in my head, inserting interesting events where I deemed fit. I was not writing this down at the time, but the following is my best recollection of what transpired.

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The internet giveth, and the internet… giveth even harder:

When last we checked in with Dale Thayer, he was just about to knock on your door and ask to use your bathroom real quick.

“Dude, you in there? Gotta pee!”

Since then, Dale lost his job as the Padres’ closer and was bumped down to the team’s seventh inning guy, where he’s doing ok, he guesses, but he really wanted to maybe make the All-Star team, get his BBQ groove on in KC.

Alas, Dale ended up having the full four days off, and decided to take a tour of the ballparks that he’s visited as a player, but never seen from a fan’s perspective. First on the list was Milwaukee’s Miller Park.
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