Earlier on Thursday, the Cleveland Indians announced via Twitter that they would reward the fan who could most ably document his or her enthusiasm for the club with two opening-day tickets for Progressive Field’s so-called Social Suite. (Approximate retail value: $348.06.)

The official rules for the contest are decidedly robust, both in terms of Legal Verbiage and Capitalized Nouns. Here’s a mostly relevant excerpt, however:

The object of the Contest is to create and post an original photo showcasing your Tribe Town pride (the “Entry“). You must post your Entry via a public tweet as directed by @Indians (the “Club Account“), and include the hashtag #TribeTown (the “Hashtag“) in accordance with these Official Rules to be eligible. Staff members of Cleveland Indians Baseball Co. LP (the “Judges” or “Sponsor“) will select the most compelling Entry in accordance with these Official Rules and based upon criteria set forth in the Judging section below to determine the Winner.

Generally speaking, this is the sort of thing at which the present author — whose entire person is refined and mannered — might consider snubbing his nose. “Let the common people fight over the scraps,” I’ve maybe said aloud once regarding this sort of public relations effort. “Allow them to conduct their affairs like some manner of cog in some manner of machine,” I’ve maybe proclaimed in a cartoonishly patrician and entirely affected accent, not unlike the one utilized by late cartoonish patrician William F. Buckley

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Come on, Temple, think. There’s a dirty joke in here somewhere. Come on! It’s posting time, gotta put something out there. This is an easy one. Think!

What, are you guys filming a porn in … no. That sucks. You can do better.

I bet your mom would like a hot blast of … BULLSHIT! This isn’t a rap battle between eighth graders! People will read this! OK, OK. Take a step back, let’s try to be a little more subtle.

Perhaps the gentlemen is merely practicing for when he comes in contact with a comely lady whilst on shore leave … OK, now you sound like Dayn Perry but with an even bigger learning disability.

You’ve written 259 posts for this site, not to mention the two that had to be taken down. You need to focus. Cistulli won’t put up with this when the season starts. BE. CREATIVE. YOU. PRICK.

Let’s deconstruct this. A guy is blasting something. There’s white stuff. The liquid is hot.

Hey, this team stinks enough as it is. Now I have to get a bukake … is that right? How do I not know what bukake means? Better Google it to make … JESUS CHRIST!

Screw it. Not posting today. I’ll come back tomorrow with fresh eyes. This is going to bug me, though. There’s a dirty joke in here somewhere.

KISSIMMEE, Fla. — Leaking out of Houston’s spring camp this week was the news that top draft pick Mark Appel is perfecting a never-before-seen pitch — one that could do no less than revolutionize the sport, say awed observers.

“It’s insane,” said a source, who preferred to remain anonymous. “He controls the ball with his freaking mind. It rises up out of his pitching hand and floats to the plate on its own. He’s already getting all kinds of movement on it — now he’s working on spins. Once he’s got it down it’s going to be completely unhittable.”

Though Christy Mathewson was said to be secretly working on such a pitch in his later years, no pitcher is known to have successfully executed it in a big-league game.

“Leave it to the Stanford kid to pull this [stuff] on us,” said the source, who claimed that during practice Appel had struck out 37 consecutive batters, and then “willed” a ball into Jose Altuve’s pants.

Hi Randy,

How’s it going? Remember that contract you signed? The one that offered you a chance to write for NotGraphs and said that we’d try you out this spring and if we liked your stuff, we’d give you a million dollars? Guess what? We like your stuff! Welcome to the team. Just give me a call about some details. Thanks.

Best,
Jack Z., guest editor, NotGraphs

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Recently, in these electronic pages, the author drove significantly more traffic than usual by means of a post alerting the public to five ballcaps of great merit available (at that time) on internet auction house eBay.com. What follows represents a nakedly desperate attempt to re-create that rare success.

To wit:

Montreal Expos 20th Anniversary Hat (Link)
Style: Snapback
Time Left: 28 days, 23 hours
Cost: US $25.00 (Buy It Now)

Some will argue that beauty is subjective. Ancient mathematician Euclid, who explored in some depth the idea of the Golden Ratio, would argue that those people are super wrong. What else he’d probably argue is that, among all the ballcaps currently available on eBay, this vintage and white Expos one is manifestly the most appealing. Of note for potential buyers: there’s no indication from the relevant auction page whether Jonah Keri is or isn’t included in the purchase price.

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It is with some frequency that we as baseball fans are made privy to a prospect’s hit tool via an all-too-familiar allusion, that annoyingly vague reference to the distinct sonic quality of said prospect’s bat against a recently pitched ball.

“The ball just sounds different coming off his bat,” we are told.

“When the ball comes off his bat, it just sounds different,” we hear.

“Different, is what the ball sounds like off his bat,” our ears pick up.

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I present these Instructional Figures without comment, in the trust that anyone wishing for baseballing betterment may profit thereby.

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You, reader, may well have been to a baseball game at least once in your life. And you, reader, may well have also bought tickets for a home opener. Doing such a thing in your United States of America or Rob Ford’s Toronto, is usually a matter of being next to an Internet-enabled computing machine, going to the team’s Web site, being redirected to some sort of page operated by the Master of Tickets, and doing the do with your credit card and a printer.

For a Mexican home opener, or partido inaugural should you feel inclined to use the local phrase, things can be done that way, but only if you are a) the owner of a credit card, and b) said credit card is from a Mexican bank. Many people are not owners of credit cards. I am not the owner of a Mexican credit card. My credit card was issued by a bank in Her Majesty’s Greatest of the Britains. Thus on Monday morning, at the ungodly hour of 9.15 a.m., I awoke from my delightful slumber, drank a cup of coffee, did not shower, put on the previous day’s clothes, brushed my teeth (I’m not a complete monster), wrapped some headphones around my unkempt hair, pressed play on my iPod, and walked out onto the very streets of this Mexico City, listening to the highly enjoyable BBC Radio Five Live programme, the Danny Baker Show, intent on buying tickets for the above-mentioned partido.

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While it has focused on expanding the appeal of the game both internationally and to various segments of the American population, Major League Baseball has always been careful to not alienate its most loyal and prized demographic, dad-shirt wearing suburbanite people like myself. Therefore, it has cultivated an air of respectability, aggressively going after PED users, taking steps to end home plate collisions, keeping Jamie Moyer around as long as humanly possible. But baseball is not alone in coveting my demo, and the NFL especially has been trying to poach fans by actively blanding down their hyper-violent game to make it more palatable to “ketchup-is-too-a-spice” types such as myself. Eventually, Baseball had to respond or risk losing me and my ilk to games that seemed “safer.”

Not to be outdone by the NFL’s new rules banning “dunking” over the goalpost, Major League Baseball announced today the following 10 changes to the game:

1)      Butt slaps are heretofore banned, and any uniformed personnel engaging in butt slaps, smacks, taps, touches, or gentle caresses on the field of play or in the dugout is automatically ejected from the game.

2)      High fives are only allowed after successful sacrifice bunts, groundouts resulting in a run scoring, or sacrifice fly. After a home run, players are to be given the silent treatment for at least three innings. No fist bumps. God help you if you fist bump.

3)      Uniform tops are to remain buttoned all the way up, and tucked neatly into pants. Socks must be visible to the mid-calf or higher. Stirrups are encouraged.

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The image above of Torii Hunter (which image one can embiggen most expediently by clicking) appears merely to depict the Tigers right fielder taking advantage of a free moment to stretch his legs during the sixth inning of today’s Grapefruit League contest between Atlanta and Detroit — nor, in fact, are appearances entirely misleading in this case.

As both Sergei Eisenstein and probably also one of Sergei Eisenstein’s friends took pains to establish, however, any image must be considered with the context that it’s presented — and the context in which the above image was originally presented provides layers of meaning that would put most onions (which have many layers, is the point) to shame.

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