The Screwball: Wanna See How the Comedy Kielbasa is Made?

Do you think Derek Jeter can take a joke? (via chris.ptacek)

Every year since the Winter at Valley Forge, which coincided with the birth of Confucius’ first-born son, Shecky, I have written a humor piece for The Hardball Times Baseball Annual titled The Year in Frivolity. In it, I attempt to become America’s Top Model by presenting jokes that cause readers to literally laugh their arses off, the objective of said arse separation being a projected uptick in billable services at my fully licensed (and partially bonded) arse reconstruction clinic, Butts Wagner & Harry Cheek, LLC.

Contrary to popular perception, however, my life in the fashionable realm of baseball whimsy is not all fun and baseball games. It might sound paradoxical, but producing a joke is very hard work. First I must dial 1 (800). Then I must dial MLB-JOKE. That’s a lot of dialing. Next, I must file formal adoption papers to make the joke my own, after which inconvenience I must endure a series of home visits so that investigators can determine if I am providing a structured environment, i.e., putting the punchline at the end and not in the middle.

In the off chance that Gilbert Gottfried has not submitted a zinger about Joe Panik and his frightful time at the disco, I must cancel my nosehair-trimming plans, trudge to the laptop and set it to Humor Font. The result is a slew of jokes that slip past the Annual editors, mostly because they’re reviewing an illustrated analysis of Statcast route efficiencies as they pertain to string theory, but even more jokes that totally fizzle, regardless of one’s nitrous oxide intake.

Here, for your lack of amusement, are those very jokes, along with the reasonable reasons I did not submit them for the Annual. Don’t enjoy!


  • On Opening Day, Giants starter Madison Bumgarner showcases his power-hitting ability by smacking two home runs in San Francisco’s 6-5 loss to the Diamondbacks. Afterward, per an obscure provision in his contract, Bumgarner receives a bonus for his two round-trippers: 10 percent off a dirt bike ride in the mountains outside Denver.

As I wrote in last year’s treatise on Comedy Sausage and the delicate manufacture thereof, good starts are important. Why lead with a joke that demands a retroactive foreknowledge of a formerly future event that now abides in our collective rear-view mirror, i.e., MadBum’s dirt bike accident in the aforementioned mountains outside the aforementioned Denver? That sort of time-bending monkey business, even on an Internet equipped with hyperlinks to now-defunct Websites that advertise scheduled seances with gifted clairvoyants who died in May of ’98, is too great a burden for readers still exhausted by the deep dive into Billy Hamilton’s 99.8 percent route efficiency on a long fly ball that arced through a Calabi-Yau manifold.


  • In early April, Commissioner Rob Manfred says he might address the pace of play by enacting a rule that limits the number of pitchers who can pitch in one inning. Days later, Detroit manager Brad Ausmus says he might address the quality of play by enacting a rule that limits the number of times Francisco Rodriguez can blow a save.

Wanna know the truth? I will give it to you. (Unlike Jack Nicholson, who is plagued with some pretty serious trust issues, I honestly believe you can handle it.) The truth: This ain’t the worst joke I’ve ever written. If you had read the worst joke I’ve ever written, you would have required medical help for post-traumatic joke disorder, which, truth be told, involves a lot of leeching.

Still, this joke doesn’t quite measure up to the demands of the No. 2 spot in the hilarity lineup, which is where it would have settled. Per the managerial philosophy of circa-2011 Ron Washington, the No. 2 joke must bunt the leadoff joke into scoring position or die trying. But this joke? This joke totally missed the bunt sign and grounded weakly to Joe Panik at or near the disco.


  • Facing starter Jaime Garcia in the second inning of a Braves-Marlins game in Miami, Marlins rookie J.T. Riddle notches his first major league hit by singling on a pitch that bounced in the dirt. Asked about his preparation, Riddle says that in the offseason he took batting practice off of Rick Ankiel.

Wanna know the true truth? I will give it to you, with no small amount of sincerity: I felt bad after writing this joke, and worse about the prospect of publishing it. As I wrote in last year’s sausage-y manifesto, comedy is inseparable from cruelty. When writing jokes, you have to make fun of something. Cruelty, and the ridicule riding shotgun, are at the heart of humor.

As you will see throughout the remainder of this piece as well as the Annual piece, the sort of satire to which I refer — a subtle mockery couched in a quick punchline — remains of a staple of the style. So, if you’re a big fan of Brandon Crawford’s mullet or Derek Jeter’s Derek Jeter-ness, I’ve got news for you.

Cancel your subscription now.

Still, I couldn’t see past the cruelty of mocking Ankiel’s anxiety problem. It wasn’t his fault. Unlike Crawford’s mullet, he didn’t choose it. Unlike Jeter’s Jeter-ness, he didn’t create it. Ankiel was a victim of his condition, absolutely.

Why victimize him again, even if it’s kind of funny to do so?

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  • Following his game-winning grand slam against the Twins on April 12, Detroit’s Andrew Romine is administered what MLB calls a “random drug test.” A day later, after yielding four home runs in four innings in a 14-4 loss to the Mets, Philadelphia reliever Adam Morgan is demoted to Triple-A Lehigh Valley in what the organization calls “a random reassignment.”

Funny or unfunny, these jokes are a form of journalism. In the first sentence of this joke, there are 10 substantiated facts. In the second, there are 14. In fact — no pun intended! — the only thing that isn’t a fact is the payoff: “a random reassignment.”

This collision of fact and fiction, of what’s real and what’s imagined, is the trick of the joke, the thing that’s supposed to make your arse fall off. In reality are the expectations established, in fantasy are they overturned. Ha-ha! That is the ticket to untold riches, which I roll in now.

The hard part is this: I spent a long time searching for a timely companion fact to Romine’s granny and subsequent drug test. I combed through box scores and transactions and the like, all to find a fact-based point of departure for the fantasy to follow. I found it, at last, in a dude I’d never heard of: poor Adam Morgan. And yet my mediocre joke is Morgan’s salvation. After all that time, the punchline just doesn’t justify the space it takes up. In the recognition of that reality, that fact, even a semi-irresponsible jokester like yours truly is forced into a negotiation with his wage-earning mind: Is it worth the effort, in the end, to provide proof of one’s effort?

Even if the product of my labor is labored, should I show my work?


  • In mid-April, Cubs manager Joe Maddon says he is open to the idea of automating ball-strike calls. In response, National League umpires say that with regard to Joe Maddon, they are open to the idea of automating ejections.

I’ll be honest again: This joke is not not funny, because we now imagine Maddon, at the press of a button, launched into the stratosphere above a major American city. Boing! We also imagine a panicked air-traffic controller rerouting a Lufthansa 737 around Maddon’s signature eyeglasses, as well as a British lad pointing out the window and shouting, “Look, Mummy, that airborne bloke is entertaining thoughts of overworking his closer again!”

Still, I can’t ignore the feeling that the punchline is, in a word, predictable.

True, there is value in the boilerplate audience response: “Hey, he’s sayin’ what we’re all thinkin’!” But the trick there, on the part of the comedian, is to inspire that familiar reaction after the punchline is delivered and not before.

I mean, if you want predictable comedy, watch the Padres, amirite?


  • In an April 18 tweet, Rangers reliever Jake Diekman suggests that players who test positive for performance-enhancing drugs should be forced to accept the minimum major league salary for the rest of their careers. Days later, a report reveals that all 30 team owners have begun spiking the sunflower seeds with Dianabol.

Speaking of predictable…

Did you see this one coming from a — wait for it — mile away?


  • On April 18, the Associated Press reports that MLB and major league umpires are discussing a plan that would have umpires wear microphones to explain replay rulings to spectators. Per additional reports, the plan would also have umpires lip sync during any ruling on which they “can no longer hit the high notes.”

Here’s a well-kept secret, secured under lock and skeleton key by the Rosicrucians: In concert, singers lip sync. I once went to a concert in Italy at which a dude in the audience chucked an Italian coin at a pretty-boy singer and the pretty-boy singer fell to his knees, clutching his pretty face, while the “singing,” such as it was, continued across the commons.


And so, upon writing this joke, I envisioned Jim Joyce wearing a Madonna mike while warbling “catcher’s interference” in the whistle register, a la Mariah Carey and the barking of neighborhood dogs. I also envisioned him failing to accomplish this feat, his shame registering behind the Fu Manchu.

Hence, the lip syncing. But in the end, baseball jokes need to be about baseball. This joke, instead, is about the frauds in the entertainment industry.

And if I’m gonna joke about entertainment frauds, I’ll joke about Nickelback.

Am I right?


  • On April 19, reports from Chicago are that the Cubs have asked employees not to sell their World Series rings. Meanwhile, reports out of San Diego are that the Padres have asked employees not to barter their sportsmanship trophies.

Like I said, comedy is cruel. If you’re a Padres fan — in which case: Hello, you two! — you might not think this joke is so funny. Or you might be laughing through the tears, or crying through the laughs, or watching the hometown Chargers.

Oh … wait.

In any case, your team is terrible. You know this. The thing is, I don’t have many readers. I know this. People just don’t tune in for typewritten humor. Witness the sad demise of NotGraphs and its roguish bastard son, Banknotes Industries. You and I, we have much in common. So, why should I alienate two of my 3 ¾ loyal readers so early in the joke-telling exercise? I will alienate you later, I promise.


  • After allowing a pair of pop-ups to fall between them for base hits during a game in Tampa, Tigers infielders and outfielders pin the blame on a fan who yelled, “I got it!” Later, while discussing his third-inning whiff on a called third strike, Detroit’s Alex Castellanos pins the blame on a fan who yelled, “You take it!”

Symmetry is key to joke-telling.

In symmetry there is rhythm, and rhythm is crucial to a good delivery.

In symmetry there is repetition, and repetition can be pretty funny.

In symmetry there is the expectation of consummation, metrical.

In symmetry there is symmetry. You probably knew that.

And yet in symmetry there is also predictability, the disappointing sense that the course of said joke has been too superficially and manipulatively plotted.

In other words, you can see it coming from a — wait for it — metric mile away.


  • In an April 25 interview, former Arizona GM Dave Stewart claims that the D-backs’ hot start in the first three weeks is proof that he performed his job effectively. In the same interview, Stewart also claims that his frenetic sprint in the first 40 yards of the Phoenix Marathon is proof that he is an excellent marathoner.

This joke is not half bad. It’s not even one third bad! In fact, it’s almost all good, “almost all” being an accepted mathematical value among almost all number theorists. Problem is, reality came along and ruined it, much like Nickelback ruins a Nickelback concert. Back when I wrote the joke, Stewart was just another failed GM in a junkyard full of them. And the D-backs, with more than five months remaining in the season, were just another hot-start team among better teams destined to weed them out.

But then a funny thing happened on the way to fifth place: They kept winning.


  • In late April, the Red Sox place utilityman Brock Holt on the disabled list with a case of vertigo. Meanwhile, in a similar roster move, the Rangers place closer Sam Dyson on the disabled list with a case of dial m for meltdown.

First and foremost, and also primarily, a jokester needs to trust the audience. He needs to trust that its members are not only A) awake and B) still awake but also kind of smart — smart enough, in any case, to understand a movie reference when they see one. Trouble comes quickly, however, if they don’t.

Question: Do you understand the movie reference?

I refer, in fact, to two movies:

A) Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo.

B) Hitchcock’s Dial M For Kicking Sam Dyson In The Metatarsus.

To no one’s surprise, the second film fared poorly in 1950s England.


  • In the lead-up to a four-game series against the rival Rangers, Astros infielder Alex Bregman on April 30 takes to Twitter to write, “Opperation #BTSOOTR.” After deleting the tweet, Bregman tweets an “appolloggy to annyonne I mmay hhavve ofennddedd.”  

Mama always said, “If you can’t say something nice, at least spell it right.”

She also said, “Write better jokes.”

I didn’t hear her because I am in her basement.


  • In early May, the Mets suspend Matt Harvey after the starter failed to show up at Citi Field for a game against the Marlins. In response, writer/director Christopher Nolan produces a quick addition to his Dark Knight Trilogy with The Dark Knight Rises … But, Yeah, Waaaaaay Too Late, and With A Throbbing Headache, a Horribly Dry Mouth and the Sort of Nagging Regret One Experiences Upon Realizing He Really Screwed Up.

Here’s the thing: Once you’ve read the punchline, you reckon the writer speaks from experience — that he, too, has awoken with a throbbing headache, et cetera, and that his regrets include those of the nagging kind.

But here’s another thing: I regret nothing!

/reads joke, reconsiders


  • Prior to the Indians-Royals game on May 7, a bee swarm invades Kauffman Stadium and obscures the bunting along the upper deck. Alerted to the situation, a spokesman for the Association of Bitter Old-School Baseball Announcers says, “Frankly, we aren’t surprised that once again, in a big league park, bunting is a vanished art.”

This, more or less, is a pun, and as I wrote last year, and will probably write next year, puns are the lowest form of Harry Cheek — I mean, Bobby Witt.


  • After getting blanked, 4-0, by Cincinnati to move to a division-worst 11-21, the Giants experience further humiliation when their team bus breaks down en route to the Cincinnati airport. Asked later if he finds grim symbolism in the bus debacle, manager Bruce Bochy is run over by a motorized airport cart.

Among all the outtakes in this piece, this is the only joke rejected by the Annual editors themselves. Did I mention that their idea of fun is to attend formal lectures on the dynamics of line formation at the Department of Motor Vehicles? It’s true. Later, they discuss it over dry white toast and tepid tap water.


  • In an excerpt from his upcoming memoir, former Boston star David Ortiz slams former Boston manager Bobby Valentine, writing, “It was like communicating with a wall.” Per sources, what Ortiz left unpublished is that talking with teammate Dustin Pedroia “was like communicating with an unshingled roof.”

Not long ago, at NotGraphs, I got NotLauded to the point of NotFun for cracking wise about Jose Altuve’s height. I learned my lesson, Mr. Cruise.

And so from here to eternity and from there to Lil Wayne, I resolve to leave unpublished any joke about the height of any man — especially a bald one.

You’re welcome, George Costanza.


  • To honor former shortstop Derek Jeter, the Yankees on May 14 stage a nationally televised pregame ceremony to retire his number. Meanwhile, baseball fans outside of New York respond with sentiments such as, “I’m ju2t 2o 2ick of all thi2 Jeter 2h*t” and “It’2 getting 2ort of a2i9, i2n’t it?”

For my part, I really am 2ick of Jeter. It’s nothing against Jeter, ironically, though I do find him as exciting as a Dixie Cup. No, it’s more about the incessantly fawning coverage of a man who retired in The Year Of Our Jeter Two-Thousand-Fourteen.

I mean, seriously, ESPN. You too, MLB Network.

There are literally dozens of active players. Talk about them!*

*Do not talk about them as they compare to Derek Jeter.  

In any case, I vowed to become less of the problem and more of the solution. I’ll write a joke about Jeter, sure, but I will not publish it. I will not publish it!


  • In connection with Derek Jeter’s number retirement ceremony, Elias Sports Bureau on May 14 tweets that Jeter’s “personal W-L record was 511 games above .500, the highest mark by any position player in MLB history.” In an attempt to balance what many fans consider a hagiographical treatment of the former Yankee, the bureau also tweets that Jeter’s “personal tie record is 0 games above .500, which itself is a tie.”



  • Prior to the May 17 game against the Reds, Cubs slugger Kyle Schwarber launches a batting-practice home run that damages the iconic Budweiser sign atop the center field scoreboard at Wrigley Field. Asked what he will do for an encore, Schwarber says he plans to damage the signs at Miller Park, Coors Field and Busch Stadium while also acknowledging that, yes, he does serve as the designated hitter for the Stella Artois company softball team.

That’s a long way to go for a chuckle.


  • In Tampa, the Rays announce a souvenir giveaway featuring third baseman Evan Longoria in a Game of Thrones-themed bobblehead. In related news, the injury-plagued Mets also announce a souvenir giveaway, this one featuring the entire roster in a bobblehead patterned after Schitt’s Creek.

Not bad, I guess, but the problem is that nobody has ever heard of Schitt’s Creek. Not even the people on Schitt’s Creek have heard of Schitt’s Creek.


  • During the seventh-inning stretch of a Brewers-Cubs game in Chicago, Parks and Recreation star Nick Offerman leads fans in singing Take Me Out to the Ballgame. Later that night, in the seventh inning of a 10-1 loss that drops the Padres’ record to 15-29, American Horror Story star Jessica Lange leads fans at Petco Park in humming all four movements of Chopin’s Death March.  

Fact: I pulled both hamstrings straining for this punchline.


  • At the Boston University commencement ceremony on May 21, former Red Sox star David Ortiz receives an honorary degree as a Doctor of Humane Letters. Meanwhile, at the Community College of Allegheny County, former Pirates shortstop Mario Mendoza receives an honorary “A For Effort!” from an online correspondence course called Hitting 101: Fundamentals of Contact.

Fact: I then pulled a third hamstring.


  • On May 23, recently retired Cubs catcher David Ross comes up short in the finals of TV’s Dancing With The Stars, finishing second to NFL running back Rashad Jennings. Eager to pin blame, Cubs fans immediately point the finger at Ross’s turtleneck-and-earphones ensemble.

Steve Bartman, you deserve better.


  • As part of a Memorial Day celebration of The Simpsons and its “Homer at the Bat” episode, the Baseball Hall of Fame on May 27 conducts an induction ceremony for Homer Simpson himself. Later, as part of a posthumous ceremony, the Hall also inducts Kenny from South Park and continues to induct the unfortunate fourth grader more than 100 times.

First, to really understand this joke, you have to have watched South Park. You have to know that Kenny, marked for death, has “died” more than 100 times. Even then, even equipped with the inside knowledge to understand this inside joke, you have to realize it isn’t very funny — not funny enough, anyway, to honor the humor intrinsic to two of history’s best shows.

Now, if you want me to write a joke about According to Jim, I’m your man.


  • In an interview on May 27, agent Scott Boras says that despite a 4.92 ERA and major league-high nine wild pitches, his client Jake Arrieta is still an “elite pitcher.” Meanwhile, in a letter discovered in a musty lockbox somewhere in the state of Georgia, Amanda Cobb writes that despite “a couple of misunderstandings,” her son Tyrus is still a “good boy.”  

For the joke to work, we need to have formed the consensus opinion that Ty Cobb really was the thug whom biographer Al Stump so vividly portrayed. But Stump, more likely, was the real thug. He was a liar and an opportunist.

Who knows what his mama would have said.


  • On May 28 at Miller Park, the Brewers hand out 40,000 bobbleheads featuring former star Robin Yount riding a motorcycle. Days later, after falling to a record of 17-32, the Padres also create a transportation-themed bobblehead by modeling the entire team on a rapidly sinking trash barge.

Predictable jokes are predictable.


  • In a June 6 radio interview, Cincinnati shortstop Zack Cozart reveals that if he makes the NL All-Star team this season, teammate Joey Votto has promised to buy him a donkey. Meanwhile, Madison Bumgarner reveals that whether he makes the All-Star team or not, he’ll continue to be an ass.

Admit it, Giants fans. MadBum comes off as a first-rate jerk: his stare-downs of enemy players; his ridiculous pissing-contest confrontations with umps. Granted, his prodigious talent helps excuse the mad-artist behavior, but still.

He ain’t winning any charm contests.

But guess what. I’ve never met the guy! For all I know, he nurses baby birds with a tiny eyedropper. A lesser author than myself — a Ms. Jane Austen — routinely confronted this conundrum of the human condition, i.e., the riddle of reconciling a character’s outwardly awful behavior with his inwardly saintly self. I give you Mr. Darcy, of Pride and Prejudice, who behaves boorishly at a countryside soiree but later shuttles wheezing orphans to Disneyland.

Or something like that. I don’t know. I didn’t read it. But for all I know, he reads it aloud to month-old puppies.


  • On June 10, a day after injuring himself in the shower, Nats closer Koda Glover blows a save against the Rangers. Asked how the injury occurred, Koda says he failed to follow the instructions: “Wash. wins, repeat.”

Sometimes, the jokester is signaling to the audience that he’s in on the joke — in on the joke of the joke — by acknowledging that it’s a groaner. Groaners are funny if everyone is groaning together and maybe enjoying some excellent rum, but in this case, I feared that you and I would be groaning separately. And friends never let friends groan alone. Remember that.


  • On June 12, the Reds try to atone for their failure to draft Derek Jeter in the 1992 Major League Draft by selecting high school shortstop Jeter Downs with the 32nd pick in the 2017 draft. Later, the Phillies try to atone for a mistake they made in the 1980 draft by not selecting Downs brother, Jeltz.

If you remember Steve Jeltz, it’s an okay joke. If you don’t, it isn’t.


  • On June 22, the Red Sox and the City of Boston join to name a street near Fenway Park after former star David Ortiz. A day later, after selecting him off waivers, the Sox name a 10-minute parking space after Doug Fister.

This joke would have won national awards — nay, international awards — from the National, Nay, International Association of Baseball Comedy And/Or Humor Writers, LLC. It would have been placed in an ermine-lined time capsule so that posterity could bask in its eternal glow of hilarity, and alien civilizations could someday understand what all the earthly fuss was about.

However! Just as reality ruined the Stewart joke, it ruined the Fister joke. Coming off a Triple-A stint in which he pitched to a 4.02 ERA, Fister should have literally lasted 10 minutes in Boston. Instead he lasted three months.

Why can’t reality conform to my comedy?

Seriously, I’m asking.


  • Having struggled on defense, St. Louis shortstop Aledmys Diaz tells the press on June 24 that he is trying to improve his focus with the help specialized strobe glasses. In a related development, former big league pitcher and counter-culture icon Bill Lee tells the press that he is attempting a return to the majors with the assistance of a Pink Floyd blacklight poster.

I’m guessing Lee is actually more of a Zappa guy.


  • In Washington, a game between the Braves and the Nationals is delayed by weather for three hours despite the fact that no rain has fallen on Nationals Park. Gazing at the dry tarp, one longtime observer claims he hasn’t seen “such an unnecessary covering since Oscar Gamble wore one of Joe Pepitone’s leftover toupees.”

Pepitone & Pedroia might sound like an award-winning Italian restaurant in Boston’s North End, a mama-mia! kind of place where pretty-boy Italian singers ease their woes with a bowl of zuppa de pesce, but to me, it sounds like a law firm specializing in class-action lawsuits on behalf of bald dudes.

Mangia! I gotta eat.


  • On July 5, in anticipation of the imminent birth of his first child, the Rangers place shortstop Elvis Andrus on paternity leave. Later that evening, in anticipation of his 1,000th keg stand, the Rangers place first baseman Mike Napoli on fraternity leave.

I’ll leave this right here.


  • During an All-Star Week press conference, Commissioner Manfred again takes issue with the suggestion that juiced balls are responsible for the home run spike and instead pins blame on bats, saying, “We’ve kind taken for granted that bats aren’t different.” Specifically, he adds, many home runs “are carried great distances — hear me out — on the wings of genetically modified vampire bats.”

Puns, as mentioned, are the lowest form of Butts Wagner.


  • In late July, Cubs President of Baseball Operations Crane Kenney complains during an interview that the team is forced to play too many day games. Later, Padres Director of Baseball Operations Nick Ennis complains that the Padres play “too many day games and too many night games” and would prefer to play from “2 a.m. to 5 a.m. so that fewer people have to see it.”

I’ve picked on the Padres enough. I think I’ll go pick on the Phillies.


  • In his first plate appearance in Yankee Stadium since his July 18 trade, third baseman Todd Frazier hits a one-hopper that Cincinnati shortstop Jose Peraza turns into a triple play. Afterward, Frazier explains the triple play by saying it’s “proof that bad things happen in threes,” though he remains unable to explain why he heard Derek Holland’s Harry Caray impression “just twice.”

Sadly, Holland might need that Harry Caray bit to pay the water bill. His baseball career might be kaput. So, why bag on the guy? And the truth is that his Schwarzenegger kills. No word yet on his impression of Butts Wagner.


  • Following the August sale of the Marlins to a group that includes former Yankee Derek Jeter, news outlets report that the infamous Home Run Sculpture at Marlins Park is in danger of removal. Subsequent reports suggest that ownership will consider proposals for “an equally garish replacement” such as “a large-scale replica of a Derek Jeter gift basket.”



  • As September begins, MLB issues a press release acknowledging that the replay crew made a mistake in ruling Brandon Crawford’s apparent home run a ground-rule double in San Francisco’s Aug. 31 game against the Cardinals. Later, a second press release asserts that “while the replay crew did err in ruling the home run a double, Mr. Crawlord also erred in growing a 1980s mullet, so let’s just call it even.”

Let’s also call it odd — hi-yo! — that this once made me laugh.  

Humor, now as always, can be a funny thing.


John Paschal is a regular contributor to The Hardball Times and The Hardball Times Baseball Annual.
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Always enjoy reading your baseball related humor, especially the NotGraphs works. Thanks for this look behind the curtain and finding a good way to make a leftover joke casserole pretty funny. And hey, if you were any funnier than pretty funny, we wouldn’t get to read your stuff on the Hardball Times! Hi-Yo!

87 Cards
87 Cards

“And if I’m gonna joke about entertainment frauds, I’ll joke about Nickelback.”

Here’s my take (dare-I-say a joke) on Nickelback and baseball; be advised I like Nickelback (and Rush and Gordon Lightfoot and “O Canada” other Maple Leaf-ed musical inventions):

Nickelback wants to rent the Oakland Coliseum to check off of the bucket list “a bathtub I can play baseball in”. Here’s the lyrics if you missed the allusion:

Paul G.
Paul G.

Ah, I am very impressed with your substandard work! I think the fix for the Schitt’s Creek punchline was to use a hospital related entertainment product like General Hospital. It’s apt and anyone who does not know the show gets the joke. That can be followed up by the fact that the promotion was canceled because once all the appropriate players were included the thing ended up weighing 50 pounds and led to multiple bad back disability claims in the promotions department. There was nothing wrong with the Napoli joke whatsoever and I fully approve. The Gamble/Pepitone gag was also… Read more »