Ty Cobb later beat up Three-Finger Brown, and after the protest of "How could you beat up a guy missing two of his digits?", he replied, William Munny-style "Well, he shoulda fingered himself."

Let me put it this way, rook... Mordecai Brown used to be known as "Five-Finger" until I got done with him.

It could be worse, the previous President thought nanotech was what Mork used to fly to Earth.

I think they finally discontinued C-Webb's periodic appearances on TNT's Inside the NBA because of his insistence at discussing the games being played rather than goofing on an old video of Shaq or falling out of his seat laughing at Charles' head being photoshopped onto the Village People's Indian's body.

The freaks come out at night... the freaks come out at night (hup hup hup)

So if they can make $6 million men indestructible, is there some sort of declining return or negative externality that makes $126 million men more fragile than Unbreakable supervillain* Mr. Glass?

Sometimes I think that fashion cannibalization is like The Nothing from The Never-Ending Story, and when they start hitting up Saved by the Bell neons as inspiration, that's when I reach for the shotgun and the rocking chair, position myself on the porch, and get ready for "kids on my lawn" patrol.

Somewhere at an Austin area happy hour, Wiley Wiggins had a horrific flashback.

It's no surprise; there are rusted-out spring-powered catapult pitching machines at the bottom of a junkyard heap that are better closers than Heath Bell.

Simple cost-benefit analysis suggests that you should be willing to sacrifice up to 2.5 years of your liberty in jail and the loss of one (1) major limb or up to four (4) digits in the pursuit of a near-priceless Humberto Quintero memento.

Based on ESPN's usual saturation bombing from the announcing booth last night, how about Orel Fixation?

"Nobody must ever know that I only recommended J.A. Happ because he looks like a half-formed Mark Ruffalo clone, and that I purchased this laptop from Spencer's novelty gifts and that it's filled with Skittles."

Some ESPN production booth chucklehead (who has obviously not been following Twitter-trends) just despotically, unilaterally named Cole Hamels (winning pitcher, 8 IP, 1 run) the player of the game. How is this possible, when he's NOT EVEN NINETEEN?

I was shocked with the ESPN commentary team acknowledged that anybody else was actually participating in the game. I've heard more "19s" than in a numerophile's remix of a Paul Hardcastle song.

This move is like rearranging the fire extinguisher configuration on the Titanic.

Chris Carpenter seems like a world-class prick and redass, which I'm not sure is the same as a douchebag, but they're kissin' cousins. I guess the most visible show of pitcher douchebaggery is the closer-getting-the-last-out-celebration variety, but a profanity-spewing twat like Chris needs mention. That he's a great…

"Javale!"

The organizers tried giving her the wrong date and location for the event, but she did find them... time after time.

At least Harry Carey wasn't alive and broadcasting for the Sox; the spelling of Jhonny would still have him scrambling for pronunciation even after the lights at Comerica Park had been shut off.

And even the Heat win out, Lebron will still have years to go before besting the consecutive "eliminating the Knicks from championship contention" streak held by this man (2003-2008).