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The following is the letter he sent us, typed on an old Underwood Universal typewriter.

I'm going to type every word I know. Rectangle, Monday, butthole...

So, Dave Parker is Bill James's unacknowledged, worldly half-brother. Explains a lot.

Love it. This may inspire me to finally finish "Light in August."

How about movie screenwriter William Faulkner?

“So, Parker, you think you should be in the Hall of Fame?”
“Yeah. Who are you?”
“Riley. Doghouse Riley, baseball writer and Hall of Fame shamus.”
“Well, Riley, I've never heard of you. You can't be very big.”
“I try to be.”
“Will you vote for me?
“Maybe. First, though, you'll need to be weaned. You’re old enough”
“Okay. How's that work?”
“Just put your lips together and …blow.”
“Is that how it’s done?”
“Yeah, it’s even better if you helped.”
“Then what?”
“Then quit trying to sit in my lap while I’m standing. Save that for the really big writers—like this guy I’m sending you to--name of Conlin.”
“Is he as cute as you?”
“Nobody is. ”

A couple of the comments in the linked article are of the the form "it's a good thing that James Joyce/Leo Tolstoy didn't respond." Does anyone hear that as a challenge? I'm recalling a legendary thread from BTF past, the "death of Jeter" thread. And no, I'm not up to it myself.

Piffle. It's baseball's complexity, not its purity, that instills in us our freedom...

My mother is a fish.

Personally I've always preferred the works of Ron ####### Swanson to Faulkner.

The key to burning a Jack Morris effigy is to dip it in paraffin wax and then toss the flaming bottle of isopropyl alcohol from a safe distance. Do not stand too close when you light a Jack Morris effigy.

I am voting for this menu from a Pawnee institution, J.J.’s Diner. Home of the world’s best breakfast dish: The Four Horsemeals of the Eggporkalypse.

I base my vote on the Swanson Pyramid of Greatness. It’s a perfectly calibrated recipe for maximum personal achievement. Categories include: Capitalism, God’s way of determining who is smart, and who is poor. Crying, acceptable at funerals and the Grand Canyon. Rage. Poise. Property rights. Fish, for sport only, not for meat. Fish meat is practically a vegetable.

Now, I know I’m not going to find somebody that’s both aggressively mean and apathetic. Dick Allen really is the whole package.

Nice try, Morty, but you're channeling Jules Furthman, not Faulkner...not to mention the fact that you transposed a line from TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT just to get to that Conlin dig...

Jules Furthman, and Leigh Brackett also, probably. But Faulkner did get screen credit, one of the few times he did. I doubt that Faulkner was much of a screenwriter.

But he could write an exhaust pipe gag that would really make you think.

Greg is channeling Larry King, I think.

Personally I've always preferred the works of Ron ####### Swanson to Faulkner.

To me, this ballot is a blood soaked, nightmarish, hellscape.

Not only does your vote for Roy Face exist, but now you've deprived everybody of Santo.

I've taken a picture of every player I've voted for.

June 2004: Molitor, Sandberg, Morris

Jan 2000: They call Carlton Fisk, the "Enforcer"

February 96: The hitter, Jim Rice, the pitcher, Phil Niekro, The lady next to him, a #####, specifically my ex-wife Tammy"

I'm recalling a legendary thread from BTF past, the "death of Jeter" thread

I did Proust, Emily Dickinson, Frank O'Hara, and Nick Hornby for that thread, IIRC. And don't feel much like reprising the feat for the 2012 Hall of Fame ballot :) My gosh, that was five years ago now.

In any case, I have spent the week reading Vincent Bugliosi's Reclaiming History, the definitive book on the JFK assassination, so if I'm going to channel any author it would have to be Bugliosi. And that's not going to be fun reading. The Palmeiro comment alone would run 45,000 words with a 12,500-word footnote on Vitamin B-12 injections.

Oh, go for it, Bob. We need to find out what the word/character limit for a post is, anyway. Try to have Bugliosi slowly morph into Norman Mailer.

There was a fire. It was rising and falling on the walls. There was another fire in the mirror. I could smell the rejection. It was on the ballots folded on Bernie Williams's head. His cap was on the pillow. The fire didn't reach it, but it shone on his hand, where his rings were jumping.

The ballot arrived; the retired ballplayers took their places. ...the votes were tallied; and a long elegy was said over the short commons. The votes
disappeared; the boys whispered each other, and winked at Alan;
while his contemporaries nudged him. Shortstop as he was, he was
desperate with lack of support, and reckless with history. He rose from
the table; and advancing to the writers, WAR and OPS+ in hand,
said: somewhat alarmed at his own temerity:

'Please, sir, I want some more.'

The writer was a fat, healthy man; but he turned very pale. He
gazed in stupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some
seconds, and then clung for support to the buffet spread. Grich was paralysed with wonder; Whitaker with fear.

'What!' said the writer at length, in a faint voice.

'Please, sir,' replied Alan, 'I want some more.'

The writer aimed a taunt at Alan's head with the fork; pinioned
him in his arm; and shrieked aloud for the beadle.

The board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Plaschke rushed
into the room in great excitement, and addressing the gentleman
in the high chair, said,

'Mr. Conlin, I beg your pardon, sir! Alan Trammell has asked
for more!'

There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every
countenance.

'For _more_!' said Mr. Conlin. 'Compose yourself, Plaschke, and
answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more,
after his poor, much better pitcher-teammate has only just cracked 50%?'

'He did, sir,' replied Plaschke.

'That boy will be hung,' said the gentleman in the white
waistcoat. 'I know that boy will be hung.'

Nice try, Morty, but you're channeling Jules Furthman, not Faulkner...not to mention the fact that you transposed a line from TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT just to get to that Conlin dig...

Jules Furthman stole that bit from Steve Allen!

Hm. I wonder if I can really write up Babe Ruth's career, or Honus Wagner's, in Marlowe's "mighty line." It would be the right rhetoric, but Marlowe is a hard act to steal, because the meter is absolutely regular. BTW, the BTF post limit is 12,000 characters, which is why my Hall of Merit ballots have to be broken up into pieces. - Brock Hanke

18 is great.

And TFA is so good it almost isn't even funny.