Can you imagine a slugger striding to the plate as Klaus Nomi’s falsetto tremble warbled out of the PA speakers? No, you cannot, because that would be insane. What could possibly better than seeing a batter leave the on deck circle to the strains of a Germanic operatic effeminate clown in an oversized pleather tuxedo? Nothing, except if a batter came to the plate dressed like Klaus Nomi. Then, the world itself might end from an overdose of amazing.