For other Warm Thoughts for a Cold Winter, click here.

Earlier this week, the Nerd/Baseball Venn intersection was all a-buzz with an amazing project done over at Wezen-Ball.com. Larry Granillo had gone through all the Peanuts comic strips from 1950 through 1970 and, based on the documentary evidence, calculated a whole slew of stats for Charlie Brown's legendarily awful team.

By this point, I am the twelve billionth person to blog about this, but I'm posting about it anyway, on the slim chance that some of you may not have heard of it yet. And also, its awesomeness warrants as much exposure as possible. Charlie Brown and baseball are my two earliest obsessions, so this insane project is right in my wheelhouse. It also includes tons of scans of and quotes from classic Peanuts strips.

Now if someone would track down all the stats for Joe Shlabotnik, including his managerial stint with the Waffletown Syrups, I'd be a truly happy man.

Hey Omar, can we talk?
Sure thing, Carlos. How's that knee?
That's what I want to talk to you about. I spoke to you about this surgery earlier this week, and I thought everything was cool.
Yeah, definitely, sounds like something I'd say.
But today, your assistant GM made it sound as if I went behind your back to do this. What the fuck?! If you had some problem with how this went down, why didn't we just handle it internally? Why did you go after me in public, by proxy, and make me and everyone else on this team look bad?
I didn't go after you, Carlos, my assistant GM did. But it's clear that somebody pulled a real choke job here on the whole communication thing, and we'll take care of that ASAP. Right after we work out that 7-year extension for Bengie Molina.
You're responsible for this whole mess! Why are you talking like it's somebody else's fault?!
Carlos, you've never been in charge of a multimillion-dollar operation...
I am a multimillion-dollar operation...
...so you don't understand how this works. I am not responsible for the Mets. I am in charge of the Mets. Being in charge is not the same thing as being responsible.
You're right, I don't understand.
You see, people who are responsible are held responsible for their actions. If I were responsible for things, I would've been fired a long time ago. Remember that time we assed away a postseason berth in the last month of the season?
Yeah, that happened two years in a row.
Really? I have no memory of it happening two times. Then again, there was that one season where I took a lot of naps. You see, Carlos, only schmucks are responsible for things. Men are in charge. Men lead. They lead by standing there, immobile, staring straight ahead while their ship runs aground.
How do you get to be in charge?
You thrust yourself ahead blindly, like a bull in a china shop, barreling all your competitors out of your path. Other guys in charge will admire your spunk and grit and determination, and they won't care that you have no idea what you're doing, because they don't know what they're doing either, and they're afraid to have anyone too smart or principled around them to make them look bad in comparison.
Well, unlike you, my job is based on performance. In the big leagues, you can't fail upwards and hope to be rewarded.
You can't? I assume you've met Oliver Perez.
DID SUMBODEE TAKE MY FUNYUNS BECUZ I CAN'T FIND THEMM

Pitchers and catchers are a mere five weeks away, and it can't come soon enough for me (even after last night's hideous Carlos Beltran news). I am done with winter this year, at a record pace, and I'm normally a cold-weather guy. Or at least more of a cold-weather guy than a hot-weather guy. The sun is not my friend.

So from now until players report, I will have a daily bit of baseball-iana to get you through the rest of the winter. The inaugural submission comes to me courtesy of WFMU's Beware of the Blog, via Give the Drummer Some. Yesterday, he put up his weekly post of mp3s, and it included a beisbol-centric jam by Puerto Rican musical legends El Gran Combo.

They've been around for almost 50 years and are probably the most famous salsa group in the world. This tune, entitled "El Caballero Pelotero", is about exactly what its title states: a horse who plays baseball.

My Spanish isn't good enough to translate all the lyrics to this song. Or even most of them. In fact, all I can really catch are the lines "jugaba a beisbol" and "los Yanquis". But apparently, this horse was quite the hitter.

Still, it puts me in the baseballing mood, and I hope it does the same for you. In addition to the original audio below, you can also see/hear El Gran Combo playing the song with another salsa legend, Hector Lavoe, on YouTube (which I would have included here, except the sound is sub-bootleg quality).

I admit that I used steroids for over a decade. However, I want to assure all my fans that I only did it to recover from crippling injuries that would have ended my career, not to inflate my majestic home run numbers. Of course, by lengthening my career, I also hit far more home runs than I would have otherwise and wound up inflating my numbers anyway. It was such a vicious circle!

If only I hadn't played in The Steroid Era! Then all of this unpleasantness could have been avoided! I wish I had a mentor when I was younger, someone who would've told me that if I played in The Steroid Era, there was a very good chance I'd do steroids. Darn this era! Darn it all to heck!

Maybe you don't know this, but when a baseball player reaches the majors, he has a choice of what era he can play in. I couldn't play in The Deadball Era, because nobody hit homers back then and nobody wore gloves and everybody gambled. I thought about The Babe Ruth Era, but I've never had the stomach for bathtub gin. I thought about The Postwar Era, but you couldn't go to the World Series unless you played for the Yankees or the Dodgers. And The Sixties weren't an option, because the pitchers had too much of an advantage; I think the mound was two stories high back then. 

I know what you're thinking: How can you pick an era to play in? You see, MLB mastered the space-time continuum in 1975, thanks to a joint effort between NASA and Bill Lee. The principles are complicated and probably boring to the average layman. Suffice to say that the linearity of time is merely an illusion. I could have played 600 years in the future if I wanted to, in The BRX-797-0 Era, but I thought telepathic abilities would take a lot of the mystery out of life, you know?

So while I'm definitely sorry for what I did, I think most of the blame lies squarely on The Steroid Era itself. Perhaps this not-easily-defined span of time needs to do an interview with Bob Costas and explain itself, not me!

I want to thank all of the people who've been supportive during this difficult time. My family. Tony LaRussa. The entire St. Louis Cardinals family. And of course, all those baseball writers who urged me to unburden my soul. Your pushing, poking, and prodding gave me the strength to come clean. I'll never forget you, but I will try to forget all of you weeping and gnashing your teeth because I just did exactly what you wanted me to.

In conclusion, I think the time has come to turn the page and once again start blaming the big black guy for all this unpleasantness.

We know that our customers have been complaining about our pizza for years. That's why we're taking steps to make Domino's better. And the first step to getting better is to admit you have a problem.

So we'll be the first to admit our food is not the best. In fact, it's pretty horrible. In all honesty, we've served you the worst garbage imaginable for decades. We are not legally allowed to refer to Domino's Pizza as food in 23 states. We wouldn't feed a starving war criminal the swill we try to pass off as pizza. If you knew half the stuff we put in our sauce, you would beat us within an inch of our lives, and no jury would convict you.

That's why we gathered all our test kitchen chefs together to give them all of your helpful feedback. We locked them in a windowless, unlit room and projected that feedback randomly on the walls for 15 hours, while "The Flight of the Valkyries" blared at half speed with extra bass boost from enormous speakers. The cooks came out of this experience with a renewed commitment to excellence, at least the few who weren't driven to the brink of madness.

This brainstorming session also enabled our chefs to tap into some childhood trauma and humiliation that had previously been buried deep within their psyches. And those repressed experiences have provided the inspiration for our brand new menu!

• Try our new buffalo chicken pizza! The improved blue cheese dressing was the brainchild of chef Greg Sanchez, whose mother threw a full jar of mayonnaise at him in frustration when he was only 6 years old. This incident is deeply imprinted on his brain and is probably the source of his frequent, uncontrollable fits of rage. Comes with a free order of mozzarella sticks!
• Who doesn't love the spicy, tangy taste of the Southwest? Chef Marty Bellows doesn't! He's still scarred from when his parents took him to a Mexican restaurant and he accidentally peed his pants, but wasn't allowed to go to the bathroom and dry himself off. He still has body image issues and difficulty trusting others. But we trust you'll love his barbecue chipotle pizza!
• If you like a more traditional pizza, you'll love our improved sauce, made with fresh tomatoes, garlic, cilantro, and other hearty ingredients. It's all thanks to the hard work of chef Denise Russo, or rather her overbearing neat-freak mother, who scolded her when she stained her bedsheets with her first period!

We know you're gonna love our new menu! Because if you don't, we're making our cooks march around the corporate office in their undies!

Before Saturday's MIND BLOWING playoff win in Cincinnati, I handed out a full practice and travel schedule to my team, which included a trip to the Super Bowl. And I took a lot of heat for being so presumptuous. But who's laughing now? Rex Ryan, that's who. And Rex Ryan is ME.

I handed out that schedule because I believe the Jets are that good. There is no reason we can not make it to the big dance. Hell, there's no reason we can't go to the Super Bowl eight years in a row. I DEFY you to tell me we can't.

In fact, this team can do anything it puts it mind to. I honestly believe this isn't simply isn't the best football team of all time, but possibly the most talented collection of individuals to ever walk the EARTH.

If we decided to play baseball, we'd be better than the 1927 Yankees. If we decided to play basketball, we'd be better than the Jordan-and-Pippen-era Bulls. If we decided to play hockey, I have no idea who we could be compared to because we'd be so good, we'd obliterate all memory of previous teams. And also because I'm not that big a hockey fan and can't think of any historically good hockey teams.

We are possibly the most skilled artists in the world, too. You should see Justin Keller's watercolors. He painted a prairie landscape that, I'm not ashamed to admit, brought me to tears. Nick Mangold is singlehandedly reviving the lost art of mosaics. And Braylon Edwards' mural work is, quite frankly, UNPRECEDENTED. If Picasso were alive and saw his murals, he'd set that piece of shit "Guernica" on fire and kill himself out of shame. That's a FACT.

We're also the greatest congregation of literary wits ever. You should hear the conversations we have during the postgame buffets. They make the Algonquin Roundtable sound like a buncha retards. Darrelle Revis let me read the manuscript for his new novel, and it was the most moving thing I've ever read. It changed me. It will ROCK American letters, just like he rocks unsuspecting wide receivers every Sunday.

Look, every coach believes in his team. That's half a coach's job. I just think that one day, people will worship the New York Jets instead of Jesus Christ. Why is that so outrageous?

While we're on the subject of hating the manipulative back-stabbing hack, let's take a trip down memory lane, all the way to last year, when Jay Leno was desperately trying to recruit an audience for his horrible, horrible 10pm show.

Jay Leno Says Watch The Jay Leno Show! (09.09..09)

Jay Leno Would Really Like You to Watch The Jay Leno Show! (09.10.09)

Jay Leno Wants to Know if You're Going to Watch The Jay Leno Show (09.14.09)

Simply put, Jay Leno is one of the most compelling entertainers in the world today. We defy you to think of a more immortal comedy routine than Jaywalking. Iron Jay is perhaps the most beloved character of all time. And when the history of humor is written, the works of Mark Twain and James Thurber will pale in comparison to The Dancing Judge Itos.

Jay Leno is a resource we can not afford to lose. If we don't cater to his every whim, we have to assume he would take his classic cars and race track and march over to ABC or FOX, and take his entire audience with him. We also have to assume said audience includes the tens of millions of Americans currently avoiding his 10pm show in droves.

Therefore, we are reinstating Jay Leno into the 11:35pm slot. His program will run until 7am, preempting the first two hours of The Today Show. But don't worry, Matt Lauer fans. Matt will get his own breakfast-time segment on Jay's show, where Jay and him show you how to prepare eggs from the inside of a 1932 Ford roadster.

But this is only the first phase of our new Jay Leno-based programming schedule. Jay will appear in current the NBC programs Chuck, Mercy, and Heroes. Not in cameo appearances, but as a regular character named Jay Leno, who will deliver monologues at critical junctures during each episode. He will also receive 15 minutes of live airtime during each episode of Parks and Recreation to do whatever he wants. Headlines, Mini-Jay, change sparkplugs on one of his Hudson Hornets--the possibilities are endless!

And there's even more good news, Jay Leno fans! Starting this fall, Jay will star in a new, 90 minute drama, Jay and the Jalopy, in which he and a talking robotic Stutz Bearcat solve mysteries.

As for Conan O'Brien, we had high hopes when we asked him to take over The Tonight Show. However, the ratings have been somewhat disappointing, and we feel these low ratings have adversely affected the audience for Jay's show. It's our theory that people aren't watching Conan, and thus aren't keeping their TVs tuned to NBC throughout the following 21.5 hours until Jay's show is on. There really is no other explanation for people refusing to watch Jay Leno!

However, we greatly appreciate Conan keeping the seat warm for Jay during this past year. And we will recognize that appreciation with a special ceremony in the NBC commissary, where we will give Conan a very nice watch and a gift certificate to Bed Bath and Beyond.

Some may say this strategy is short-sighted, that it ignores the younger, more connected audience that loves Conan and will not watch Jay Leno under any circumstances. To these concerns, we would like to respectfully plug our ears with our fingers and yell loudly LA LA LA WE'RE NOT LISTENING!!

Scratchbomb hands over the reins to nationally syndicated sports columnist Skitch Hanson, as we've done many times before. It's great to hear from him, because the last time I spoke to Skitch, he was getting lost and possibly assaulted at Yankee Stadium.

You may know Skitch as the author of the highly popular syndicated column "Up The Middle." You may have read his best-selling book Playing Stickball with Mickey Mantle, and Other Weird Dreams I Had. He's also a frequent guest on ESPN's sportswriters panel show Mouth-Talkers! You can follow Skitch on Twitter here. Without further ado, here's Skitch.

Each winter, I have a great responsibility. And no, it's not shoveling the driveway! And no, it's not picking up my wife from the drunk tank after the office Christmas party!

No, I'm talking about my Baseball Hall of Fame ballot. It is quite an honor to participate in the voting every year and help decide who will be immortalized in Cooperstown. There are no halls in the history of halls that are more hallowed than the Baseball Hall of Fame. Perhaps The Halls of Medicine in the old Halls cough drop commercials, but those ads haven't been on the air in several years. Or perhaps the Halls of Justice, but that's more of a concept than an actual place.

No, for an actual, physical set of halls, the ones in Cooperstown are the best. But those halls would mean nothing without the people who inhabit them. Not literally, of course. I mean the legends immortalized there in plaque form, or in a video loop on a TV in the lobby. That's why I take my voting very seriously. I think long and hard about who gets my vote and who does not, because I know I have a hand in solidifying baseball history.

Unfortunately, this year I was less serious about mailing my ballot in, since I accidentally dropped it behind the Xerox machine some time last month. I would have dug out my ballot, but me and electronic equipment do not get along! Like the time I dropped my laptop in a koi pond and electrocuted several hundred fish! Boy, the people at Benihana's were not happy about that!

I did intend to vote for Andre Dawson, and I'm very glad that he made it in. You could argue there were more deserving candidates than him, and his career was hampered by injuries, and I never got to see him play too often, now that I think about it. But I do remember "Hawk" having one unbelievably awesome year where he won the MVP. You certainly can't argue with that! At least not until I remember exactly what year that was.

I'm very disappointed that Jack Morris still has not made it to Cooperstown. Because when you talk dominant starting pitchers of the 1980s, you have to talk about Jack Morris. Sure, you have to talk some about other guys first, like Fernando Valenzuela. And Doc Gooden. And Roger Clemens. And Jimmy Key and Frank Viola and Nolan Ryan and Orel Hershiser and Bret Saberhagen and Steve Carlton and Bruce Hurst and Dave Stieb and John Tudor and Mike Scott. But eventually, you have to talk about Jack Morris.

Morris may not have had the gaudy stats that some of those other guys did. But he did have that wonderful 10-inning duel against John Smoltz in game 7 of the 1991 World Series. That's one of the most famous pitching performances of all time. Plus there were three or four other really great games he pitched whose details escape me right now. That's good enough for the Hall in my book.

Remember, we're talking about The Hall of Fame, not The Hall of Obscure Statistics. Bert Blyleven had a great career, but I can't think of a famous moment involving him. Same goes for Tim Raines, Edgar Martinez, and Barry Larkin. Until those guys have a transcendent moment, I can't in good conscience vote to enshrine them. Unless somebody reminds me of a moment I couldn't recall. In which case, welcome aboard, fellas!

How do you define a moment? I can't say. Can you define a beautiful sunrise? The wonder in a child's eyes? The magic of Christmas? (I hope the folks at Hallmark won't mind; I adapted those last few lines from a "To a wonderful great-aunt" birthday card.) A moment is a lot like pornography: you know it when you see it. Most moments don't involve hardcore nudity, of course. At least not in baseball. But I think you get my point.

As for Roberto Alomar, who missed The Hall by a few votes, I think that is fair punishment for spitting on an umpire many years ago. I'm aware that the umpire, John Hirschbeck, forgave Alomar publicly for his actions. But to simply let him into Cooperstown on the first ballot would be a slap in the face to all those other players who did not spit on umpires. I'll be perfectly happy to vote for Alomar on the next ballot, after he's had a full year to think about what he did.

What kind of message would it send to our kids to let Alomar into the Hall right away? Spitting is never okay. Unless you've ingested poison or sour milk, in which case you should expectorate discreetly into a napkin or paper towel.

It's hard enough to get kids to stop spitting without seeing major league baseball players doing it. My son has been spitting at me ever since Alomar attacked Hirschbeck with his saliva. And he's 32! He's still mad at me for missing several birthdays in a row to cover the XFL championship game. I told him that as a reporter, I have a responsibility to cover my beat, and that responsibility doesn't disappear just because the league hasn't existed in several years.

We all need to teach our kids--to show our kids--that responsibility is important. We must meet our responsibilities head on, whether they involve voting for the Hall of Fame, or keeping nasty spitters out of that Hall of Fame, or filing stories on sports leagues that have folded, or making sure my wife doesn't jump bail again. And we must not foist these responsibilities on others, like when I begged the cleaning lady to get my Hall of Fame ballot from behind the copier with her broom.

Today I chat with Sean from Massapequa once again, as we discuss the Jason Bay signing.

The Mets finally made a big move this off season by landing Jason Bay. That fills at least one hole, doesn't it?

Yeah, and fills it with another hole. That guy stinks.

The guy stinks? He hits 30 homers and 100 RBIs every year. He's performed everywhere he's been, even in a Pirates lineup with little protection.

Typical Omar move, gettin some guy who used to play for the loser Pirates. Nobody who ever played for the Pirates has ever been good, ever.

What about Willie Stargell, Roberto Clemente, Honus Wagner...

Honus Wagner? What is that, an electric spray painter?

No, he was one of the greatest baseball players ever.

I never heard a him, so he's a bum, just like Bay!

Even if you totally want to dismiss Bay's years in Pittsburgh--and I don't know why you'd want to do that--he played just as well in Boston. And he couldn't have had a stickier situation to deal with, taking over for Manny Ramirez.

Then why don't the Sox want him back? I'll tell ya why: because he stinks! And because he's injured. I read this thing that his shoulder is about three seconds from bursting into flames.

He passed his physical.

Big deal. You can fake a physical any way you want. My buddy Joey's got half a lung, a metal plate in his head, and seven toes on each foot, but he passes the fire department physical every year. See, if you think healthy, you can convince yourself and everyone else that you really are healthy, even if you're on death's door, which Jason Bay clearly is.

C'mon, the man is not on death's door.

But he's Canadian, ain't he?

Yes, he's from British Columbia.

See, right there, that's another reason not to like him. There's something weird about Canadians. I can't put my finger on it, but they just ain't...right, you know?

So you don't like the Jason Bay signing even a little bit because he's Canadian?

The only good Canadian I know is Randy Bachman of The Guess Who and later Bachman-Turner Overdrive.

Good to see that you've expanded your roster of prejudices.

And speaking of Canadians, why'd the Mets hand Bay a Rangers jersey at the press conference? That's a slap in the face to the Islanders! They practically play down the road! I got a buddy who works at the Nassau Coliseum, and we coulda gotten him a DiPietro jersey for nothin!

So you woulda given Bay a discount on an Islanders jersey?

Yeah, the old five-finger discount. Listen, if you know anybody who wants some game-used equipment, we can hook you up. Jerseys, pants, pads, goal nets...you want a zamboni?

No, I don't want a zamboni.

Cuz I can get you a zamboni. Kinda fun to drive, but it's a bitch to insure.

Always a pleasure, Sean.

You bet.