As you all know, the G20 Summit is happening in Toronto this summer. You guys all knew that, right? Because I sure as hell didn't. Not when I was making the schedules for this season, anyway. Oh well, live and...live and...how does the rest of that go? Eh, it's not important.

Anywhoozle, the G20 Summit will attract some of the world's most dangerous, ski-hatted anarchists, who threaten to stand around in streets chanting things in a vaguely upsetting matter, then disperse. I take this threat very seriously, even if 75 percent of these anti-capitalist groups are comprised of undercover FBI agents snitching on the other 25 percent. During this summit, Toronto may be safe enough to host the finance ministers of the world's 20 leading economies, but it certainly won't be safe enough for Alex Rios and Placido Polanco.

That's why I'm moving the interleague series between the Blue Jays and the Phillies down to Philadelphia. I understand that this may give one team a serious advantage. After all, the Blue Jays won their last World Series against the Phillies, and surely the memories of Joe Carter and Paul Molitor will give Toronto a huge psychic advantage! But I think the Phillies are talented enough to overcome this.

My office did give some consideration to moving this series to a neutral site. But I remember two years ago, we moved an Astros/Cubs series from Houston to Milwaukee, and many fans thought it was unfair to relocate those games to a city so close to Chicago. This time, to remove any ambiguity, I decided to just move the series to the other team's home field so there would be no question about who was getting hosed.

Some say I could have moved the games to Buffalo or Montreal or some other city like that. But then I'd have to find out the names of the stadiums in those cities. And then I'd have to find out who runs them. And then I'd have to find out their phone number. And then what if they don't answer the phone? Ugh, who's got time for that kind of hassle?!

I do understand that other teams in the NL East feel this gives an unfair edge to the Phillies, but I'd like to point out that each of them has an advantage of their own, which I feel cancels out this effect:

• The Mets will play in Puerto Rico this summer at the end of June, and you know how much Those People like hot, Caribbean temperatures. Fuck, did I say that out loud?
• The Marlins, in addition to playing in that series in Puerto Rico, have an average attendance of 300 people per game, which really cuts down on the pressure to perform.
• The Braves have Jason Heyward, who can heal lepers, I've heard.
• And the Nationals will be eliminated in the Great MLB Downsizing I have planned for 2015, so I'm not too worried about making them happy.

There you go, it's a win-win situation. Actually, it's a win-win-win situation, since the Phillies will totally sweep that series. Especially if they use that other advantage we've been letting them get away with.

Don't think Major League Baseball is unaware of or insensitive to the situation in Arizona, just because we haven't acknowledged it in any way so far. I just think it's unwise to rush into any action or statement or movement until we have all the facts.

Rest assured, my Fact Gatherers are out there right now, gathering those facts. Yup, they are working hard, and as soon as they're done with their work, that's when the work of the Fact Interpreters begins. And once those guys are done with their work, we have to call in the Action Recommenders, who recommend actions based on those facts.

And when all of that is taken care of, we have to bring in someone to clean up the facts and file them away so the office looks neat and tidy. Clean office, clean business, I always say. It's a long, involved process, people.

Stalling? I'm not stalling. What makes you think I'm stalling? I can't believe you would think something like that. That's just...did you eat? Can I get you something? How about some coffee?

However, I want to say right up front that we will not consider moving the All Star Game from Phoenix in 2011. Even if the state passed an unjust law--AND I'M NOT SAYING THEY DID, DON'T RUSH ME--it's not fair to the citizens of Arizona to deny them a chance to see baseball superstars up close, like Alex Rodriguez and Albert Pujols and whoever we decide to send from the Royals. And by "citizens", of course I mean whichever corporate douchebags weasel their way into getting tickets to the game.

As for all the spring training facilities in Arizona, that is a team matter that each team will have to decide for itself based on what is good for that particular team. I believe in teams' rights and trust them to come to equitable, sensible decisions on their own. It's a policy I learned when I did graduate work at the James Buchanan School of Diplomacy.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to hide under this pile of coats while whistling loudly and hope that somehow, all of this goes away.

As a kid, I was fascinated by 1970s baseball. The huge afros, the amazing facial hair, the retina-burning uniform designs--it seemed like such an insane, colorful era, particularly when compared to the heavily moussed 80s, where I spent most of my kid-dom. (Of course, there were some colorful characters then, too, but that's a tale for another time.)

Whenever I had some disposable income (which was not often), I would spend it at a baseball card convention or store, usually on a large plastic box filled with completely worthless cards from 1977 or 1975, just so I could savor such sartorial majesties as Willie McCovey's sideburns. My elementary school library had these slim books on each major league team, all published in the mid-'70s, which I borrowed repeatedly. And whenever my grampa took me to Cooperstown, I'd seek out the unbelievable mini-exhibit on the technicolor uniforms from those years (sadly, no longer there).

While there are some chronicles of players and teams from the 1970s (The Machine and Ladies and Gentlemen, The Bronx Is Burning are great, recent examples), there haven't been many (if any) retrospectives about the decade in total. When people speak of a Golden Age of Baseball, they usually save such mythologizing for the 1950s and its stainless, sepia-tone heroes.

But now there is finally an evangelist for game as played in the Me Decade. Journalist Dan Epstein has penned a love letter to 1970s baseball entitled Big Hair and Plastic Grass: A Funky Ride through Baseball and America in the Swinging 70s. ESPN's Rob Neyer has said of this tome, "What the 1960s were to America, the 1970s were to baseball, and Dan Epstein has finally given us the swinging book the '70s deserve." The book drops May 25 from Thomas Dunne Books, and there will be a big ol' release party at the Bell House in Brooklyn on May 26 (I for one am excited to try the Oscar Gamble hot dog that will be served there).

Dan was generous enough to take some time out of his busy schedule and answer some questions via email about Astroturf, day-glo erseys, the best Topps card designs, and the worst promotions of all time. Read all about it after the jump.

It's been a busy time at Scratchbomb HQ, and I haven't had the chance to work up anything significant for the site the last few days. Please accept this video of footage from the old Lawrence Welk Show synced to Minor Threat's "Seeing Red" as an apology.

Game 23: Mets 2, Phillies 0
The Fake Mets managed 2 runs in the top of the third when Fake Carlos Beltran hit a bases-loaded, two-out single off of Fake Cole Hamels. They wouldn't get another baserunner until the ninth, but that was all they needed. Fake Oliver Perez pitched eight brilliant innings, and Frankie Rodriguez worked around a two-out single from Fake Chase Utley in the bottom of the ninth to preserve the win.

In real life: The Mets scored early and often against Phillies' starter Kyle Kendrick, while Jon Niese turned in 7 great innings, as they cruised to a 9-1 win, their eighth in a row.

Game 24: Phillies 3, Mets 1
Fake John Maine gave up homers to Fake Shane Victorino and Fake Raul Ibanez, while his teammates could only scratch out one run against Fake Joe Blanton.

In real life: After a great April, Mike Pelfrey came back to earth, undone by some sloppy defense and a six-run fourth inning. Roy Halladay was in control the entire game and went the distance in the 10-0 loss.

Game 25: Mets 1, Phillies 0
The Fake Mets could only manage one measly run against Fake J.A. Happ, that was all they would need. Fake Jon Niese and three relievers combined for a shutout to take the rubber match of the series.

In real life: This game never happened. Move along, nothing to see here.

There are many things to not like about the Interweb. Sure, maybe information travels too fast and trends are hocked up and discarded with little care and people say things to one another online they'd never dare say to each other's faces. And don't get me started on the comments section of most sites. Even sites I enjoy immensely have an insane amount of douchetacular commenters.

But obviously, since I'm writing this for a webbed site, there are plenty of things to love about the internet. Overall, I'd have to say World Wide Web (c) has been been a force for good in the world. And now this theory has been scientifically proven.

How? By this amazing, amazing, super amazing game called Super Mario Crossover. It came to my attention thanks to a tweet by Wezen-Ball.com (the site that calculated the baseball stats for Charlie Brown and his horrible team).

This game is essentially the original Super Mario Brothers game, BUT you can not only play as Mario. Oh no. You can also play as one of five other characters from classic NES games: Simon Belmont from Castlevania, Samus Aran from Metroid, Link from The Legend of Zelda, Mega Man, and one of the dudes from Contra (they call him Bill R.).

Each character can pretty much do what s/he does in their original game, only they're doing it in the world of Super Mario Brothers. So you can whip Goombas with a boomerang as Link, or literally whip Koopas as Simon, or just blow blocks away with your arm cannon as Mega Man. And as you play, you hear the music from the original games, too, which changes as you progress through the boards (in the underground World 1-2, when you play as Link, you hear the theme from Zelda 2).

You will waste countless hours playing this. You should waste countless hours doing this.

I hate when people/things I like attract people who are jerks. Fandom is a perfect example of this phenomenon. As a fan of a certain team, you want to believe that your fellow fans of said team are righteous, caring souls. And then you go to the stadium to see a game a realize, "Jesus, there are a lot of douches in this place." Every time I think Mets fans are somehow morally superior to partisans of That Other Team, I remember that Bill O'Reilly is a Mets fan.

I am pro-bike. I don't really bike myself, but I have a lot of friends who use bikes as their primary mode of transportation. I like that the city has installed bike-only lanes along the Brooklyn waterfront. I like that the idiot cop who senselessly laid into a Critical Mass biker was found guilty of lying about his report on the incident.

Unfortunately, my recent interactions with bikers in the street--both as a pedestrian and a driver/passenger--tell me that bikers are just as capable of being assholes as anyone else.

Incident Number 1: Most days, I ride the bus to work in the morning. The tail end of my commute goes down Navy Street, right by the main approach to the Brooklyn Bridge. Navy Street is split down the middle by a dedicated bike lane. On this particular morning, both my bus and a biker reached the intersection of Navy and Gold right at the same time, at a point where the bus turns left. The biker, paying absolutely no attention at all, keeps speeding on, nearly smacking into the side of the bus.

In a huff, the biker hops off his bike. He has wavy blond hair, a full red face, and khaki shorts, like Hansel all grown. He points to a sign at the intersection, screaming CAN'T YOU READ?! The sign in question indicated no left turns. But had he himself kept reading, he would have seen the bottom part of the sign, which says EXCEPT BUSES. Obliviously, he sped on, making sure to take the most circuitous route possible around the bus to delay us all as punishment. The light had changed by this point, so he was holding up traffic in all directions.

Incident Number 2: I'm in Greenpoint, walking down Meserole Street. As I reach an intersection, at a one-way street that has a stop sign, a biker is speeding like mad, with no intention of stopping. He sees me and slams on his brakes, a few feet short of me. I'm startled, but say nothing and move on. He starts up again, makes a left on Meserole (going the wrong way down a one-way street) and screams at me as he passes, I SKIDDED FOR YOU, YOU'RE WELCOME.

I should thank you for not ignoring all the traffic laws and barreling into me? Sure. That reminds me to thank everyone else I saw today for not stabbing me in the face.

Game 20: Dodgers 5, Mets 3 (23)
In a game that took three years off my life, the Fake Mets took an early lead on a Fake Jason Bay 2-run homer. But the Fake Dodgers battled back to tie, and the game dragged on into the wee hours. The Fake Mets mounted numerous threats but could not push a run across, and a homer by Fake Rafael Furcal in the top of the 21st inning seemed to doom their chances. But Fake Jose Reyes led off the bottom half with a single, stole second, advanced to third on a wild pitch from Fake Jonathan Broxton, and scored on a sac fly, thus prolonging the agony. The Fake Dodgers lay in the weeds until the 23rd inning, when a 2-run double by Fake Russell Martin put them back on top. The Fake Mets could not mount another comeback, and suffered another agonizing loss.

In real life: In the first half of a rain-necessitated doubleheader, Johan Santana blanked the Dodgers through six innings, while the Mets converted some timely hitting en route to a 4-0 win. Jason Bay finally hit his first home run as a Met.

Game 21: Dodgers 2, Mets 1
Fake Johan Santana kept the Fake Dodgers off the board for seven innings, while his teammates could do very little against Fake Eric Stults. In the bottom of the seventh, they finally pushed across a run when a slow roller by Fake Jason Bay was thrown away, allowing Fake Jose Reyes to score. But Santana faltered in the eighth, giving up a leadoff homer to Fake Casey Blake, then a two-out go-ahead RBI single to Fake Rafael Furcal. The Fake Mets' anemic offense could not recover.

In real life: In the cold and blustery nightcap, Oliver Perez couldn't get through 4 innings or make an early 3-0 lead stand up. But Hisanori Takahashi played hero again, and the Mets' bats came alive with a 3-run fifth and a 4-run sixth, capped by a bases-clearing triple by David Wright. Mets roll on to win 10-5.

Game 22: Mets 3, Dodgers 2
The Fake Mets took an early 1-0 lead off of Fake Chad Billingsley, but the Fake Dodgers got runs in the fourth and seventh innings on identical circumstances: leadoff hit by Fake Russell Martin, intentional walk to Fake Manny Ramirez to try for a double play, only to see a two-out RBI hit from Fake Andre Ethier. Fake Carlos Beltran singled in the bottom of the seventh and eventually came around to score on a Fake Daniel Murphy groundout. Then in the eighth, Fake Jose Reyes led off with a single, then scored the winning run on a hit by Fake Jeff Francoeur. Fake Frankie Rodriguez pitched a 1-2-3 ninth to preserve the win and salvage the last game of the series.

I should also note that, on the computer's recommendation, I rested a "tired" Fake David Wright in this game. Although I did not take its insane suggestion to swap Fake Jeff Francoeur and Fake Jose Reyes in the batting order.

In real life: John Maine had a good bounceback outing with 6 solid innings and 9 strikeouts. The Mets touched up rookie John Ely for 4 second inning runs and never looked back on their way to a 7-3 victory, their seventh in a row, and the culmination of a 9-1 homestand.

Parallel Universe Fake Mets record: 8-14

Real Mets record: 13-9

Honestly, I think MLB's revised Twitter policy has been blown way out of proportion. I believe this so strenuously I've been trying to browbeat any writer who reported the story to change their tune. I even offered a free group interview with MLB Network star Mitch Williams, but no one has taken the bait yet.

The new policy is basically this: MLB.com beat writers can only tweet about baseball. They can only use 127 characters instead of 140, because all their tweets have to end with #sexybudselig. At least until I overtake Justin Bieber as a trending topic, or figure out who Justin Bieber is.

The reason for this policy is quite simple: I don't want our beat writers using up precious MLBAM resources on non-baseball-related tweets. Especially after our staff went through the enormous trouble of setting up Twitter accounts for all these people. That takes over 17 hours per account! At least that's the time I was billed for by our freelance IT staff. Why, that's almost as long as they tell me it takes to perform a Google search!

Penalties for violation of this policy will be firm but fair. Any beat writer who tweets about a sandwich, salad, or any other food item will be suspended for three games. Because neither I nor anyone else could possible give less of a shit about your lunch.

Anyone who tweets about the latest Lost episode will be suspended for 50 games, because I'm Tivo'ing the whole season so I can watch it in one long chunk one it's over. Don't think I won't do it, either. I came down on Manny Ramirez like a ton of bricks when he tweeted about the season finale of Grey's Anatomy.

However, I will show leniency to any beat writer who can help me do a podcast. Does anyone know how to set that up? Because I think the world is finally ready to hear my thoughts on Battlestar Galactica.

The current anti-immigration nonsense in Arizona would be funny if it wasn't so terrible. A state comprised of territory swiped from Mexico in one of America's most egregious instances of imperialism, and which has a Spanish name, has now enabled law enforcement officials to demand extraordinary documentation from anyone they suspect might be "illegal". That takes some chrome-plated balls, or some extreme ignorance of history.

Of course, the rationale behind these anti-immigrant measures is along the lines of, "This time is special. These people are taking over. They don't want to speak the language or be a part of our culture. They're not like the people who used to come here." It is the exact same rationale that's been trotted out by every anti-immigrant faction against every single group that's ever come to these shores. It wasn't true when the anti-Irish Know Nothing Party spewed this nonsense in the early 1800s, and it isn't true now.

People who think immigrants want to come here just to loaf around, collect welfare, and live high on the hog have no idea what it means to immigrate, to leave the place where they were born and start a new life in a strange land. I think about my grandfather, who left Ireland, his wife, and his two children behind to move to New York all by himself, because he could only afford to come here alone. He worked for two full years until he could send for his family and begin to build a life.

Can you even imagine doing that, for one second? And no, moving from one state to another is not even close to the same thing. People who are lazy and looking for a fast buck don't immigrate, because such people have neither the motivation nor the fortitude to survive such a move.

My grandfather's experience happened almost 60 years ago, but I feel like this is still a fairly typical immigrant experience. And my grandfather had the advantage of speaking English (of a kind, anyway) and belonging to an ethnic group that was already assimilated. I can't imagine what it's like for someone who doesn't speak the language, and who can't help but look "foreign" to most Americans.

We should want people to come to this country from other lands for the same reason we've always wanted new arrivals. Because an immigrant is someone who woke up one day, looked at the messed-up world around him/her, and said, "I've had enough of this shit."

They may have felt this way because they weren't free to say and do as they pleased. Or maybe their homeland offered them no opportunity to rise above the station to which they were born. Regardless of the reason, while everyone else around them said, "I guess this isn't so bad, I don't mind living in abject poverty, and the secret police are using softer jackboots these days", immigrants said, "Fuck this, I'm out." We should want the kind of people who want better for themselves.

Countries like France and England agonize over who can truly be English/French. America should be above that. The great thing about being American is it is an evolving thing. Anyone can potentially come here and consider themselves (and be considered) American. A hundred years ago, the idea that an Italian could be an American was ridiculous to many people (as this horrible cartoon should display). Now, every single person in this country eats pasta at least once a week, and there's few cheap meals that are more American than a slice of pizza. So why are so many people bent out of shape about Mexicans coming here? We already know their food is amazing! 

This obsession with exclusion and purity is both racist and shortsighted. Everything good about our country, everything the world loves about us, comes from the mixture of different cultures. Just think of all the music that was born in America, and how none of it would be possible in a homogenous society. Even the best music from other countries is a result of people in those countries trying to imitate American music they liked. Mick Jagger and Keith Richards trying to sound like Howlin' Wolf = The Rolling Stones.

It reminds me of a joke I heard years ago (apologies to the comedian whose name I can't recall). He said races should be forced to mix, for the good of humankind. Because if you get two ugly white people together, you get an ugly white baby. You get two ugly black people together, you get an ugly black baby. You get an ugly white person and an ugly black person together, you get Halle Berry.

It's chilling that there is a state in the union where police officers now literally ask to see people's papers, a la Nazi Germany. And of course, despite assurances that there would be no racial profiling under this new law, there were egregious examples of it within hours of its passage, like an American-born truck driver who was slapped in handcuffs because he couldn't produce a birth certificate.

And yet, I don't fear for the future. Maybe I'm naive, I but I feel like laws such as this are so antithetical to what America is that they are doomed to fail. Maybe it'll be in a few months, when someone challenges the law and it's struck down for being unconstitutional. Maybe it'll have to wait a few years, when there's not a racist monster in the governor's mansion. But it will happen.

I look forward to that day, and to the day when the descendants of Mexican immigrants are seen as just as American as everyone else. And we will all band together as one to keep out the influx of extraterrestrial migrant workers from Omicron Persei-8. Cuz they ain't like you or me--they got three hearts and antennae!