Ask a 1920s Baseball Fan

The Onion strikes again:

Dear 1920s Baseball Fan,

I have been married to a wonderful man for five years. The only snag is that my mother-in-law pops by anytime she feels like it. She's a nice woman, but she doesn't respect boundaries. My husband admits that her unannounced visits bother him, but he's reluctant to mention it to her. I think she'd rather hear the news from her own son. Don't you agree?

—Trampled on in Tempe

Dear Trampled,

Boy howdy, did you see that? Did you see what that fat Brooklyn Polack did to the ol' pill? Why, that's going express all the way to Indianapolis! Too bad Indianapolis is foul. Polacks is strong, but you couldn't get baseball into one with a whip an'a chair. That ol' pitcher McIlhenny is gonna hang one off his jaw, though your bohunk's got a coconut like a bag of brass doorknobs and might not feel it—Crimony sakes, you call that a heater? Tossin' dewdrops like that, we could turn ya loose in a looking-glass factory and ya wouldn't do the goods no harm… Aw, naw! The next soul who sees that one'll be the street sweeper in Schenectady, because it's leaving Baltimore on the High Line. McIlhenny, you eephus! Well, I guess even Polacks has their moments. Next time he's up, though, the pitcher'd better leave him with no place to wear his hat. Aw, well. It's Keefe batting next, at least, an' he couldn't hit his wife on St. Patrick's Day. Hulloo, Keefe! Why'n'cha try and hit it with yer purse!