Relax, I’ve finally found the new headquarters: a land called Park Slope. I think they buy and sell fun there like so much human cattle; that’s at least what they’d like you to believe. But I’m skeptical of any place near a park. Parks may be pretty and all, but evil things lurk within. Actually, not so much evil as gnome-y. I’m scared of the park gnomes. They hang out by the rotunda smoking Luckys and taunting little girls. They jump up and steal your softballs just as you’re about to catch them. They eat all the corn. So, while I move to Park Slope with interest and not a little bit of relief, I’ll be dead-bolting my door to outsiders. If you want in, you’ll need the password. It is chaw.


I just read the phrase ne plus ultra in a column about baseball. Stop that.