Never steal second on a Sunday, for it is a day of rest.

Only swing if you really mean it. Check-swings are for farm league nobodies.

The phone is for calling the bullpen, not pranking the loser ump by telling him his wife is in labor.

Chewing tobacco is flirting. Respond with a demure smile, or the chewer might take great offense and throw a baseball at your head.

Never slap another player’s ass without knowing why. Slapping another player's ass means you want them to turn left. Slapping their ass and giving it a lil squeeze means you want them to turn right.

When a pitcher is throwing a no-no, you must pretend that they’ve turned invisible. Sit on their lap in the dugout and complain that “this bench is super lumpy.” This is unwritten but non-negotiable.

If a “wave” has been initiated in the top half of an even inning, bunting is in poor taste and honestly I’m gonna throw at your head because you should have known that.

When it comes to bats: if you break it, you buy it. Bo Jackson still owes the MLB $6,000 on his bat tab.

You can’t get tagged out while stealing a base if you say, “It’s okay, I’m rich.”

Never toss a ball to a little kid in the stands if you’re not planning on adopting the kid. It’s cruel to get the little champ’s unwritten hopes up.

Don’t admire a home run after you hit it. However, before you hit it you can say something totally badass like, “This one’s aimed straight at your nuts, God!”

Always mouth along to the national anthem, but never make any noise. If you make noise you’ll get brought up in front of the House Un-American Activities Committee, who will chuck a baseball at your head.

If you should hit a home run, immediately close your eyes like it’s the Ark of the Covenant, for no man should witness such power. The fans can watch. They don’t count.

If a bench-clearing brawl breaks out, tell the umpire you didn't see who started it, and even if you did you wouldn't tell a dirty fink hack piece of shit like him.

Don’t look Mr. Met in the eyes. Seriously. He will throw his face at your head.

Angels are not allowed in the outfield. If an angel approaches, both teams join forces to toss stuff at it like it’s a seagull.

When hit by a pitch, it’s an unwritten faux pas to hop on one foot screaming “owie owie owie ow ow, my hip, my hip, my widdle hip is bruised!” Expect swift retaliation. In the form of a 98 mph leather missile to the hip, the head of the leg.

Hitters should scratch their ass, yank their nuts, and kick up dirt IN THAT ORDER, otherwise they’re basically spitting on Babe Ruth’s grave. Or worse, throwing a baseball at his headstone.

If you’re playing against a golden retriever, don’t be weird about it.

Every player on your team should send every other player on the other team a handwritten letter saying “good game.”

These are the unwritten rules of baseball, a noble game of honor and sportsmanship. If you don’t like them, take it up with the umpire, a weasel-faced fascist who doesn’t deserve good things.


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