Next thing you know, I’ll start voting for those guys with the (R) next to their name!

A mere week after I actually offered a toast* at a dinner party to Bud Selig, in appreciation of that nasty, nasty man’s surprise brokering of an amicable new baseball labor deal, I find that I again have to credit him: surprisingly enough, he made a truthful statement!

“Tony La Russa is not a shrinking violet. He can be very confrontational,” says Selig in Murray Chass’s column in the New York Times today on Kenny Rogers’s dirty, dirty hand.

Should I worry that my world is turning upside down?

*Stacey refused to join the toast.

The Giambi Apocalypse and the Elven Skipper

Hang around me and Stacey long enough, and you’re sure to hear us speculating about the dangers of the coming zombie apocalypse. We’ll enter a building and note whether the doors open in (bad) or out (good); we’ll speculate on whether a bow is a good anti-zombie weapon (no, because eventually you’re going to have to go get the arrows); we’ll weigh the merits of having a zombie apocalypse supply cache (shotgun, ammo, canned brains) versus having a bird flu apocalypse supply cache (water, hand crank radio, forty pounds of peanut butter).

Well, after paying close attention to Friday night’s Yankees-Tigers game, we’re beginning to wonder whether we were focused on the wrong danger. The coming disaster isn’t a zombie apocalypse . . . it’s a Giambi apocalypse.

Several times during the game, Fox’s X-treme Close-up Camera caught Derek Jeter lifting his cap off his large head and adjusting it. The next shot, inevitably, would be of Zombie Giambi, eyes rolling and mouth wide, in near-ecstasy at the thought of Jeter’s delectable brains.

So in anticipation of the Giambi Apocalypse, what should we put in our supply cache? After this weekend, I know two things: Kenny Rogers and, just to be safe, this guy.