Dun-da-da-Duh-da-da...

The ‘2-in-1’ in the product’s name obviously has to do with the fact that this thing can charge two things at once. Your iPhone and your AirPods, specifically. But it could just as easily apply to the sales pitch. After all, it doesn’t just wirelessly charge your phone. It also holds it at the perfect angle for scrolling or watching something. So it’s a great charger and a great stand, all in one.

Me, personally? I’d set it up on the windowsill over my kitchen sink. That way, I could connect my earbuds and put something fun on while I do the dishes and tidy up the kitchen after dinner.

Other times of year, I could choose anything: a cooking competition show, a stand-up comedy special, a procedural drama, you name it. But right now, in early April, I’ve only got eyes for one thing: baseball! I just find something both exciting and relaxing about it all at once, making it the perfect piece of chore-tainment.

But, of course, while I enjoy today’s baseball plenty, I do sometimes lament what’s happened to the sport. It’s a game run by number crunchers now, all looking for whatever way they can find to optimize outcomes, even if it means sacrificing the game’s soul in the process. And while on some level I understand why, I do often feel nostalgic for the days of yore when things were a bit less streamlined.

For example, with modern coaching, Elroy Corker of the Indianapolis Inchworms certainly never would’ve developed his famous pitch, the “thumb-ball,” which involved thumb contortions unthinkable to achieve the perfect level of spin. Hell, even at the time, his own doctor warned him against throwing it. After studying the all-star pitcher’s tendons, he said, “Elroy, what are you gonna do when the thumb on your dominant hand no longer works?” To which Corker replied, “I guess I’ll have to open the door to my mansion with my other one, doc.”

It was a time when things could be mysterious. Like the musculature of Topeka Turtle Doves’ third basement Bouncy Beau Bradley, known for his power-bunting. “What can I tell ya,” he said about the muscles in his arms, “them things is spring loaded.” And he was right. How else do you explain a man capable of holding that bat in bunting position and knocking a ball into left field without even swinging (or even moving the bat forward at all). He even bunted three home runs one season.

But I don’t mean to sound naive. There were always those characters willing to do anything to get an upper hand, even back in the heyday. They just looked different then. Manager of the Helena Huntsman Schemin’ Tuck Teller was one such figure, although he wasn’t studying Sabermetrics. He found his advantages elsewhere. Like when two of his outfielders, twins Bub and Pip Garrison, shared a silly anecdote with him; when they’d been born, they’d come seconds apart, they said, and a thin strip of skin had extended from Bub’s right thumb to Pip’s left. Nothing serious, mind you. The doctor had snipped it the day of their birth with the same scissors he used to cut the umbilical cord.

But Tuck seized on this, arguing to the league that, as they emerged from the womb a single entity, they should so remain. He pushed the issue so vehemently that the league eventually allowed it, and for five seasons the Huntsmen had four outfielders along with the typical four infielders. Together, they were number 11, each one getting a 1 on their back. Bub wore a jersey that said ‘Garr’ and Pip one that read ‘ison.’ Making matters stranger, they were both natural righties, but Pip had trained to bat lefty. So when Garrison came out to hit, the pitcher had to face two batters at the same time, one on either side of the plate.

It was just a bit more fun in those days, is what I’m saying. And the other thing I’m saying is maybe you should buy one of these chargers. Probably should mention that again, considering it’s what we’re selling today.