She hid her emotions well, putting her mink stole on the credenza, and leaving the ruby brooch on the lancelynn. But when she saw his portrait staring back at her, she crumbled into a sobbing heap.
Oddly, that's a real sentence from a real 1940s novel that I really didn't write.
Fast-forward nearly 70 years, and a hirsute right-handed pitcher named Lance Lynn toils for the St. Louis Cardinals.
It's a good thing, too, because if somebody didn't step in and stop the Milwaukee Madness in its tracks ... Well, let's just say that people in St. Louis might switch to football and Baseball Nation writers might switch to making up (more) fake lines from fake novels incorporating real baseball players' names as inanimate objects.
It's a good thing that lancelynn, after getting into a bit of a mitchstetter, was able to record two outs on Rickie Weeks' inning-ending maikelcleto.