Hello, friends. Our name is Ted (uh, I probably should have said “my” right there), and we regularly write at A Price Above Bip Roberts, a site whose name makes even less sense than its content. Seal Clubbers and I are good friends, if you can be good friends with someone you’ve never laid eyes on; the cornerstone of our dynamic is a mutual love for the San Jose Sharks. See, my frosh year of college, I had a Sharks poster (I liked the colors), and I lived down the hall from a kid who was a genuine Sharks fan. The presence of that poster brought us closer than I ever would have imagined, and resulted in some hilarious moments of my 18th year of life - such as, but not limited to, the time he vomited all over my room after we watched a Sharks game before going out.

I digress. Those memories are positive, see, but the notion of clubbing baby seals is, well, inherently negative. As such, the boys over here and I are in talks about a recurring Sunday feature: “People We’d Like to Club.” Basically, at the end of every week, we’ll wrap up the week in a (purportedly) entertaining fashion by discussing who, if anyone, we’d like to club over the head, Bam Bam (of the Flintstones) style. Don’t expect much from it, in the way of amusement or the potential to gather new information. Just look at it as something to fill the time between “church” and “Family Guy,” and you’ll be fine.

Here’s the debut effort, in which we club not necessarily a person, but a concept:

Depending on which version of Greek mythology you subscribe to - we learned everything we needed to know about it via poorly formatted comic books - the Greek God associated with weather is either Indra, or Zeus himself.

See, the big bad captain of ol’ Olympus tossed thunderbolts when he was angry, and his temper was said to control the weather. And let’s be honest: Indra had a bunch of other crap on her plate. She was also the goddess of war, and I feel like the Greeks were going to war more than they were finding tasty combinations for feta cheese, vegetables, and bread.

Still, whoever runs the weather - the man himself or our Jenny from the Block, Indra - we’d like to club them over the head this week. More specifically, and less personally, we’d like to go all arms-swinging, apeshite-mad screaming on the notion of “weather” itself.

Why? First of all, we don’t like Al Gore that much, and he’s probably more associated with weather than anyone in America, save for possibly Al Roker. Anything that’s helping him stake a claim back to public life - look, I mean we voted for him over Bush, but who wouldn’t? That kiss of Tipper in ‘00 just really perturbed us - is something we don’t want any part of.

In a broader, sports-related sense, here’s the issue: Sunday was supposed to be Jackie Robinson Day around the majors. Although we were a little confused how official score books might record events with everyone wearing No. 42, we don’t buy Torii Hunter, and we think it only increases the nature of the honor. Jackie was the man; you can say anything you want about the increasing Hispanic and declining African-American populace in MLB, but Jackie and Branch Rickey paved the way for everything.

As such, we were lookin’ forward to a Sunday of different treatments of a great man - in the interest of full disclosure, our dad was born in Brooklyn in 1940, which put him at age 15 (prime baseball fan development age) when the Bums won their only World Series of that era, so you can imagine how much we’ve heard about these Dodgers and Jackie - but we didn’t get it.

We didn’t get it.

Screw you, weather.

All in all, six - 6! - games were postponed, mostly in the Northeast corridor. We missed a Bonds doubleheader in Pittsburgh - seeing Bonds’ reaction and treatment of Jackie would be interesting, especially in this racial maelstorm of a week; we missed Fenway’s approach to the subject; Willie Randolph and the Mets got soaked through; and even Camden Yards, far and away the greatest place to wile away a June afternoon that Jackie would have once captivated you through, was taking on water.

We want to club the weather - or its personification, in whatever form that is - over the head because they ruined a chance for a seminal moment in our baseball fandom lives to be even bigger than it will be. Sure, these games will be made up, but it won’t be the same. This was supposed to be a day of celebrating and honoring, all leading up to the Dodgers themselves at 8pm - with Rachel Robinson on hand - and now it’s good, but not great, and all because of a few soggy fields.

Damn you, weather. You’re getting clubbed this week.

As a final, less relevant note, here’s something that bothered us about weather this week as well: the Indians and Mariners kept getting snowed out. Big deal. It’s Cleveland, and it’s April; that stuff can easily happen. But, media outlets latched onto it as if it was consistently breaking news; this only served to remind us that baseball is a really long season, where stories that annoy you verily can often stay in the crosshairs of national “interest” for way too long. Everyone needs something to discuss, we guess, and this week it had a lot to do with weather.

We don’t like you (we’re not “with you, weather”), and you’re getting the club to the dome this week.