DETROIT -- In his obviously genius book, "Everything Is Obvious: Once You Know the Answer," sociologist Duncan J. Watts explains the notion that our lives are dictated by thousands of unwritten rules that we rarely, if ever, stop to examine.

If you're on a crowded subway train, for example, it is considered perfectly reasonable to stand face-to-face with a complete stranger and in such close proximity as to be able to determine what type of deodorant he or she is wearing ... assuming, of course, you are lucky enough to stand next to somebody wearing deodorant at all.

If, however, the subway is relatively empty, it would be considered pretty unreasonable -- and, in fact, quite offensive -- to stand so close to a complete stranger as to be in deodorant-sniffing distance. Nor would you ever stand face-to-face with a stranger in an elevator.

We know to be mindful of people's personal space and to face the elevator door not because these rules are written down somewhere, but because they are supposed to be matters of common sense. All of this makes perfect sense and is, well, quite obvious when you stop to think about it.

Unfortunately, as much as baseball is considered a microcosm of American life, I'm not as sure that its unwritten rules make nearly as much sense when you stop to think about them. Or at least, they seem to be evolving to the point where I am ceasing to understand them.

The problem with the sport's unwritten rules is that ...

"They're unwritten," Tigers ace Justin Verlander said with a laugh.

Exactly. And Verlander and the Tigers were involved in a game with the Angels here at Comerica Park the other day that showcased the silliness of living by an unwritten rulebook very much open to interpretation. It was a game so steeped in indecipherable, unwritten language that it ought to have been sponsored by Rosetta Stone.

By now, you've probably already seen the "highlights" of Jered Weaver's high heat, delivered not necessarily with the intention of hitting Alex Avila in the head but certainly with the intention of sending a message. It was a pitch that earned Weaver an ejection and a six-game suspension handed down on Tuesday (he immediately appealed). An identical suspension was given to the Indians' Carlos Carrasco after he threw at the head of the Royals' Billy Butler on Friday night.

Both pitchers were doling out retaliation after the previous batters -- Carlos Guillen of the Tigers and Melky Cabrera of the Royals -- took their sweet time watching their home runs disappear over the wall. And both pitchers were simultaneously adhering to and violating baseball's ancient and arcane Code. To plunk a batter after such a reprehensible display is considered part of the game, but to throw at a batter's head is taking matters too far.

In Carrasco's case, the young right-hander likely would have provoked anger from Butler directed at Cabrera had he hit Butler on the hip. But because he buzzed Butler's noggin, he enraged not only the entire Royals team but the other members of the Indians, as well. This led to some discomfort in the Tribe clubhouse, as further retaliation from the Royals might be in store down the road.

Weaver's situation was even more complicated. He threw at Avila because Guillen had milked his home-run trot for all it was worth. And Guillen dumbly did so because Weaver had barked at his teammate, Magglio Ordonez, after Ordonez hit a home run earlier in the game. And Weaver only did that because he interpreted Ordonez's slow trot out of the batter's box on that homer as an effort to show him up. It is utterly reasonable to suspect that Ordonez was merely watching the ball to see if it went fair or foul, but I suppose we'll never really know.

So to recap, a potential misunderstanding led to a shouting match which led to a ridiculous display of poor sportsmanship which led to an even more ridiculous retaliation-by-near-decapitation.

We are generally led to believe that this sort of thing (well, besides the head-hunting fastball) is part of the professional game, grown men adhering to a code of conduct handed down from generation to generation. In reality, it all comes across as a bit immature, doesn't it?

I don't necessarily agree with pitchers throwing at hitters, though I do understand that ballplayers, by and large, see it as a necessary part of the game, embedded into the fibers of history. Where I draw the line, though, is retaliation that puts your team's competitive chances or another person's life in a compromising position. That's when the Code gets out of hand.

"If things go wrong and you have to stick up for your teammates," Verlander said, "that's the way it goes."

Fine. But was Guillen really "sticking up for his teammates" with his home-run strut, or was he just acting a fool? If showmanship after a home run is perceived as some sort of rightful revenge, beyond the homer itself, that's pretty weak, especially when it's clear that it's going to lead to further retaliation. And if an elite arm like Weaver is willing to earn himself a sure ejection from -- or, at the least, an extra baserunner in -- a close and important game in which he's facing a fellow ace, merely to live up to the sport's macho mentality, that's weak, as well.

Naturally, the nature with which Weaver threw at Avila earned him the suspension and made him a villain in this particular circumstance. But even if he had adhered to the Code and hit Avila in the hip, he still would have been putting his team in a poor position in a close and meaningful game. Why is that considered OK?

I know, I know. I sound like a wimp. By and large, the players police themselves and we all move on with our lives. However, when we're talking about men whose competitive fire has driven them to the summit of the sport, these things have a way of escalating, and the classless high heat doled out by Weaver and Carrasco over the weekend ought to have us questioning the culture. At the very least, such retaliation should be saved for the player against whom the pitcher is, indeed, retaliating, shouldn't it?

(Update: Cardinals manager Tony La Russa admitted Tuesday night to having his reliever, Jason Motte, throw two pitches inside to Ryan Braun to "send a message" after his star slugger, Albert Pujols, was hit earlier in the inning by a pitch on the left wrist he injured earlier this season. Even La Russa admitted that the Takashi Saito pitch that plunked Pujols likely wasn't intentional, given the game situation, and yet he still felt the need to send a message to Braun, who ended up getting hit by Motte's second inside pitch to put the leadoff man aboard in front of Prince Fielder in a tie game in a pennant race. It was another example of putting the Code ahead of the game itself.)

The plunkings are merely one small part of the unwritten rulebook. It is rife with ridiculousness preserved for the sake of tradition. If you follow this rulebook, then you don't steal bases when you're ahead by too many runs or down by too many runs (because it's unwritten, nobody knows for sure what the exact run cutoff is). The former makes sense, but the latter flies in the face not only of the concept of a comeback but also what we try to teach our kids when they first take up the game: You play hard until the final out, because it ain't over till it's over.

That Tigers-Angels game had people arguing over another chapter of the unwritten rulebook when Erick Aybar put down a bunt attempt to lead off the eighth inning, with Verlander still in search of his second no-hitter of the season. Verlander's wild throw to first as Aybar reached was wrongly ruled an error, rather than a hit, but he gave up an obvious hit later in the inning, anyway. Nonetheless, Verlander made a greater error after the fact when he said pitchers would call Aybar's tactic "bush league," when, in reality, it was, as Tigers manager Jim Leyland said, a "beautiful play." If the unwritten rulebook proclaims that contending teams should bow down to pitchers attempting to attain an individual achievement, rather than attempting to win a close game, then these are not rules worth living by. No other sport plays by this sort of rules.

"If it had been Bobby Abreu or Vernon Wells, it would have been a different story," Rangers veteran Darren Oliver said. "But that's the way Aybar plays."

Indeed. But Verlander, of course, saw things differently. He even threatened Aybar afterward by ... you guessed it ... pointing at him and telling him he'll get him next year. (Note: Verlander implied after the game that he felt disrespected both by the bunt and what he described as a "jab" across his chest delivered by Aybar when the two made contact during a rundown later in the inning.)

And around and 'round we go.

"I don't mind people second-guessing what I say or do," Verlander said. "That's sports, isn't it? Things are debatable. That doesn't bother me one way or another. That's the nature of being in the spotlight and playing in a professional sport. People are entitled to their opinions, one way or another."

You know mine. I have no problem with guys trying to swipe that extra bag to try to put their team in a position to score a late run in a game they're losing. And I have no problem with a guy trying to do anything in his power to get on base in the midst of a no-no if it's a nip-and-tuck game and his club needs a spark. You play to win the game, as a wise man once said.

Now, if a guy disrespects the game with deliberate and distasteful display of celebration or some attempt to run up the score and a pitcher wants to file that one away in his memory bank for a later inning or a later date, so be it. But putting your team's chances of a victory -- or, more drastically, another human being's life -- at risk in order to send a message is going too far.

That seems pretty obvious to me.