I know an 11-year-old who plays a game at school that he and his friends inaccurately call handball: two players, one wall and one big, red ball. One player hits the ball against the wall, and before it bounces twice, the next player must hit the ball to the wall, and so on. Fail to hit the ball to the wall and you're out. The next challenger in line then gets to play.

This 11-year-old's mom was worried because her son was getting into a lot of loud, drawn-out arguments while playing this game. Indeed, every time it was his turn, his opponent would say he had made an illegal hit, he would protest, all the kids waiting in line would agree the hit was illegal, he would refuse to leave the court and the argument would last until the bell rang. Another day of play.

So let's talk about Minnesota Twins star Brian Dozier, who took Stupid Unwritten Rules to a new level this weekend. Dozier is, in his words, "getting hammered" for his complaint against the Baltimore Orioles, which he should be if you consider the point of "unwritten rules" to be enforcing a rational code of play that exists for the good of the sport. Dozier's claims, in that interpretation, do not stand up, not even a little bit.

But that's the wrong way to think about unwritten rules. Unwritten rules are a scam that players run on each other to trick their opponents into acting against their own self-interests. They are stupid, of course, but more than that, they're brilliant, on multiple levels, and they seem to work -- and ever since I realized this, I've been a lot less annoyed.

To recap: Orioles rookie Chance Sisco batted in the ninth inning on Sunday, with Baltimore trailing Minnesota by seven runs. The Twins shifted their infield against Sisco, he bunted against the shift, he got a hit and he found out a half-hour later that by trying hard at baseball in a seven-run game he had violated something sacrosanct.

"When they didn't hold our runner on [earlier in the blowout], they conceded to the fact they didn't want us to steal, so we didn't steal," Dozier explained. "We could have very easily stolen and put up more runs, so therefore in return, you don't bunt. That's what everybody is missing in this whole thing."

In other words: We weren't trying, so he shouldn't have tried.

To Brian Dozier, after the Twins backed off during Sunday's game with Baltimore, the Orioles should have responded in kind. Greg Fiume/Getty Images

Of course, Dozier's logic prima facie was bad: The Twins kept throwing breaking balls, they kept positioning their defenders in elaborate shifts and so on -- so they were still trying. Intuiting some fluid and ambiguous code about how much to try is a lot to ask of players who are merely attempting to play baseball well, for money, in front of a large audience. Complaining about this -- as other Twins did, as well -- is comically sensitive. So most will hammer Dozier.

But Dozier's goal isn't, I'd argue, to get Chance Sisco to respect the game. It's to get Sisco -- and other Twins opponents -- to go easy on the Twins. It's to get them to not try extra hard to come back when they're trailing by seven runs. It's to get them to not force Dozier and his teammates to run any harder than they have to. It's to get them to be afraid of offending, embarrassing or tricking the Twins. (Or, alternately, to get them to be afraid of offending, embarrassing or tricking veterans, such as Dozier, who use their clout and seniority to steer young players toward certain types of non-threatening behavior.) It's to weaken their opponents or to cause their opponents to weaken themselves -- more complicated than but otherwise consistent with every other baseball strategy.

Run down the unwritten rules that are most often enforced and almost all of them hit these themes: "Don't bunt to break up a no-hitter because we want to throw a no-hitter." Brilliant! "Don't yell 'Ha!' right when we're about to catch a popup because that would startle us and we might drop it." I'm sure it would! "Don't bunt 10 times at our pitcher who has the yips because he'll probably mess up and you'll get on base. Don't pimp home runs, because it makes us feel lousy (and you feel pumped up). Don't quick pitch -- I'm not ready! Don't throw changeups in hitters' counts during a blowout because I'm trying to have a high batting average. Also, don't steal bases in a blowout, because then we have to keep trying to make sure you don't. And no hustle doubles in blowouts. Take it eaaaasy." I've seen teams complain that the opposing pitcher was throwing too many breaking balls. I've seen teams complain the opposing hitters wouldn't swing enough. Lawyer ball.

There is one unwritten rule for which ballplayers admit that this is the game: The one about not hitting batters with pitches lest ye too be hit by pitches. "I've got news for you. In this game, there are unwritten rules," Terry Collins once said. "You hit my guy, I'm hitting your guy. They're not hitting my guy tonight." Another way of saying "not hitting my guy" is "not throwing inside as much." Another way of saying it is "not making me feel uncomfortable."

It helps to consider the Mafia -- not the real Mafia, which I don't know much about, but the fictional TV Mafia we all understand. The TV Mafia is notably disdainful of written rules -- the laws of the state -- but strictly, violently defensive of unwritten rules. In particular:

• Don't rat

• Wives and children are off limits

Why, in a culture that ignores virtually every law and moral code, are these principles so strong? Not because they represent some deeper morality about the sanctity of innocent life or group loyalty or the value of hierarchy, but because these are where TV Mafia bosses are the most vulnerable. There's not an easy defense against an enemy who wants to hurt you by hurting your children or who knows your secrets and might use them against you. So TV bosses use peer pressure to construct an ethical code, and the most powerful weapons against their most exposed vulnerabilities get neutralized.