If Ralph Waldo Emerson had been around when I was hiring editors, he'd have been my guy; he got it.
I'm editing a book on professional hockey—seventeen chapters filled with countless references to the NHL and other professional and semi-pro hockey leagues.
I dare say there will not be a single reader who doesn't know what any of the league acronyms stands for.
So I have to remove my full-time job hat—the one that compels me to enforce the acronym rule (spell out first time in each section of a proposal)—and follow common sense. After all, to do otherwise would be detected out there in the space-time continuum and disturb Emerson.