Usually I’m a bit of a grouch during this time of year. Football is so very far away and college basketball is about to come to an end. But this year I’m looking forward to the beginning of the baseball season. I guess following a team will do that to ya (despite soft-core porn being filmed in Comerica, I’m still going to follow the Tigers). And to celebrate the opening day (yes, I know about Boston and Oakland starting the season in Japan. Good for them) here are some of your opening day starters. My newfound Detroit bias requires me to show Justin Verlander first.
A phenomenon known as “base-ball” has been making headlines around these parts since the inception of the site. The alleged “National League Championship Series” is upon us…time to pick a side or go home. In the red corner: TheStarterWife and Clare, freestylin’ for the Diamondbacks. In the purple corner: Lady Andrea, Metschick, and surprise special guest star tap the Rockies, if you know what I mean. (Don’t feel bad. There is no force in the universe that could have stopped me from making that joke.)
When I was in the eighth grade, my family took a trip to Baltimore which I was, honestly, not looking forward to. It was one of those vacations disguised as a learning experience which, when you’re a kid, is the only thing more disappointing than watching a cartoon and realizing that there is a thinly-veiled religious message and that the talking zucchini may, in fact, be Jesus. My parents selected Baltimore as our destination because it is a city rich in American history, literature, and homicide. Actually, the latter was less a selling point and more an excuse to make me wear one of those child leashes in the rare case that there was an unhinged individual in our Fort McHenry tour group who would’ve flown into a rage at the sight of my crimped hair and pleated Duckhead shorts.
the outfield that year, the hotness that was Brady Anderson. Those sideburns. Those biceps. The lack of tuberculosis (which made him infinitely more attractive than my previous Baltimore crush–Edgar Allen Poe–who admittedly should’ve been less desirable since he potentially had rabies. Oh, and was dead). Anyway, that day I fell hard for Brady, a man so hot he made my braces sweat. After the game, I immediately bought a #9 t-shirt and couldn’t wait to write “Dr. & Mrs. Brady Anderson” on my Trapper Keeper, because I was sure that he would attend classes at night and eventually become the best-hitting neurosurgeon in his practice group. 
When I was younger my father’s job transferred him to their offices in Plano, Texas. At the time (around age 13,14) I wanted to stay in South Carolina and be with my friends and family, etc.
So we’re stepping into the shoes of Theo Epstein for the day (naturally, since he’s the hottest GM in the major leagues), and assigning a market value to the hottest ballplayers rumored to be up on the block– based solely on just how smokin’ they are. A cadre of the Ladies… (five to be exact, enough to fill a front office for an All-Hot Team) put the candidates through a rigorous evaluation process, and submitted their valuations- in dollar signs- of the hottest possibilities. After some difficult and lengthy calculations, we’re sharing our scouting report ranking their hottie value.
In these steamy, sweltering days of summer, what’s better on a hot day than some baseball and a Brew(er)?
When we here at Ladies… decide we would do a feature on all 32 Major League teams, I jokingly said that for the Atlanta Braves one I could just post 10 pictures of Jeff Francoeur’s ass and call it a day. Little did I know that I could literally do that. There are many a picture of Mr. Francoeur’s ass, all that I enjoyed immensely. And it’s not like Atlanta is coming up big in the hotties category anyway. Would you, loyal reader of Ladies…, complain if 10 pics of Francoeur’s ass came after the jump? 
