I love New York. I hate the Yankees.

It’s rivalry week here at Chez Sox. I’ve had the Sox v. Yanks games on, and have been alternately shouting and laughing at my TV. Everything that could possibly be picked up and thrown has been taken away from me, and the husband has been banished to his computer to listen to his big rivalry games, the Phils and the Mets. Suck it, New York, more or less.

I was going to write this big, magnanimous post about rivalries and how they’re good for the sport and good for the fanbase because a rivalry gives even the most casual fan something to talk about. I was going to be the bigger person and say that my mom is right (and not completely insane) when she says that she kind of likes the Yankees, because Sox/Yanks games are just bigger than the other 144 games for those of us who list our home address firmly in Red Sox Nation.

I was going to do all of that bigger person-type stuff, but the idea of saying anything nice about the Yankees fills me with utter, utter revulsion. I don’t have it in me. I can’t do it.

Someone call the waaaaambulance.

We here at Ladies…love Twitter. There’s something kind of twisted and voyeuristic and slightly stalkerish about it that we just adore. (There’s also something to be said about the ability to roll our eyes at Ashton Kutcher in real time. Oh, admit it. You follow him, too. There are two million of us.)

Of course,there’s a downside to being a celebrity on Twitter. For one thing, everything you say can be turned around and announced in the mainstream media. (Newt Gingrich’s Tweet calling Judge Sonia Sotomayor a racist went from ill-advised tweet to conservative nutjob talking point almost immediately. Gossip sites ran with the announcement that John Mayer had *gasp* announced his breakup with Jennifer Aniston on Twitter.) There’s no privacy.

But then, there are the impostors. Ohhhhhh, there are impostors. For some ungodly reason, people amuse themselves by making up fake Twitter accounts and pretending to be celebrities. We don’t quite understand it, but some people will do anything for attention. (Just look at Spencer Pratt. Don’t worry, we hate ourselves for making that joke, and for knowing who he is in the first place.) Usually, a celebrity will catch wind of one of these accounts, sign up with their own account and declare that the impostors are fake. No harm done, takes about five minutes, everyone moves on, right?

Tony LaRussa? Not so much.

All Star Shenanigans.

Internet, we need to talk about something very serious. I’m going to paint you a picture of two ballplayers.

Player One is batting .339 with 17 home runs, 44 RBI, an OBP of .402 and a slugging percentage of .707. He’s one of the best clutch hitters in baseball and has effortlessly replaced a fan favorite in a notoriously difficult town.

Player Two has been suspended since May 7 for using a banned substance.

Which player do YOU think is ranked higher in the National League All-Star Game outfielder voting totals?

Cooking with the ladies…

To celebrate Memorial Day weekend and the beginning of summer, we decided to share some of our favorite recipes. Go forth and cook, bake and grill…

Take Us Out to the Ball Game: The Ladies…do Nationals Park.

You may have noticed that your Ladies…have a bit of a baseball problem. It’s a sickness. We’re sad, strange people incapable of planning a road trip without checking the baseball schedule in our destination city. This summer alone, the Ladies…will be visiting ballparks all over this great nation (and possibly Canada!) and you get to reap the rewards. Planning a visit to new Yankee Stadium? We’ve got you covered. Wondering what you should eat at Miller Park? We’re on it. Need to know where not to sit at Fenway? We’re there.

This week, we take on baseball in our nation’s capitol. That’s right. A Phillies/Nationals game at brand-spanking new Nationals Park. Or, frankly, Citizen’s Bank Park South.

Another entry in the ‘Dick Move’ Hall of Fame.

So. That happened.

I’ll be up front about this. I’ve been a vocal Favre hater for more than a decade now. I rolled my eyes when Madden waxed rhapsodic about Favre’s status as a gunslinger. I groaned inwardly every time someone told me that he was a ‘man’s man.’ I hated the entire city of Green Bay for unleashing him on the world.

I hated him because he (and the Green Bay Packers) stomped all my beloved New England Patriots in Super Bowl XXXI, leaving college freshman Maggie slumped on her bed wearing an expression that looked…kind of like the expression in that picture, actually. I’m bitter, I have a long memory and I learned how to hold an old-fashioned Irish grudge at my Grandma’s knee.

I tell you this only so I can explain to you, Green Bay fans, that I understand how you’re feeling right now, or how you’re going to feel if he goes through with this and suits up for the Vikings. That white hot, fiery hatred? That urge to punch that picture at the top of this post repeatedly because you can’t get the real thing in your hot little hands? The indignant, righteous and strangely helpless fury? I’m with you. I’ve been there. Hell, I’m upset on your behalf.

See, I’ve long suspected that Favre was going to end up with a plaque in the ‘Dick Move’ Hall of Fame. (The man took a dive for Michael Strahan, for God’s sake. He did the ‘I’m going to maaaaaaaybe retire, maybe not, let’s talk about me some more’ dance so many times I think Peter King performs the steps in his sleep. The writing was on the wall, people.)

The question, though, is just who he’ll be joining in the semi-hallowed, but mostly tarnished ‘Dick Move’ Hall of Fame. Come for the self-indulgence, stay for the money-grubbing.

Get your own stuff!

I was all set to write my first post as a love letter to Josh Beckett’s fastball. (Look, if it was possible to make out with a pitch, I would do so with that one, happily, and without regard for leaving lipstick prints on the leather.) But then my cousin sent me a text message from her seats at Citi Field last week. “Maggie,’ she wrote. ‘They’re doing it again.’

The ‘it’ in question? Playing ‘Sweet Caroline’ in the eighth inning.