I made my first trip down to glorious San Diego with some girlfriends over Memorial Day weekend. Nice place y’all got here. Imagine my pouting, though, when I was informed I had to spend Saturday night at something called a base-ball game.
I was digging in my heels and pouting something fierce, but I have to tell you, once I got a few pints in me and laid eyes on this fellow right here, all was forgiven:
HelLO, Kevin Kouzmanoff. Kome here often? (Sorry.)
This was right about the time I started hearing stories about these Giles brothers. Now, I know some girls dig a man who can hammer nails with his chin, but I personally find Brian to be a leeetle too cartoon-superhero looking for my tastes:
Marcus, though? Stole a base right in front of me, just to show off. New baseball boyfriend! Call me!
(I’m informed that’s the wrong uniform. Let’s try this:)
My underoos were on fire, but not for the last time that night. It got dark all of a sudden in the stadium, and the first chords of “Hell’s Bells” rang out in the night.
I find that I am utterly unable to resist a closer. Trevor Hoffman’s no Papelbon (who is? NO ONE), but he’s got a stare that could melt lead.
(NB: This is not that stare, but how could I not use this shot?)
After the game (I’m pretty sure “we” won–after they played the Hamster Dance in the bottom of the 5th I just drank to dull the pain and started cheering indiscriminately for every hit), they flipped off all the lights and treated us to a holiday fireworks show. This was actually a much more terrifying spectacle than you would think.
Oh, and this was the ballgirl, and believe me, this is a very flattering picture. Sweetie, if you can’t throw to save your life (and it would appear that you cannot), can you at least try not to be so surly?
Boy, she looks like she enjoys her job.
SUL-LEN. All damn night. That’s the closest I ever saw her come to a smile.
Holy shit – who knew the goodies that Hoffman hid under his jersey?
Brian Giles, for a time, was one of the better looking Pirates. Really nice ass. And could hit the ball.
Which means he was traded.
HOLY FUCKING SHIT, TREVOR HOFFMAN. That man is twisted steel and sex appeal.
Kevin Kouzmanoff with the clefted chin for the win. Dig it.
& first person to deride that as “booty chin” gets a knuckle-sandwich!
Hoffman is YUMMY. Flat-out yummy.
But my favorite is still hottie Jake Peavy. Or, as I like to pester the other Ladies… with, “PEAVYPEAVYPEAVYPEAVY”.
Other hotties:
Chris Young
Michael Barrett
Justin Germano (why did the Phils let this hottie go?!?)
Russell Branyan
Cla Meredith (former Sea Dog- yay!)
Mike Cameron
and my darling Greg Maddux, who will always be hot because he is FUCKING GREG MADDUX.
I was wondering where my ex Michael Barrett was!
Ball Girl?
No Thanks.
Trevor Hoffman: once had a great fastball, now gets by on guile AND ROCK-HARD ABS. Jesus.
you lost me after “but I have to tell you, once I got a few pints in
me and laid”
Images of me and Holly getting it on. To sexy for words.
Kooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooz
and my darling Greg Maddux, who will always be hot because he is FUCKING GREG MADDUX
I’m 47, so I’m sure that The Youth Of Today, when they’re not on my lawn, don’t say “Word” to mean “That’s so true” any more, but fark it.
Word.
I wonder if the ball girl kisses nice.
Greg Maddux is fucking Greg Maddux?
How did he open a hole in the space-time continuum to be able to do that?
(Image of Max Weinberg in flagrante delicto on Late Nite with Conan O’Brien now stuck in my head, as well. Thanks a lot.)
I knew someone was going to go for the cheap joke of turning the adjective into a verb… I just never thought it would be you, Stu.
And as a matter of fact, I could totally believe Greg could travel through space and time if he damned well pleased. He is FUCKING GREG MADDUX.
Why hello Mr. Hoffman.
There’s a PP being planned for San Diego next year, right?