In Which Our Lovely Readers Get To Help Us Avoid The Facebook Police

So apparently Facebook now considers the three eponymous dots at the end of our group page name “excessive punctuation” (because that’s clearly the aberrant behavior they should be worrying about) and has instructed us to change it. While I still fail to see how something that technically qualifies as a single punctuation mark is “excessive,” goodness knows we would rather daydream about attaching ourselves to Matt Kemp than die on the hill of internet righteousness. That’s where you, lovely readers, come in.

TLDR: Facebook’s making us change our group page name; we want you to help us decide what we change it to.

Ladies Links: Don’t Forget the Chyron Edition

Via Pete Beatty (@nocoastoffense)

My brain is pretty much in the same place as whoever was responsible for that little mistake there, so links it is! Luckily there’s some good stuff you may have missed.

Baseballs in the stands? To keep or give away

A lot has been made of the scene Wednesday night in Arlington where a couple caught a ball tossed into the stands by Mitch Moreland, seemingly stealing it from a little boy, who ended up in tears.

The couple has gone to the press to say that they didn’t see the little boy. Someone from the Rangers dugout saw the crying kid and tossed him a ball, which seems to mean that everyone left happy, but it does bring up an interesting question:

Is there etiquette for baseballs that enter the stands?

It seems to be a general consensus that there’s a difference between a ball tossed into the stands by a player and foul balls. Players usually target children when they soft-toss into the stands, meaning no adult should ever steal that away. Foul balls, however, are fair game.

But there are some that are saying any adult that catches any baseball in the stands should be handing it off to a child near them.

And frankly, that makes me a little angry.

I’ve never caught or been tossed a baseball and dammit, if I do, I’m keeping that sucker. Don’t boo me, don’t judge me – that ball means as much to me as it would to that kid. I’d put it in a place of honor in our (wo)man room. My parents didn’t introduce me to baseball as a kid – I never got the opportunity to get a ball as a child. I’d be frickin’ ecstatic over that ball and I’m not sure why I should have to give that up. Of course, that only accounts for the first ball. I’m not greedy. If I were ever lucky enough to get a second or third ball, those would, of course, go to kids around me.

Certainly I don’t mean taking a ball from a child, or pushing, shoving or trampling anyone in order to get said ball. But if I’m lucky enough to catch one of those suckers, I shouldn’t be shamed into giving it up.

The scene in Arlington is especially interesting because the child kind of had a tantrum both before and after he didn’t receive the ball. There’s an argument to be made that the kid shouldn’t have gotten a ball just because he was crying – that’s certainly not the type of behavior I’d want to reinforce in my children.

Is there also an argument to be made that at three years old, he’d never remember the incident and wouldn’t be interested in the ball in a few weeks, whereas the couple was clearly thrilled and catching the ball was a highlight for them – they immediately started taking pictures with the ball?

So clearly I’m a selfish, no-kid having bastard, but what do you all think?

What if Jeter isn’t the only one with gift baskets?

Thank heavens for the New York Post. Without them, how would he know that Derek Jeter sends his single-serving ladyfriends away with gift baskets?

He used to give out t-shirts. True story.

But hey, trends spread like wildfire in baseball. By now, stars all around the game are in the post-booty gift basket game. Step into my office; I’ll show you the baskets I’ve been able to unearth so far.

So, about that espnW thing…

ESPN, for women. We’d be remiss as Ladies… if we didn’t weigh in on this ridiculous idea that’s apparently a real thing, and not an Onion article.

Click for source...made by Miss Minda

Miss Minda: Apparently we aren’t smart enough to understand the real ESPN, because it belongs to our dads, our boyfriends, and that cute guy at work we’re always trying to impress.

Games Mistress: What’s kind of worrying me is

Five Words.

Dick. Move. Hall. Of. Fame.

Okay, look. I’ve devoted a lot of time and energy into hating the ever-loving hell out of Brett Favre for the monumental screw-job he handed Green Bay fans by first doing the ‘I MAY RETIRE OR I MAY NOT WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO KNOW’ dance and then the ‘LOLOLOLOL I AM SIGNING WITH YOUR RIVAL’ swan song. I really, really thought there couldn’t possibly be a bigger dick in organized sports than Brett Favre. I mean, the man singlehandedly held up football in Green Bay for a solid three years, and I’m pretty sure Aaron Rodgers still has Favre voodoo dolls in every room of his house.

That said? I’ve never seen an athlete so tone-deaf as to think that a nationally televised hour-long special to announce his free-agency decision smacked of anything beyond rampant egotism. That was horrifying in and of itself.

But a nationally televised hour-long special to break up with his hometown team in the most public manner possible? That’s an unprecedented level of douchebag.

Congratulations, LeBron James. You’re 2010’s entry into the Dick Move Hall of Fame. Good thing I don’t care about basketball.

Charlie Manuel is a grumpy, grumpy old man

Now I’m a Mets fan (shocker!).  Therefore, it is programmed in to me to not like the Phillies or anyone managing, coaching, running, or associated with the organization. But come on, Charlie – you make it too easy to dislike you! The interwebs are abuzz with accusations of the Phillies stealing signs on Monday night’s game against the Colorado Rockies. They caught bullpen coach Mick Billmeyer with binoculars, on camera. Not a smart move. And yes, I’m sure it’s annoying to be under the heat lamp and have these accusations firing at you from all directions. But do you know what the lowest thing Charlie Manuel could have possibly done? Turn the blame and attention to someone else. And who might he have singled out?

Insert (caption) Here…

By now you’ve seen the picture but I couldn’t resist having our readers chime in.  I love my boys, but they make it so damn easy to rip on!

Fail.

Whatever Rhoden is smoking, he’s welcome to share.

Still, what Major League Baseball needs is a great World Series, a Series for the ages. And with all due respect to those two other potential matchups, it’s a Yankees-Dodgers World Series that could take the game back to its roots at a time when baseball desperately needs to recover a portion of the trust, if not the innocence, that it has lost in the steroid era.

Really.

Huh.

Interesting.

Very.

Look, we’re not naive. We know someone on every team, if not most uber-successful players, at least dabbled in PEDs. Ramirez was dumb enough to get caught, and Rodriguez was dumb enough to think that because MLB promised to destroy the 2004 test results they actually meant it. Ramirez served his time, and Rodriguez got to eat crow in front of the whole nation. It’s over.

But baseball needs to be saved from itself and the whole steroids mess with…a World Series featuring players who featured in two of the biggest steroid-related stories of the last twelve months? That makes the kind of sense that’s not.

You know what would save baseball from itself and the whole steroids debacle? A steroids testing and punishment program with teeth. A great series between teams who have figured out how to play small ball and long ball. Hell, just give me some good baseball.

But this? Laughable example of head-up-your-ass New York homerism at best, whitewashing the serious offenses of the steroid era at best.

Trash Talking With Twitter

It’s no secret that athletes love Twitter. And fans love that so many athletes are a part of Twitter. I’m sure for many people Ochocinco’s Twitter is a daily source of entertainment. Athletes use Twitter for anything and everything; most of the time it is all in good fun. But it seems that some are using their Twitter account to rant and do a little trash talk. Now, I’m not uptight and have no problem with a little bit of trash talk before a game. However, I do have a problem when it is so incredibly corny or just straight up wrong. I think that if any athlete is going to use their Twitter to talk a little smack about their opponent, they should really do a better job than these people.

And while we’re talking about Philly…

Ugh.

I’d like to thank the Philadelphia Eagles for taking that one last step necessary to make this town a baseball town. Because no, we’re not okay with this, and we don’t understand.

Seriously, Mike Vick? Mike VICK? Mike ‘I am the scum of the earth and should rot’ Vick? And we’re supposed to be pleased about this? I just watched the local broadcast team try to justify this by saying that he’s going to bring a lot of athleticism to the offense and they can run the wildcat formation now, and no. Just no. In fact, I hate Hugh Douglas a little right now for trying to make me okay with this.

And the thing is, it doesn’t even make sense from a FOOTBALL perspective. Donovan falls apart the moment he even SNIFFS competition. Not that Vick’s much competition, because he’s been away from the game for what seems like forever. WHY? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?

My husband’s been a die-hard Eagles fan his entire sporting life. The man bleeds green and white. For the last decade, my entire social life on Sundays has revolved around making sure he’s in front of a TV with beef jerky and a bottle of Yuengling by the time the Eagles kick off. We have no social life during football season, because ‘But the game’s on’ is a valid excuse to get out of just about everything. He just turned to me, ashen-faced, and said ‘I don’t think I can root for the Eagles any more.’

Yeah, it’s like that. Me? I’m just pissed that Mike Vick gets to play in the same town as Chase Utley, who actually SAVES puppies.

Okay, we’re asking.

That's a waste of a perfectly good $7.50.

Say this happened in Philadelphia. How much time would everyone spend bitching and moaning about how awful Philadelphia fans are? I mean, we’d go from this to booing Santa Claus in like, six seconds flat, right? And everyone could shake their head and cluck their tongue against their teeth and feel that their fan base is just so much better than a city full of hooligans?

Sorry, but this is a pet peeve. Sure, we have (and had) our share of drunken idiots whose drunken exploits made us all look bad. Doesn’t every city? You’re trying to tell me that Philadelphia is the only city where folks get drunk and run with some hairbrained ideas? Someone ask William Ligue, Jr. about that, or the idiot who decided to see if the netting in Old Yankee Stadium could hold his weight. So why is it that Philadelphia is consistently singled out as being full of violent and destructive goons?

Look, I’ll give you the 700 level in Veteran’s Stadium. I’ve done some pretty stupid and cocky things (like sitting with the Creatures at a Sox/Yanks game in Yankee Stadium while wearing full-on Sox regalia) and even I never had the guts to go anywhere near those lunatics. But because one group of guys in one level of a defunct stadium were crazy people once upon a time, we tar the whole city with that brush? Doesn’t that seem a little ridiculous to you?

Whatever. It’s over, it’s done with, Shane filed a formal complaint, and the idiot who made all baseball fans look bad has turned himself in.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go see what creative things the Linc crowd can come up with to howl at Tom Brady. (GO PATS.)

So that happened.

One sentence. That’s all it took. Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz, the sluggers who propelled the Boston Red Sox to end an 86-year World Series championship drought and to capture another title three years later, were among the roughly 100 Major League Baseball players to test positive for performance-enhancing drugs in 2003, according to lawyers with knowledge of the results.

Who cares about Manny Ramirez? Everybody already knows he’s a cheater and a prima donna manchild who will dog it on his own teammates to get his way. But David Ortiz? Big Papi? Say it ain’t so.

Oh, sure, the evidence was there. Anyone who watched him hit in Minnesota and then watched his complete turnaround as a hitter in Boston had to wonder. Was it enough to point to how much he’d drastically altered his swing once starting for Boston? Was it enough to chuckle when he told us that the only drugs he ever took were beans and rice? Was it worth it to ignore just how massive he was in Boston, how he became the ‘Big’ part of ‘Big Papi’? Could we just pretend all that wasn’t there because he seemed like everything that was right about a player- that he was a guy who’d put the whole city on his back with a twinkle in his eye, a gleaming smile and a swing like thunder? Well, yes. Yes, it was. Papi couldn’t be that kind of guy. He’s Papi, for God’s sake.

Well. We were wrong. And whether you believe his story that he had no idea he’d ever tested positive and doesn’t know how he could (even if you buy his cover that he may have bought some energy products from the Dominican in his youth) have tested positive for anything, or whether you so desperately want to believe this couldn’t be true, it is. Sure, nobody knows what he tested positive for yet. Sure, it was six years ago and there wasn’t a policy and accidents happen (just ask JC Romero) and blah blah blah excuses excuses. You know who else tested positive in 2003? Barry Bonds. Alex Rodriguez. Sammy Sosa. Manny Ramirez. Jason Grimsley. Not exactly innocent company.

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?

The Ladies Wax On about Waxing Off

Slash fiction... geddit?

This week’s Waxing Off topic at Deadspin was… disturbing. And gross. And demeaning to the women asked to write about it. If you didn’t read it, here’s the email sent to the women asked to contribute:

Michael Phelps Slash Fiction.
The inspiration for this comes from two sources. First, this post, which is pure nightmare fuel. Then there’s this, about how Phelps is being pursued by Lindsay Lohan (equally terrifying). We’d like to follow things to their logical conclusion, and figure that you guys would be the best to do that. Make it read like an excerpt from a steamy, filthy book. Put Michael Phelps in the situation of your choosing … male on male, male on female, Phelps on llama … the aristocrats! Nothing is too over-the-top or depraved; it’s slash fiction. Let ‘er rip. Keep to 250-350 words, if possible. And don’t forget the short graph at the end about yourself, where you can plug your site and/or projects if you wish.

Here are our collected reactions to this request:

Hit and Run: Because things need to be said, and briefly.

I don’t know if you all knew this, but the Celtics won the NBA Championship! As the resident NBA posting Lady, I feel remiss that I didn’t post about this last week! But oh well. Congrats Celtics! Now I must also apologize to the Celtics franchise and their fans. I had them pegged to lose to the Lakers. Not that I wanted them to lose (as I hate the Lakers), but they had just played so inconsistently! Heck, Atlanta took them to seven games! So I’m sorry KG, Paul, Ray. I’m sorry Boston. I should have kept the faith. You deserved to win. Now please, if you don’t mind, could you keep the douchey fandom to a minimum? Nothing is worse than an asshat, cocky, Boston fan. (Except maybe an asshat, cocky Yankees fan…)

This is Getting Ridiculous

Earlier this week, MDS did a “relevant” and “timely” piece about who has the best shot of becoming the new Deadspin Editor. It makes me wonder if he’s read Deadspin since 2006. There is one woman on the list.

There was a kerfuffle today about Erin Andrews and Pervy McDrunk Sutcliffe. Do you think Sutcliffe would talk so smarmily about a male colleague? I don’t.

There is going to be a CBS Sportsline Quiz Bowl involving 5 bloggers and 5 mainstream media members. Not a woman to be found on the blogger team. But I supposed if there was, all the men would “get distracted” and not be able to answer any of the questions.

[rolls eyes]

Ah, the things we do for fan-love

I love how much we get to let sports matter in our lives. Sure, in the grand scheme of things, today’s matchups don’t matter, nor do tomorrow’s, and nor would it really matter if MLB started using instant replay in games. But we get to make those things matter; we get to love our teams wildly, our moods rising and falling with their performances. We get to skip work for day games, keep our young kids up way late for extra innings (even in minor league games), heckle like our lives depend on it…and endure horrific customer non-service for jerseys.

Oh Banny, I’d jump through hoops of fire for you and your spectacular brain!

Down & Out-Douchebagged: The Whole Story

Last night was better. Obviously the onfield action wasn’t a high point, but the situation in the stands was much improved from the Disaster That Was Game Three. Texas Gal and I got what we expected as visiting fans, what we wanted all along–the right to root, root, root for the Red Sox without being cursed at, harassed, and treated like we’d committed some unforgivable, anti-Ohio sin like saying Drew Carey isn’t funny or that Bob Evans gives us diarrhea.

That said, I would like to thank everyone who let us just be Sox fans, who let us cheer and let us mourn without criticizing us for either one. Thank you to every Indians supporter who did nothing more than shout loudly for their team, a strong team that played another great game in what has been a magical season. That’s what we tried to do too.

I Was There (And It Hurt): Tennessee-Cal

I was thrilled to my orange-painted toes to learn my beloved Vawls were playing Cal for their season opener. Since they had come all the way to the west coast (like they were coming just to see me!), I thought the least I could do was make the trip up to Berkeley to meet them.

Hit & Run-Dumbass Edition

Usually we like to highlight the hotties and good guys in sports on this here blog. But I’m not feeling it today. Life sucks at times. So instead I’m giving you the dumbass version of the H&R.

This guy? Dumbass #1. Michael Rasmussen was removed from the Tour de France by his own team for violating team rules. He missed some random drug testing, telling the sports director of his team that he was in Mexico when a former teammate saw him out and about in Italy. You fool. Rasmussen had won the Stage 16 Wednesday when he was dismissed.

Dumbass #2-Curt Schilling. He ran his mouth off again on Costas Now, talking about Bonds, Palmeiro, McGuire, steroids, etc., etc. Look Curt, I like the fact that you talk to the media and have your own blog, making you “closer” to the fans. But sometimes you need to shut yer yap. Haven’t we been down this road before?

BUSTED!

 I was just about to go to sleep when I heard over WFAN that the NY Post had caught A-Rod red handed with a “mystery blonde”.  Of course, I had to check that out – and yup, there it is, splashed all over the NY Post. 

No way am I naive enough to be suprised that A-Rod is possibly cheating on his wife.  As a matter of fact, I’m not even outraged.  I don’t know exactly what it is, but I guess since these things happen so often in marriages involving celebrities and athletes, that it’s almost par for the course. 

It still must suck for the wife.  However, knowing A-Rod, he probably took the blonde to his room, and struck out.  No, that joke doesn’t work that well this early in the season, does it?

Go to the NY Post for all the salacious details: he stayed at the Four Seasons while the majority of the team stayed at the Park Hyatt! they had dinner together and then went to a strip club! they got into an elevator together! 

Traitor.

I take it all back.

OK, I still love you. But I hate you, too.

March Madness with the KSK Mafia: What a lovely party.

Well, that happened.

Thanks to everyone who came out today to watch the carnage unfold at Kissing Suzy Kolber. Thanks also to our mostly gracious hosts, who, it can truly be said, took their defeat like men. We’re particularly obliged to Monday Morning Punter for his part in the plotting of this whole ordeal, and most especially to flubby, who maintained uncanny patience today when dealing with Holly and her incompatible stylesheet-manglings. Boys, you truly put the bop in the bop-shoo-bop-shoo-bop…or, should we say, the ram in the rama-lama-ding-dong?

For our part, it’s been a blast. Hope y’all enjoyed the show as much as we loved putting it on.

AsshatWatch: The Big Lead Returns

The boys of TBL respond. They link here and here at the end; both are good reads (don’t skip the lists of post titles), as is EDSBS’ reaction.

Welcome back, boys.

“I’m a reacher, not a teacher.”

So I broke my iTrip in the parking lot this morning as I was leaving for work. Turning to the radio, I started surfing my presets and stopped when I hard the word “goth” on the AM dial. It was a show I’d heard horror stories about but never experienced for myself.

As best as I can recall, Things That Happened On Ten Minutes Of Colin Cowherd’s Radio Show This Morning:

• Colin bragged about his “goth” t-shirt he was wearing, and talked about all the “rock and roll” shops he frequented when in Hollywood. The shirt came from a Lucky Brand store.
• Mel Kiper Jr. wandered in and Colin asked him to guess how much he weighed. This went on for several minutes.
• During which Colin uttered the phrase, “I will bet you a week’s supply of pumpkin, which you eat”, in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone.
• Colin called Jamarcus Russell “Marcus” repeatedly, and mistook Gaines Adams for a Facts of Life character.
• And then, this. The usual suspects are up in arms, and rightly so.

Right before I dialed away in disgust, he graciously dispensed the following bon mot: “I’m an entertainer. I’m not a journalist. And I’m proud of that fact”. You’re half right, friend.