Pine Tar for Everyone

Let's preface this blog post with the fact that this is not the topic we'd originally planned on discussing. This topic is your fault. We had plans for epicness. For the Titanic of blog posts. The Catching Fire of blog posts. Because literally, there was going to be fire. However, you chose not to participate. All you had to do was mail us your unwanted jerseys and t-shirts of players that disappointed you. But, no. Nothing. You mean to tell us that none of you Mets fans made the mistake of purchasing a Kaz Matsui jersey? No Yankees fans went out and bought a Randy Johnson jersey? Giants fans, a Barry Zito? Marlins fans, a Reyes? Stop lying. We've all made mistakes with our jersey/t-shirt purchases. It's nothing to be ashamed about. The point of this paragraph, as useless as it may seem, is that you suck a bag of donkey d*cks. That is all.

Now we are forced to talk about another topic that has been beaten like a dead horse. The Pine Tar Incident. On Wednesday night, Michael Pineda was ejected from the game in the second inning and has been suspended for 10 games for "possessing a foreign substance (aka: pine tar)." Initially, both of us were disappointed in him. "C'mon, what's wrong with you? Why are you slapping illegal shit onto the ball during a game? You know it's against the rules." But then, we started to hear murmurs. Murmurs from other players, both retired and active. Whispers of pine tar, not only being rampantly used throughout the league, but being openly accepted.

David Cone and Al Leiter, both players that once pitched for the Mets and Yankees, admitted on air while in the YES broadcast booth, that they kept pine tar on their belts on cold nights to help them get a better grip on the ball. What flabbergasted Cone and Leiter was not that Pineda used pine tar (keep in mind, pine tar is still "against the rules"), but that he was so "blatant" about using it.  This seems to be the common assessment of the situation around the league. Both Dustin Pedroia and Chris Capuano admitted to using pine tar. David Ortiz has been quoted as saying, "everybody uses pine tar. It's not a big deal." However, Capuano also said, "I just think you don't want to flaunt it." Okay, but pine tar is still a foreign substance and according to the official rules of the MLB:
8.02
The pitcher shall not -- 

...

(4) apply a foreign substance of any kind to the ball...

Sooooo, what these players are essentially saying is that it's okay to break the rules as long as you're not being obvious about it. Okay. Cocaine is an illegal substance, right? However, if we all go to a party and snort cocaine together, it's cool as long as we don't talk about it or do it in public. Is that what we're basically saying here? If Pineda had concealed the pine tar, it's no big deal? The issue is not that he used it, but that he was being open and honest about being a rule breaker.

No one else sees this as a problem? Is it just us?

Oh, and PS? This is just additional proof that Red Sox fans are the biggest a-holes in the MLB. Thank you and have a nice day.

PPS - You all still suck. Except for Michael David. He's hope.

PPPS - We just broke the Guinness World Record for quickest blog written ever by the TBB

Yankees Opening Day 2013

April 1, 2013
Strangely enough, this year’s opening day experience felt like one giant “That’s What She Said” joke as opposed to an actual baseball game. I mean, I barely recognized the lineup that the Yankees fielded that day, one of the players sounded more like a brand of tomato sauce (Ben Francisco – FranCISCO, that’s fun to say!) and I had the privilege of staring at an a-hole play firstbase for most of the game. Plus, there were actual “that’s what she said” jokes being made throughout the entire day. The rumors are true. The joke does not get old. I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.

The beginning of our story begins in Staten Island. Our ride needed to make a pit stop in Staten Island before heading to the game, so he dropped Jess and I off at a sh*t-hole diner in a really sexy part of Staten Island (said no one ever) for the better part of 2 hours while he gallivanted about conducting his business. Initially, the men working the diner seemed excited to have two young females with big boobs and all of their teeth walk in to their establishment. We even got free coffee out of the deal. However, after a solid 45 minutes of our personalities, our boobs weren’t nearly big enough to get away with our behavior. I’m not sure anyone’s boobs are big enough to be quite honest. When we were done eating, there was simply not enough to do at the diner to keep us occupied, so we settled for texting our ride incessantly like real f*cking a-holes:

“You said 40 minutes. It’s been more than 40 minutes.”
“A man with a hearing aid told us to be quiet.”
“Where is the closest tourist shop? Jess would like to purchase an ‘I love Staten Island’ t-shirt. Perhaps a snow globe of the Staten Island ferry.”
“Does Staten Island have WiFi?”
“There are a lot of construction workers in here. Is that common for Staten Island?”
“They want to know when our Uncle is coming to pick us up.”
(he actually laughed aloud at the last two)

When we were finally collected at 11:30, the guys at the diner practically threw a parade in our honor. I’ll admit that I’ve been inside quite a few female strip clubs and I assure you that I’ve never seen a happier group of men than these three guys when we exited the premises.

We apparently exerted a lot of energy acting like complete d*ckheads at the diner because Jess took a brief power nap on the way to the Stadium whereas I seemed to have temporarily blacked out because I have almost zero recollection of the drive. It was either incredibly uneventful or I’d been roofied back at the diner. On our approach to the Stadium from the Major Deegan, I managed to snap a few photos of the utter beauty that is the Bronx for you. I figured you’d enjoy it.

Okay, this photo isn’t so bad. It actually creates the illusion that Yankees Stadium is located in a lovely, peaceful location. It’s not.

Walking from the parking lot to the stadium, I had the fortune of needing to follow this fool:

Don’t you think it’s a little early to be jumping on this a$$ clown’s band wagon? Actually, I’m gonna go ahead and say that you shouldn’t EVER jump on this a$$ clown’s band wagon. EVER.

We settled into our awesome seats to wait for the pre-game ceremonies, which was a fairly difficult task for us since we were hungry…again. But we managed...with a touch of goofiness.

We (me) showed my Big Texan some love:

I can’t stress enough the awesome view we had of the CC Sabathia/Jon Lester matchup. It was amazing. Too bad the action sucked, as Brother would say, a bag of dicks. More on that later.

We held a moment of silence for Bob Turley, old time Yankee pitcher who’d died on Saturday.

The moment of silence for Turley, however, wasn’t nearly as heavy or sad as the league-wide moment held for the victims of the Sandy Hook Elementary School tragedy. I can’t speak for what other teams did, but the Yankees’ scoreboard showed a scrolling list of the names of the victims.

 

Former Rock of Ages star, Constantine Moroulis sang the National Anthem. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love Constantine. He’s an adorable, scruffy, dark-haired (yes, yes, yes) rocker boy (honestly, is there a man out there that can out-sex a rocker boy? No. I think not) that used to perform epic 80’s rock tunes on Broadway. I am pretty sure that I just described the ideal male. All this man needs is a cigar and a bottle of Johnny or Jameson. Having said that, I’m pretty confident that he invented his own lyrics to the National Anthem. I don’t know if I should be proud of his artistry or offended that an American citizen potentially doesn’t know the correct words to his nation’s Holy Grail of songs. 

One of Mamadukes’ favorite Yankees, Sweet Lou (Piniella) threw out the ceremonial first pitch. I actually got a snippet of video for you. I’m so proud of myself because it had been so long since I used the video feature on my camera that I actually forgot what I was doing and just pressed every button on the camera in hopes that I caught something…anything really. I was and am not picky.

Here’s the bad news about our seats. I had to look at this a-hole for most of the game:

Annnnnnd with Sabathia’s first pitch, we were off!

Literally. Jess and I were starving. We needed sustenance. We couldn’t possibly concentrate on baseball on a semi-empty stomach. Imagine. Listening to your Food Baby whine and jibber jab while trying to focus on Sabathia’s first performance of the season. Thankfully, a Premio sausage stand was two feet away from our seats. It was like Baby Jesus wanted us to be happy. And by Baby Jesus, I mean Joe Mauer, not the actual baby Jesus. The line at the stand was super short as well! BONUS! We might have to stare at an a-hole playing first all day, but we’d at least be feeding while we suffered. Fatty baseball food and booze can alleviate just about any pain.

Turns out, Baby Jesus was mocking us. This was the longest short line in the history of mankind. I’ve taken quicker showers than this line moved (as a reference point, I take such long showers that Brother has asked if I’ve managed to solve world hunger while in there). We each ordered a foot long hot dog, Italian sausage sandwich (hot for me, sweet for Jess) and a beer for $26.25/each. The amusing part of that order is when I ordered what I wanted, the woman asked, “Do you want to pay for this together?” Jess made a face and replied, “That’s HER order! I want the same thing though.” By the time we got back to our seats, it was already the top of the 2^nd inning. How long does it take you to fetch two already made sausages and hot dogs? This is what our food looks like together in all its glory:

And since you’re a bunch of perverts, here are the phallic photos of us eating our food:

We decided to take the sausage photo ourselves because of the creepy dude (who you can see in the background of the sausage photo) who enjoyed taking the hot dog photo WAY too much.
Creeper: “I’ll take another one if you want.” Winky face.
Jess: “Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

As for the Yankees, their Cracker Jack defense and Sabathia’s inconsistency gave up 4 runs. Fantastic. The offense, on the other hand, only accomplished picking their nose and flicking it at the Red Sox on the field.

Speaking of the Red Sox, Dustin Pedroia, his gross facial hair makes him look like “a little fur monger” (according to my notes on the game).

I feel it necessary to comment on our neighbor sitting in front of us because I’m a bitch. He was an international tourist enjoying his first baseball game. For starters, everyone could see his passport hanging out of his back pocket. He was basically begging to be robbed. This is the Bronx, not Uptown Manhattan. Secondly, he chose to drink Budweiser…the King of Beers. Coming from Europe, you’d think his taste in beer was better.  Lastly, he was a big fan of “Love Fool” by The Cardigans. Nevermind the strange situation that would prompt Yankees Stadium to play that song in the first place. This dude straight up jammed out to the song. There was an air guitar involved. Who does air guitar to The Cardigans?

Things continued to go downhill on the field for the Yankees. The jack wagon filling in for Mark Teixeira at first is apparently unable to field a bunt, which by definition makes him an a-hole. This is the man that’s supposed to be replacing Alex Rodriguez at third. AROD is a lot of things: pretty, fragile, dumb as a doorknob. At the VERY LEAST, the man can field his position properly. The Yankees really should’ve considered starting me in Tex’s place. I’m a borderline expert on bunting. In our seats, we had other issues:

It was around this time also that I was informed that my “breasts pay property taxes.” In case the joke is above your heads, it basically means that my boobs are so big, they’re a piece of property that warrants taxes to be paid on them.

In the top of the 7^th, Old Man Ed fetched us each a Lobel’s steak sandwich (FYI: $16) and a Stella (a lot of money for a beer…I don’t know. I didn’t pay). The Red Sox were winning by 5-2 at this point. Good times.

Jess’ neighbor was an enormous fan of 80’s music. Jess had to endure him singing along to every single 80’s song that Yankees Stadium’s PA system played. Not anything current though. Snoop was definitely not on his list of favorite songs. By the end of the game, Jess had had enough. “If he wasn’t so enthusiastic about the YMCA, I might’ve been able to endure Queen.”

With the Red Sox winning 8-2 in the 9^th, it was time for us to leave. In the car, we ate leftover munchkins and argued about who needed to charge their phone more.

Since I was the passenger, I got the task of plugging everyone’s charger into one outlet or another. The USB port for Jess’ iPhone proved most challenging:
“I can’t find the hole.”
“You need to get your head in there.”
“I still can’t find it!”
“Really get your head down there!”
“I can’t see! It’s too dark!”
“Did you get it in?”
“Oh, I found it!”
Yup. You guessed it. “That’s what she said.” It doesn’t get old.

Our Dearest Timmy

We discussed our own version of a New York Old Timer’s Team last week. It’s quite clear that we’d have the most legendary nursing home ever to grace the planet Earth. And we’d be the nurses in charge, meaning we wouldn’t have to change any bed pans. In the spirit of that blog post, we asked if you’d be down for an Old Timer’s Day if your team doesn’t already have one. Surprisingly, no one voted for, “I hate old people. Senior citizens belong in the nursing home.” We’re shocked because you guys tend to vote for the a-hole choices and that was definitely the a-hole choice available to you. 4 of you chose, “Yes! It’s bad ass and they’d probably give me a better game than the young pricks I watch now.” This is most definitely true. Listening to Paul O’Neil run around the field with a mic on was infinitely more entertaining than watching Alex Rodriguez do nothing at the plate and continue to frustrate Serena’s fantasy offense numbers. Selfish penal implant that he is. There are fantasy team owners counting on him! Doesn’t he care???


Onto more important matters. What is the malfunction with Tim Lincecum these days? He has a win-loss record of 3-10 and his ERA is 6.42! WTF? Meanwhile, in Pittsburgh, AJ F*CKING Burnett has a record of 10-2 and his ERA is 3.68. It’s like Hell has frozen over and any day now, we’re going to see pigs flying. There’s only one thing that can be done to right this Titanic of a situation and that is to write a letter. It’s come to our attention that our letters may quite possibly have magical powers.  Observe: Daniel Murphy had a f*cked up moustache and was suffering from a major slump at the plate. We wrote a letter. The offensive stache is gone and now Murphy’s hitting again. AJ Burnett was a giant asstastic f*ck up in Pinstripes, but following two break-up letters from us and a departure for Pittsburgh, he has managed to reach the All Star Break with a better record than a Cy Young Award-winning pitcher (our favorite Cy Young Award-winning pitcher). Clearly what Timmy is in need of is a letter written to him by his #1 fans and best friends in the whole wide world: us. Who are we to deny him this necessity?

Our Dearest Gum Drop Timmy,

What up, mother f*ckaaaaa! Whatcha been up to? How’s it hanging? How’s mom doing? Dad? The dog? Still recovering from St. Patty’s? That was a sick night, bitch. Murphy really f*cked up by going to spring training instead. He missed a happening good time. *Cyber High-Five*

We’re doing okay. We did some beach yoga yesterday. You would’ve loved it. You could’ve gone swimming with Serena afterwards because, as you know, Lisa doesn’t swim. She would’ve waved to you from the shoreline and called for help if you were attacked by a shark…unfortunately, Serena would’ve left you splashing in a frothy pool of your own blood. She loves sharks, but she’s not stupid. Survival of the fittest and all that. But don’t worry. Lisa TOTALLY would’ve dialed 911.

ANYWAY, the real reason for our letter. It seems to us that you’re feeling a bit down. Do you have a very bad illness that you’ve decided not to tell us about? We can handle it, ya know. We want to be there for you. Are you depressed? Are you going through a severe break up? This would be slightly alarming to us seeing as how you’ve never mentioned a girlfriend, but we’d still be there for you to get you through this tough time. The reason why we’re pestering you with all of these probing questions is that we’ve been noticing that you’re pitching…well…how do we say this without hurting your feelings? You’ve been pitching like an a-hole. A real hairy a-hole. We just checked your stats and a very detailed chart on ESPN.com informed us that you have an 18.90 ERA against the Washington Nationals. In fact, your ERA from this afternoon’s game is 16.20. How the F*CK does someone manage that? How is this even mathematically possible? How bad of a game do you have to throw in order for this to be your legitimate stat? Lisa can throw a more effective game than that and she makes the equivalent to the cost of a hot dog compared to you. Seriously. She’s also never played baseball before. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Obviously, something is going on here and it’s deeper than just messed up mechanics because in the three games that you DID win, you were the dominant Timmy of old! It’s clear that no one cares about you like we do because no one has done anything to fix this. Is Barry Zito too busy working on his comb over or conjuring up some other fashion disaster to spend a little time with you to get your head straight? Thank GOD you have us in your life. Where would you be without us? We hate to do this to you, but we have no choice to put you on a strict regiment to get you back on track. We don’t like acting like dictators, but you’ve really put us in a bad spot here. Going forward, your week will look like this:

Monday:

·   Smoke weed.

·   10 cents wings and $4 draft beer at an ale house of your choosing (we understand that it may not be physically possible for you to travel to New York every week to hang out with us at Croxley’s). Bonus points for finding an ale house that serves cheaper wings and draft beer. That gets you a *Cyber High-Five*

·   Fall asleep in starfish pose in the middle of your living room wearing nothing but your underwear.

Tuesday:

·  Smoke weed.

·  Attend a zumba or belly dancing class.

·  Taco Bell. Order and eat a minimum of $15 worth.

·  Release your inner pirate. Wear an eye patch while sipping on Captain Morgan.

Wednesday:

·    Smoke weed.

·   Participate in a session of a yoga type of your choosing.

·   Eat a bag of Oreos.

·   Watch a How I Met Your Mother marathon.

·   Contemplate the Cecilia Venn Diagram. In your case, it’s probably more like the Barry Zito Venn Diagram.

·   Enjoy a cigar and a glass of scotch for your hard work today.

Thursday:

·    Smoke weed.

·    Beer pong.

·    Practice your inversions in the middle of the freeway. If you can dodge a car, you can dodge a ball. More importantly, if you can find inner peace upside down in a sea of fast-moving vehicles, than you are on the path to enlightenment…or some sh*t like that.

·    Over-order Domino’s Pizza online and only eat half of it because you’re full. Just remember to order before 2 am because they close.

Friday:

·   Smoke weed, immediately followed by a shot of Jameson.

·   Run through town in your boxer shorts, screaming your head off that you’re being chased by zombies. This is your cardio. Embrace it.

·   Eat a Twinkie.

·   Prank call Barry Zito several times from different phone numbers. If you can accomplish 6 prank calls without him realizing it’s you, you’re still on the path to enlightenment. We recommend that you start off with, “Tom Selleck called. He wants his moustache back.”

Saturday:

·  Smoke weed.

·  Attend a cardio-kickboxing class with the Fit Fem.

·  Find out who that lady is who had been escorted onto the field following Matt Cain’s perfect game. Text the TBB the answer.

·  Eat spicy noodles or Pad Thai with a side of Thai fried rice.

·  Since you’ll feel slightly dehydrated, make yourself a margarita (only use Patron or else you’ll get a headache and all of your training will be for nothing), wear a sombrero, and stick a fake moustache on your upper lip. If you can drink your cocktail without your fake moustache falling off, you’re so close to enlightenment that you’re practically making out with it.

·  Go to bed early because you need to rest up for your big day tomorrow. Wear your sports bra and yoga pants in order to ensure adequate REM sleep.

Sunday:

·  Smoke weed.

·  You might be feeling a little nervous and dehydrated, so you’ll want to throw back a shot of Café Patron.

·  Pitch a perfect game.

·  Call the TBB to thank them for their sound advice.
·     *Cyber High-Five*

In conclusion, follow this strict regiment EXACTLY as we’ve dictated it and you shall return to the game bigger and better than before. EXACTLY as we’ve dictated it. Do not vary it in any way shape or form. Do not do Monday’s tasks on Friday or you’ll mess everything up…and get herpes. Remember, we know what’s best for you and we’ll look forward to being escorted onto the field when you throw your perfect game.


Oh, and before we forget, it should be noted that you shouldn’t drink water after midnight for you will turn into a gremlin…actually, come to think of it, you’re better off being safe than sorry. No water. Just booze.


Kiss Noise.


Sincerely,
Your Traveling Baseball Babes/Life Coaches


PS -
See you on August 14^th for Tim Lincecum Appreciation Day!


Now for our A-hole of the Week. This week’s a-hole is Dustin Pedroia for saying, “I’m a lizard. I heal while I play. I’m a freak healer. I heal great.” No. You’re an asshat and you look like a hairy crypt keeper. Thank you for playing. Have a nice day. Our TBB Super Hero of the Week is Sean Rodriguez of the Tampa Bay Rays for playing this prank on teammates, James Shields and David Price.


Next weekend, we regret to inform you that the TBB will be taking their own All Star Break. Unfortunately, we won’t be doing anything as fun as hitting home runs, chasing mascots, or frolicking around the base paths. We’ll be partaking in bridal party duties for two totally separate weddings. Maybe if you’re lucky, we’ll post a drunk photo or two from our respective parties, but we doubt it. We’re ugly drunks.

In a Baseball State of Mind

While Serena frolicked around the streets of Los Angeles with Erin, Lisa asked if you ever took what sports commentators said seriously. While we are happy that more people voted this time around (8 total), it saddens us to relay the outcome of this poll. 1 person actually thinks that sports commentators are the wisest people ever. Really? Okay, you sole survivor, you must not have many intelligent friends or perhaps you never actually paid attention and listened to a game, subjecting yourself to ongoing rants about crap that have nothing to do with the players or the team. At least our rants are baseball-related! If this is the case, we forgive you. Or maybe you’re an out of stater whose team actually has an acceptable announcer’s booth. If so, we’re jealous! 2 of our fine feathered friends chose to watch the game on mute. We happen to do the same. Sometimes when we are watching the game, we pretend that our Coors Light bottles are microphones and we report on what’s shaking on the field...to absolutely no one. At this stage, Brother usually vacates the house in a hurry. We think that we’ve become quite good at announcing, with only the small, itty bitty hiccup of needing a beep button to regularly cut out the cursing. Is that really so bad? We love Ron Darling on SNY and Paul O’Neil’s special guest appearances on YES, but other than these exceptions, please, Keith Hernandez and Michael Kay, stop making our ears bleed! We beg you! Bobby Murcer, we miss you! The last choice won in a landslide with 5 votes and this is somewhat disconcerting to us. The option was “Maybe. I have patience. After all I do read this blog.” Do you really hate us or something? I mean we joke around that you guys do, but now we’re thinking that our joking was just a way to disguise the truth and this realization kind of hurts. The TBB are not entirely insensitive. We do actually have feelings. Don't be cruel to a heart that’s true (insert Elvis lip curl).

Tomorrow is D-Day. The time for the St. Jude’s Ab Challenge is upon us. Last year, Serena completed 5, 591 crunches in an hour. With a newly developed sore throat, she’s under no illusion that she’s going to blow this total out of the water. She’ll settle for hitting 6,000 this time. To celebrate, we’re hoping that Mamadukes is open to hitting up the closest IHOP for face stuffing (ahem, Mamadukes, are you reading this?). While Lisa dreams of the breakfast sampler, Serena hopes to sleep on a bed of glorious pancakes (hmmm…imagine if Bon Jovi’s song had been a Bed of Pancakes instead of Roses? Would he still have slept on a bed of nails?). Wish us luck, people!

Now onto more pressing news: baseball. On Tuesday, Cliff Lee said that he still felt some pain in his strained abdomen following his first on field test of the injury and he has no idea when he’ll be able to get on the mound again. Yikes! Is it possible that he may not be ready when the Mariners start their season at Oakland on April 5th?

Terry Francona announced on Wednesday that the x-rays on second baseman, Dustin Pedroia’s sprained left wrist were negative. He’ll most likely return to the lineup today. Sorry. We’ve got no sympathy for the Duke of the royal MLB Whiner’s Court.

A-hole #2 (aka: Jose Reyes. Until he proves himself as being the player he once was, he’ll remain A-hole #2) returned to the lineup on Wednesday. Look at that. Round of applause for going back to work. Hoorah. Reyes has been out due to elevated thyroid hormone levels. It is still a question weather or not he will be able to play on opening day but it's still progress. Reyes states that he has been following directions (a huge step for Reyes, as far as we’re concerned) and doing everything that he’s told. For example, he has been instructed to stay away from seafood, mostly shellfish, as well as Chinese food. They believe that this may have been the cause for his elevated levels. Looks like no lunch special #5 for Reyes. Boo hoo.

With just over a week to go before the start of the baseball season, Joe Girardi finally revealed that Phil Hughes will take on the role of the Yankees’ fifth starter. Hughes managed to beat out Joba Chamberlain, Alfredo Aceves, Sergio Mitre, and Chad Gaudin, who was released yesterday. His improved change up is what supposedly tipped the scales in his favor and we all know how Serena simply loves a good change up (why do you think she’s remained loyal to Zito for so long? DON’T say his good looks). Now if only Hughes could imitate Zito’s curve ball. Whooooooo! Serena just might slap him (in a good, loving way, not an abusive, scary, he better get a restraining order kind of way). Hughes’ hard work paid off and this is why he is this week’s Super Hero of the Week!

After spending most of his preseason visiting doctors and performing exercises to relieve his ailing back, Orioles’ second baseman, Brian Roberts, will at long last see some action in his first spring training game tonight when the Orioles take on the Twins. Roberts hopes to start in the Orioles’ season opener against the Rays on April 6th.

Our last tid bit of news involves a man that might actually bump Carlos Beltran from his title of A-hole #1. Shocking, we know. Apparently, Milton Bradley (just typing his name right there brings a snarl to our lips), compares himself to Kanye West and Ron Artest, saying “in baseball, they’ve got Milton Bradley. I’m that guy. You need people like me so you can point your finger and go, ‘There goes the bad guy.’” First of all, why are you an idiot who consistently refers to himself in the third person? Second of all, why is this stigma something you’re proud of? We don’t need another dirt bag in professional sports. You’re giving it to us out of your own free will. Sorry, Milton, but we’re all stocked up here. Bradley’s already been ejected twice in 3 Mariners spring games last week. Really, dude? The season hasn’t even started. What the hell are you doing? Hopefully, being around a class act like Ken Griffey Jr. will straighten him up. Perhaps Griffey can teach Bradley the fine art of minding his manners and keeping his damn mouth shut! Here’s a tip, Milton: Maybe if you kept your mouth shut and just played ball, you wouldn’t have to be the Kanye West of baseball. If Griffey can turn Bradley into a quasi-gentleman, we’ll dub him Super Hero of the YEAR!

In honor of Super Hero of the Week, Phil Hughes, we’re parting ways with you to the fine words of Phil Collins (even though the original is technically by Diana Ross): “you can't hurry baseball. Oh, you just have to wait. Baseball season comes in April and it's a game of give or take. How long must we wait? How much more can we take before loneliness will cause our heart to break?”

Dear David

Last week in keeping with the Thanksgiving holiday spirit, we asked you which player you’d rather have Thanksgiving dinner with. The poll only received 5 votes. Hopefully, it’s not because we’re boring you, but it’s because last week was a holiday. 2 of you voted for “Tiny” Tim Lincecum because you could both smoke a doobie following dinner. 1 person wanted to have dinner with Derek Jeter because he’s the Golden Boy. 1 chose Joe Mauer because he’s the AL MVP and 1 shallow individual chose Barry Zito (and it wasn’t Serena) simply because he’s hot. No one wanted to sit down and eat with Albert Pujols, despite him winning the NL MVP, or Chipper Jones. We might want to do dinner with Chipper just to have the opportunity to punch him in the face, but that’s just us.

We’re going to do things a little differently and report to you today’s Baseball Notes before getting into our topic of discussion. We want to make sure you’re not bored with our relationship, so we figured this may spice things up. Grady Sizemore has asked MLB investigators to help stop the publication of hot, sexy pictures that he claims were stolen from his girlfriend’s email account and posted online. We’re not attracted to Sizemore or anything, but you tell us naked pictures and we immediately want to get our hands on him. Oh, please, please, Grady, don’t stop publication! For the sake of dirty perverts everywhere, let’s yourself be free! The Braves have reached an agreement on a 1 year contract with waste of space pitcher, Billy Wagner. This is pending a physical exam, of course. With Alex Gonzalez parting ways with the Red Sox via free agency, the Sox toyed with the idea of moving Dustin Pedroia to short stop next season. He was apparently open to the suggestion, having been an All American short stop at Arizona State. Fortunately for him, the Red Sox reached a 2 year agreement with free agent short stop Marco Scutaro yesterday. Granted, this is pending a physical exam (as usual), but it looks like Pedroia will continue to patrol the infield from the right side.

We’ve decided that if we could write a letter to TOWSNBN, this is what it would look like:

Dear TOWSNBN,
How was your Thanksgiving? Are you getting ready for the holidays or are you still bitter and thinking about how hard you and your teammates sucked last year? Will you be traveling down to Virginia to visit the family? Perhaps ride a tractor?

How’s your head doing? We were there that day that Matt Cain beamed you in the coconut with a high fast one. We were initially concerned for your well being. Lisa even attempted to hop the wall to get you in order to apply first aid, but then we remembered that we were angry with you and Lisa decided not to assist. We were also afraid that we’d get arrested and be banned from Citi Field, which would just not work for us. There are many National League ball players that we’re striving to stalk from Citi Field and if we’re not allowed through the gates, we’re not going to have a chance. By now, it’s become clear that you’re not going to marry Lisa, so she’s going to have to settle for another player. She’s totally fine with this. She’s finally accepted the thought that you hate her and she’s moved on.

Speaking of your animosity, this brings us to the real reason that we’re writing. Why do you hate us so much? Granted, you probably hate Lisa more than Serena because she is your stalker and Serena’s only along for the ride, but still. We figure you hate Serena simply based on guilt by association. If Mr. Met isn’t scared of us by now, why are you? We’ve taken dozens of pictures with Mr. Met and he continues to greet us with an enormous smile that would make toothpaste commercials jealous. Now that Lisa has relinquished her dreams of being “Mrs. Wright,” she’s focused her attention on getting one small memento from you and no…it’s not your underwear. She just wants you to take a damn picture with her. Is that really so much to ask for? For heaven’s sake, Serena has had to photo shop a fake picture of Lisa and you together and place it on a ceramic mug for Lisa’s birthday just to make her feel better about herself.

Despite countless attempts to be near you over the past 5 years, the closest we’ve come is standing beside your wax figure at the Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum in the city. Why are you avoiding us? What have we done that has prompted this anger? If you search our site, you will see that Barry Zito and Brad Ziegler have both posed for photos with us. Also, while the picture may not be available online, Lisa has also gotten her picture taken with Mike Jacobs. Clearly, we’re trustworthy. We’re not going to stab you if you stop and pose for a photo with us. Since we’d be in public, you should not fear Lisa mauling you because she has common courtesy.

Are you upset at the way we make fun of you on our blog? We only do it because you continue to ignore us. It’s just our way of making the wounds you’ve caused heal. If only you’d be nicer to us, we’d stop. It’s really that simple. We’d go back to calling you, “David Wright,” instead of TOWSNBN. We don’t really like calling you that. It’s hard to remember. We want to call you by your given name, so please…be kind. Rewind. Turn back the clock and let us into your hearts this holiday season.

On December 15th, we’ll be in the city celebrating Christmas. We’ve got quite the itinerary planned, including Central Park, the tree, Serendipity 3, and shopping. If you forgive us for our cruelty and mocking behavior, meet us outside FAO Schwartz at 2:00 pm. We’ll immediately remove the title of “TOWSNBN” and only give you good publicity from here on out. We may even retire your number on our blog. To date, we only have one player in our TBB Hall of Fame, so that would be quite the accomplishment. However, if you do not show up, you will be stricken from TBB record for life, we’ll stop cheering for you at games, we will never vote for you to go to the All Star Game ever again, Lisa will buy a new Mets jersey, and she will burn all of her merchandise with your face, name, and number on it. Trust us, that’s a lot of Mets memorabilia. It could be the size of a bonfire. Don’t let this happen, David! Save your Golden Boy reputation! Pose for a picture with the TBB.

Oh, and have yourself a merry little Christmas and a Happy New Year. Mets 2010!

Sincerely,
The Traveling Baseball Babes

Next week, Serena is off to Spain with her friend Maria (whom you may recall from our Fenway Park post), so you will have another solo post from Lisa. We’re aware that our recent posts have been a little “non-traditional,” but on the 18th, we’ll be back to normal again.

For now, we will part ways with the following words, brought to you by Don Henley. “We’ve been trying to get down to the heart of the matter…we think it’s about forgiveness. Forgiveness, David. Even if, even if, you don’t like us anymore (or never did).”