I haven’t taken any pleasure from being an Orioles fan since 1997 when my heart was ripped out by a failed abortion named Jeffrey Meier. Since then, I’ve watched Tampa Bay and other expansion teams make and win the World Series. Camden Yards has been taken over by Yankees and Red Sox fans. The city allowed a hideous Soviet housing block-style Hilton hotel to be built that blocks the skyline view from the seats. Now fans can’t look away in disgust. Peter Angelos effectively choked out any interest I had in following baseball until the hiring of Buck Showalter.

Hire Showalter for two to three seasons. Fire him then win the World Series the next year. Genius. The team is already playing better. They’re playing so well (for the Orioles) that Felix Pie is putting out a rap album.

The transformation of Pie as a person is visible mostly in the Orioles clubhouse, when the player who walked around much of last year with a dour — and, at times, angry — expression on his face is laughing, joking and even dancing. Pie has a rap album coming out this month called “18 Cents,” a reference to his uniform number. He recently gave fans a sneak peak during a scoreboard segment filmed with pitcher Jeremy Guthrie that included the pair engaging in salsa dancing.

I’ve been searching for video of the scoreboard segment but no luck so far. His first video better have cameos from Earl Weaver, Walter Young (for T&A purposes) and Lenn Sakata. You can be sure there will be a review of the album on the Deuce as soon as we get our hands on it.

Glenn Davis! Glenn Davis gets the gas face!!

Via Supersmax

I’ve been to a few hundred baseball games in my life.  When I was a kid, I begged my parents to get us to the game three hours early so I could watch batting practice.  I’ve sat behind the dugout, way up in the upper deck, and everywhere in between.  I’ve even spent four hours on a blistering summer day in a “Standing Room Only” area just to see Barry Bonds pull a homerun to the opposite field (thanks, jerk).  There are few places in life where I’m more comfortable than at a baseball game.  Putting all of that on the table, do you know how many times I’ve gone home with a ball?  Zero.

So, forgive me when the NY Daily News comes out with hard-hitting journalism like this and tells me if I go to a baseball game and can’t get one of these “everyday giveaways” that means either a) I look the “Elephant Man” or, b) I’m not paying enough attention:   

Baseballs, which were once a rare treat to fans, have quietly become a giveaway that rivals seat-cushion night.

Oh really, they’re that common?  How am I missing the feed bag for these no-longer rare “treats?”  Maybe I’m just way off and all this giveaway stuff is just for kids.  Alas, much like the era of promiscuous high school sexters and hipsters dressing like “Duckie,” perhaps I’m too old for this phenomenon.  But, wait:

Zack Hample, a baseball collector who travels all over the country to get balls at different stadiums, agrees.

“I think Major League Baseball as a whole was so desperate to get fans back and be more fan friendly that they made an effort to have their players give away more baseballs,” says Hample, 32. “I started collecting a few years before that and it was certainly tougher to get players to throw you balls.”

Hample, 32, has written a book about earning the souvenir, “How to Snag Major League Baseballs,” and one analyzing the game titled “Watching Baseball Smarter.” He landed his first ball at 12.

Nope.  There’s less hope for me than the publishing house that gave this dude a book deal.

Maybe getting that elusive baseball is a lot like finding that special someone: if you keep looking for it, it’ll never happen.  Until then, I’ll just stick to drinking my beer and looking for people like Hample to heckle because he’s over 12 years old and still brings a baseball glove to the game.

In any case, I think this story just about sums up my experience:

About twelve years ago, my Dad and I went to spring training in Tampa, Florida.  On a sunny afternoon, the Yankees were playing the Braves and the game had gotten out of hand.  Late in the afternoon, the crowd had dispersed as the regulars had been removed from the game and the fans followed suit.  Seeing an opportunity to sit unbelievably close,

I am not above this.

we moved to the first row on the third base side, about 15 feet away from that inning’s Yankee third baseman: Mike Lowell.  The last batter of the inning skied a pop-up just into foul territory a few feet from our seats – the anticipation built – this would be my chance.  As Lowell got under it, he snapped his glove at the ball and began the trot toward the dugout.  Swallowing my pride, I start screaming at him to toss me the ball.  He jogs my way, pulls the ball out of his glove and tosses it… to the Pamela Anderson look-alike sitting right next to me.  With my dream crushed, yet again, I see her turn to her equally-hot friend and exclaim, “Oh my God, another one!  What am I supposed to do with all of these?”  Peering past the hotness, I took a glance into her lap: there in her bag sat about a half-dozen game-used balls.  Possibly noticing the forlorn look on my face, she offered me her most recent catch.  I said, “No thanks.”  The search continues…

“No! No! Don’t shut me up! What the fuck is it with you?”

What works for Christian Bale also works for Brooklyn Cyclones manager Wally Backman. He doesn’t have time for niceties when dealing with incompetents like minor league umpires. Check this freak out from his time managing the South Georgia Peanuts. NSFW language plus bonus equipment tossing.

Getting tossed from a game is nothing after DUI’s and bankruptcies. What’s an umpire going to do to Wally that he hasn’t seen before? Release the dogs? Or the bees? Or the dogs with bees in their mouth and when they bark they shoot bees at you?

If Wally was on the set, he definitely would have trashed Shane’s lights. (NSFW language) He doesn’t make threats. He carries them out. Collateral damage be damned.

We’re not sayin’, we’re just sayin’. Baseball fans still don’t know why Ken Griffey Jr. was crying in the locker room. If we had to make an uneducated guess, we’d guess that Mariner Moose had a hand in it.

Moose experts warn that people should keep their distance from moose especially when they’re in heat. Mariners fan Victor Aguilar found this out the hard way after he had his ass handed to him in a sack by the Moose.

Aguilar attempted to get a picture with the Seattle mascot but claimed that he received a beatdown instead.

“I was going to go like this (showing an embracing arm) to take a picture with him (the Mariner Moose) when he pushed me out of the way, and hit my arm and neck, and hit my stomach,” he said.

The Moose then walked off, Aguilar said, leaving him and those around him completely baffled.

“I was like, ‘What’s going on?’” he said. “There were more people there, and they were like, ‘What’s his deal? Why’d he do that to you?”‘

Aguilar wants the Mariners to pay the medical bill that he incurred after the alleged incident. He also wants the Moose to be disciplined. I’m no moose farmer or anything but I’m pretty sure you don’t discipline a moose. Quite the opposite. He should have watched “When Moose Attack” or read “What To Do About Aggressive Moose” from the Alaska Department of Fish and Game. You step to a moose and you get dealt with. That’s how it do in the Emerald City. Forget Jesus. Nobody fucks with the Moose. That goes for first ballot Hall of Famers too.