I Have Friends that Graduated From Ohio State?

Deadspin is everything that is right in sports. Without a doubt, this place is my favorite Blog on the net. Every time my feeder gets a new article from them I literally bust a semi, however, this guy seems to get a full on stiffy from surfing the net......in public.......in libraries.......

If you only read one Blog in your life, you have to read Deadspin. I've lost a lot of respect for my Buckeye friends.

I Got All Dressed Up For This?

Well, I'm fed up. This past week I spent four long excruciating nights calling something that appeared to be fast-pitch softball, with my only break coming on Friday before our district’s "Championship" tournament. I spent four long nights after working the 9-5 gig, making sure my uniform was cleaned and pressed, my shoes were nice and shined, so that our league teams would have a proper official to conduct their games. Unfortunately, just because I care about the game and how I look, it would seem our league teams don't have the same enthusiasm. I know I gripe and complain some on here about the stupid things that High School coaches say and do, but really, they are professionals, and they try hard. Mostly they get the rules wrong because it's in the heat of battle and they're not thinking on their feet as well as they would if the situation wasn't so pressure packed. Summer ball is a completely different animal, and we're not really dealing with paid coaches, it's a weekend thing for most of these people, and so I've dubbed them "Weekend Lombardis" or "Weloms" for short. These are the people that have practice once a week, put on a T-Shirt with their team's designation, live vicariously through the accomplishments of their children, and expect me to respect them like some sort of demi-god. The only people that are on a lower level than these are the parents/fans of these teams. These people represent the lowest common denominator of sports fans. Their level of idiocy reaches points that would make people like David Blaine refer to them as douche-bags.

Back to my week, Monday through Wednesday consisted of the typical crappy games in league play. These teams are primarily made up of girls that just want something to do in the afternoon and parents that really don't take it too seriously, thank Christ. Thursday rolls around and this is where my week starts on the down swing. I've got a pretty decent team playing a really bad one. The really good team is beating the shit out of the really bad one and the bad team's coaches and fans are starting to get pissy. Basically, the bad team can't do the four fundamental things you have to do to play softball which are pitch, catch, throw, and hit. It would seem to me that if you were going to pay money, sign up, and play, you'd practice at least one of these four. This however seems to have slipped the minds of their crack coaching staff. So, I have a walk-a-thon on my hands when the bad team is playing defense. The coaches and fans are moaning and groaning about the strike zone because little Suzie is making it over the plate. Yes, this is true, but when the ball is coming in nose high, I can't very well call a strike. It even gets to a point where during a walk when I'm stepping out from behind the plate to watch the batter go to first a coach says in a voice just loud enough for me to hear, "they get that strike why don't we". You know, their pitcher puts it in the zone. Their pitcher obviously works to be good, can you not see that?

I just get so sick and tired of these Welombs and their snotty remarks. Questioning the strike zone, just like all other judgment calls is an ejectionable offense. However, I'm keeping it calm and cool and I just bite my tongue. I tell myself, Mole, they don't know, they're not good, and this game won't last long, keep on trucking. Between innings a mom comes up and asks for my name, so I give it. What's she going to do? Get me banned from her games? Good!! I mean, look, I know that you spent a good hour and a half creasing your capris and painting your face to come to ball park. I know you spent 15 minutes making sure you pants were low enough so that everyone could see the tramp stamp tattooed on your lower back, and I realize that it costs quite a bit to look as cheap as you do. People already notice you sweetheart, no need to make a scene with me. I also fully understand that you're getting little Janie primed for marriage in 8 years when she graduates from high school so that she can dish out her own brand of snide remarks when her tramp in training is playing 10u ball. I get it, but she's not getting a nose high strike.

These people burn me up; do they not understand what kind of a pride swallowing experience it is to call their game? Do they not understand how bad I want to call a strike? I WANT to get some outs, I WANT to get away from this game as fast as I can, but I can't because you're not good, you don't practice, and I'm quite sure Special Olympics participants would kill your little girls in the softball throw competition. Why, because those retards care, unlike yours. Seriously, the amount of intestinal fortitude it keeps from dropping a pile of half digested carrots I had for lunch at what I'm having to bare witness to should be the stuff that legends are written about. Finally, it ends, but it's not over.

We have our Distinct Championship tournament this weekend. This is an open event for all the teams in our district, in which the winners in each age group get a bid to their division’s State Championship tournament. I get put in the 14u bracket, good right? WRONG!!!!. The 14u division is the worst of the whole weekend. The winner's bracket final featured a score of 18-0 after the first inning, THE FIRST EFFING INNING!!!!! Without a doubt, this might have been the biggest ass whipping I've ever taken, I couldn't believe I was even a part of these games.

I managed through it but I'm so tired, and I'm so frustrated today. I've worked really hard in my short time as a softball official. I've been selected for multiple State and National Championship Tournaments where the best of the best compete. These tournaments also feature some the better umpires around, and with my limited experience, I've managed to call behind the plate in the championship game of every State or National I’ve ever worked. I've worked High School playoff games almost all the way to the State Tournament. I spend hundreds dollars annually of my own money and time for training to learn and become a better official. I'm young, and still a little green, but I'm good and only getting better. The thing is, I can't figure out how slumming this weekend could make me any better. I can only have the building character BS pushed on me for so long.

People want to complain about how an official cost them game, well let me tell you something; I'm not the team that had 20+ errors charged to me in a single game. Go practice and maybe just maybe, you'll be good enough for me to call your game, someday.

You Ate The Whole Wheel Of Cheese?

Since the old Mole is an avid watcher of Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy I've always wondered in amazement at the relationship between Papa Burgundy and his dog Baxter. I think their relationship is the most pure example of the where the saying "Man's best friend" was derived from, I'm also sure that Champ Kind would object if some PC fag wanted to coin the term "Woman's best friend"; FOCUS MOLE!

Like I was saying, Ron's ability to not only understand what his dog was saying, but also understand he was speaking spanish, and he couldn't understand it (still with me), has always fascinated me. Now though, it seems this knowledge won't be limited to men who own many leather-bound books and whose apartment's smell of mahogany. The UK's Department for the Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (Defra) will begin teaching classes on how to "speak" to your dog. This sounds like the worst idea since Greedo shooting first.

What's really funny is how they've broken out the different sounds a dog makes into grunts, whines, yelps, screams, howls, growls, coughs, barks, tooth snapping, and panting. This class is supposed to clear up, for the owners, what kind of attention the dog needs when they are making these types of noises. Since most of you dog lovers out there are probably using your money to pay for your G500's, and can't make the trip across the pond to take the course I'll give my best crack at what these sounds mean:

• Grunt: "Hey", as in "get me something you hairless ape."


• Whines: "Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy", as in "I really need to pee you hairless ape."


• Yelps: "HEY!!!!", as in "quit pulling my tail you drunk hairless ape."


• Screams: "HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!", as in "I'm under your foot you drunk hairless ape."


• Howls: "HHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!", as in "the drunk hairless ape, put me outside and it's cold."


• Growls: "Hey bitch", as in "I'm sick of Ole' Roy, buy me the good food you hairless ape."


• Coughs: "CEY!!!!", as in "I hope the hairless ape can tell I need to go to the vet."


• Barks: "HEY!", as in "look over here you hairless ape."


• Tooth Snapping: *Click*, as in "*click*, damn I almost bit the drunk hairless ape that time."


• Panting: "huh huh hey", as in "I'm effin tired you hairless ape, I hate walks."

You see, even if you're not a man, you know, a man who discovered the wheel and built the Eiffel Tower out of metal and brawn. If you're just a woman with a small brain, a brain a third the size of us (It's science); you too will be able to decipher what a dog would say if it were chasing a squirrel on Tuesday and fell off a cliff in the Pacific Palisades.

"You're so wise. You're like a miniature Buddha, covered with hair."

Where Can Any Douche Get A Pink Bag You Ask?

Why at the Altoona Curve's July 2nd game where they will host Frivolous Lawsuit Night of course.

While, it's not a bobble-head give away, it's a fine salute to this Massengill filled mongoloid..

Juiced

No, we're not talking about the ever expanding head of Barry Bonds; this post is about the PPV show that O.J. Simpson took part in. From the article, Simpson took part in many "funny" situational skits, but the one in question is where he's working as a car salesman, trying to unload a white Ford Bronco.

Yes, a white Ford Bronco.....

It seems the family of Ron Goldman aren't happy about it, and Nicole Brown Simpson couldn't be reached for comment.


Edit: It seems Nicole Brown Simpson couldn't be reach for comment because she was stabbed to death by her crazy ex-football player husband.

Kayne West Doesn't Care About Leasing Agents

You know, when you have platinum album sales, Pamela Anderson to primp for videos, and trying the spearhead riotous comments about George Bush and his efforts to help those effected by Hurricane Katrina; sometimes you'll forget to make payments on your Mercedes G500 (G5-double-O, G-Fi Hun-nod as the rap guys would say).

So, the people who hold the lease are suing ole Kayne Wizzle for back payments, punitive damages, not returning the vehicle, blah, blah, blah.

Kayne West doesn't care about people who have real jobs......

The Majesty of Horse Racing

From the coverage that we see plastered all over the television, the Kentucky Derby at Churchill Downs has always seemed to be an event for the elite. From high-dollar suits, to the ridiculous hats, this place has always had an air about it that smelled posh, at least too posh for a country boy like me.

Fortunately, after watching a video from the people at We Are the Postmen it looks like this place is more like a NASCAR race than I was once lead to believe. In fact, it looks like a great place to break out The Beer Belly.

At Least He's Honest?

Well, like Ron White says in his stand up act, we as Texans celebrate the death penalty. Personally, I think they should be televised. In light of that, I found this article pretty funny. An Ohio man, while being put to death, told his executioners "It's not working".

Does it make me a bad person to find joy in another man's death?

Shout At The Devil

For those of you that can remember when rock was still rock. I'm talking the days when our rock stars sang about banging every chick they came across, instead of a "emo" sad bastard singing about the jock in high school that is banging the chick he can't get because he'd rather gel his hair in his eyes, and play Everquest. For all of you that remember when Cliff Burton was with Metallica and they weren't sandwiched between Avril Lavigne and The Backstreet Boys on TRL I present to you June 6, 2006; The National Day of Slayer. That's right, on 6-6-6 Slayer gets their own Holiday. I remember Slayer playing the first national Ozzfest back in '97 and they were truly awesome. I also remember them milling around the crowd, and I remember shaking Tom Araya's hand. For a group of death metal guys that sing about the Devil and stuff, they were really down to earth.

Strange.....

Anyway, seeing as they have their own Holiday I'm going to start a campaign to get one for GWAR. These guys are freaking awesome if you've never have a chance to see them live.

I'd like to see GWAR chop up and eat most of today's "rock" bands.