Baseball My Life

Sooooo good to have baseball back in season. Lately, it seems that the Philadelphia Phillies are exclusively playing the Florida Marlins.

Much to my father's chagrin, I'm rooting for the Marlins.


Why?

Because of their new manager. Joe Girardi.

Way back when I was loving the Yankees (Yes! It's true!) I was pretty smitten with their catcher, Joe Girardi. You could stand four beer mugs on that man's ass. I can still see, in my mind's eye, the outline of his voluptouos butt and meaty thighs when he was squatting down behind home plate.

A buddy of mine once reported that he had seen Joe Girardi at a cigar bar in lower Manhattan.

I'm glad I didn't. I would have gone to prison.

It was indeed a dark day when Girardi went to the White Sox. But now, there he is, right there on my television screen.

Unfortunately, as a manager, we don't get to see Joe squatting any more. Or standing up much for that matter. Mostly he's brooding on the bench in the dugout, Joe Torre style.

But even brooding... He gets this great look on his face: intense concentratin mingled with incomprehension. I've always found that winning. Sort of the look I'd hope he'd get when I explain to him that the crate is so I can ship him down to the slave training facility in Central America because I decided that he looked so good naked and in chains that I thought it only right that he spend the rest of his life that way.

*sigh*

Welcome back to my masturbatory fantasies, Joe!

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