Things To Yell At A Baseball Game

a baseball game

A baseball game. Duh.

If you’ve ever attended a baseball game you will understand what I’m about to say, if not, I’m sorry. Perhaps now you can use the time you were going to spend reading this to go do something more fun like play ping-pong. Unless you like to learn in which case, feel free to stay here and keep reading.

In baseball it is perfectly acceptable to shout things at the players. There are enough drunk people around that you can pretty much do whatever without anyone even thinking twice about it. You can taunt players about their inability to play baseball. You can say mean things about their moms, you can even tell them they have a large hindquarters. This is one of the few social settings in which you can feel free to shout whatever you want without any repercussions to your actions*. Shoot, you can even yell things at the umpires if you want. In fact I would highly recommend it if you find yourself growing bored.

Recently I attended a baseball game. This wasn’t just any baseball game, this was a Nashville Sounds Triple-A baseball game. Meaning, that there are approximately 27 people in the stand on any given night. And in this particular game there was very little action happening. And that’s when it happened. I was given the all important task of searching far and wide on the internet for things to yell at baseball games. And let me tell you, the options are scarce. When you take out all the “Jeter SUUUCKS!!!!” and “STEEEEEEEERRROOOOOIDDS!!”, you are left with very few choices. While shouting things like “I AM SATISFIED WITH YOUR PERFORMANCE THUS FAR!” and “YOU COULDN’T HIT A COW WITH A SHOVEL!!!” are enjoyable, those two phrases will not last you a whole 9 innings. And that’s why I’m here, people of the world wide web. I’m here to offer suggestions of what would be quality things to yell at a baseball game. I’ve searched far and wide for the best of the best. It’s my little gift to you. You’re welcome.

Things To Yell At Players:

  • I’ve seen better swings on a porch
  • Hey! Too bad you aren’t as good at baseball as you are at being ugly!
  • I find you to be a subpar athlete!
  • My grandma could throw better than that!
  • I find your pitching to be lackluster, perhaps you are ill!
  • You should go back to Triple-A, try a little harder, gain some maturity, and come back to the majors in a year or two!
  • Your fielding is surprisingly poor compared to your teammate, yet still incredibly above-average as you are a professional baseball player and I am not!
  • It’s okay. You’re mom still loves you!
  • You couldn’t hit water if you fell out of a boat!
  • I wish my golf score was as good as your batting average!
  • The ball is that thing the catcher has!
  • Hey they killed a cow to make that glove, at least you could try to use it!
  • Is it in your contract to throw like a girl?

Things To Yell At Umpires:

  • Hey blue, if you had another eye, you’d be a cyclops! (you know, implying that he’s terrible at making calls thus assuming he has no eyeballs and the addition of a new eyeball would equal a grand total of one eyeball…..maybe in retrospect don’t use this one)
  • Turn around blue. You’re missing a good game.
  • That was a strike! You’re the worst umpire ever!
  • I thought only horses slept standing up!
  • If you’re just going to watch the game, buy a ticket!
  • I was confused the first time I saw a game too!
  • Hey ump, diarrhea has more consistency than your strike zone !
  • WRONG!
  • You couldn’t call a cab!
  • The circus is in town and the clowns are wearing blue!

Things To Yell Solely Out of Boredom:

  • Gooo baseball!!
  • Loud noises!!
  • (You could pretty much yell anything for this category. Use your imagination.)

Enjoy, my fellow baseball fans. This was all for you. If you find yourself at a sad, depressing baseball game, feel free to peruse this list and find something to spice your day up. And if nothing else, maybe it will get you kicked out of the game and then you’ll have a story to tell the grandkids about. What’s better than that?

*I actually don’t think that’s true. If you shout cusses you’ll probably get sent to baseball jail. I’m pretty sure it’s a place. I watch Seinfeld. Everywhere they go there’s a jail. Shopping malls, parking garages, they all have jails. So why wouldn’t a baseball stadium have a jail?

To Whoever Stole My Mike Sweeney Card: Give It Back!


In second grade, I had a crush on Mike Sweeney.

I was 7, he was not. He was also probably married and had children at that point as well, but that didn’t stop me. Because first of all, I was…7, 7 year olds do not have a concept of what is socially acceptable.

At this time in my life Mike Sweeney was the catcher for the Kansas City Royals. Also, at this time in my life, the Kansas City Royals were terrible. You could pretty much get tickets to a game as long as you promised to not boo the home team. (or for like 5 bucks, either way) Because of this, a large portion of my summer was spent at Royals games.

In an effort to ‘woo’ their fans the Royals had autograph days where for an hour before the game certain players would sign autographs for adorable little children and uncomfortably obsessed adults. And on one particular game day, the player of choice was none other than that hunky catcher, Mike Sweeney.

My little 7-year-old heart could barely take it. Standing in line behind the 12 other people who chose to attend the game that evening, waiting in anxious anticipation for the man himself to show up. And finally, after what seemed like an eternity later, there he was. In his uniform and everything ready to sign a stack of team printed cards.

Finally, finally it was my turn. Hands shaking, I made my way up to the table. I said nothing. I probably just looked at him with a goofy grin. I was a shy 7-year-old. (Let’s get real, that’s how I would react if the same scenario was happening right now, 16 year later) Then the unthinkable happened. He asked me my name. I didn’t know how to react, but then my brain finally stepped into play and I quietly mumbled, “…Amanda…” Then he handed it to me with brilliant pearly whites shining. He handed me my newest prized possession. I took it in my still shaking hand. On this card THE Mike Sweeney had written:

“To: Amanda
Jer. 29:11
♡ Mike Sweeney”

I nearly passed out. As a 7-year-old I was pretty convinced that this “♡” meant Mike Sweeney was my new boyfriend. But you know what guys, I don’t think it did mean that. I’m pretty sure it just meant he was being nice to the shy, pathetic 2nd grader who didn’t know how to speak, but whatever.

This baseball card has been a priceless piece of my life since that day. And now, now it has gone AWOL. Somewhere between moving from Kansas to Tennessee, Mike Sweeney vanished. I don’t want to overreact, but I’m 110% sure that someone stole it to make my life sad and meaningless. Without that card how will I ever prove that Mike Sweeney once, for 5 seconds of his life, knew my name? I need it back and I need it back bad.

Without this card, my childhood is lost. So what I need is for whoever wanted to ruin my life, to return it to me ASAP. I won’t even be mad at you. But without Mike Sweeney, my childhood never happened. Do you want that on your conscience? No, you do not. Plus I’m going to just keep whining about it if I never find this card. No one wants to deal with my whining for the rest of their lives. I’m a really annoying whiner and that’s probably why I don’t have a husband, but I digress.

So in conclusion, if you find a Mike Sweeney card addressed to Amanda and you are not Amanda, it’s mine and I want, no I NEED, it back.

Also if you happen to be Mike Sweeney, could you maybe just send me a new one so this whole messy thing can be behind me? Thanks!



I Got Your Back Joel Peralta!

Thursday, which is actually today, a young (and by young, I mean he’s 36) Tampa Bay Rays* player found himself in a bit (and by bit I mean A LOT) of trouble.

It seems Joel Peralta, one of their relief pitchers, thought he needed a little bit of help in the pitching department. And seeing as how he used to play for the Kansas City Royals, a team known for horrible pitchers, he is probably not incorrect, but I have digressed.

Our good friend Joel here decided to place a wee bit of pine tar within his baseball glove and according to rule 8.02** in the MLB rule book, “the pitcher shall not apply a foreign substance of any kind to the ball”. When he put the ball in the glove itself, voila, pine tar ball, otherwise known as foreign substance ball. You can’t hit a pine tar ball, this is a fact*** and Joel Peralta knew this.

You are not allowed to doctor the ball. Joel was a class A offender of this rule. Or so the MLB would want us to think.

However, Joely, as I refer to him, does not see this incident in the same light as the MLB. He has decided to appeal this suspension, on the grounds that he did not do it, I guess. Although I sort of feel like he was caught pine-tar handed (see what I did there?) Or perhaps he’s going to attempt to justify why the pine tar was inside of his glove.

And that is where I come in. I got your back Joely! I can justify absolutely any situation. So let’s get started.

Pine Tar Glove Appeal Topics For My Good Friend**** Joel Peralta, AKA Joely P.

#1. My glove smelled like sweaty hands. Mostly because my sweaty hand is always in it. I thought perhaps the pine tar would give it a delightful ‘woody’ scent. I was incorrect.

#2. I suffer from extra sweaty palms. My hands sweat A LOT. And since they’re really, really sweaty I have a hard time holding onto the baseball to pitch a quality 4-finger fastball. I thought the pine tar would help my grip. Is that against the rules? My bad guys.

#3. Matsui did it! That guy’s been after me all season. He wanted me to get suspended. I’ve said it time and time again, you cannot trust a guy name Hideki. And no one believed me, but looks what he’s done now. He’s ruined me.

#4. That’s not pine tar guys. That’s my saliva. I’m dipping. I love chewing tobacco. I’ve been hooked ever since I saw The Sandlot. Those guys and their dipping then riding on carnival rides. That movie is hilar!

#5. Ummm…..I’m from the Dominican. We don’t really have rules there. I didn’t know these rules were actually enforced. My bad guys. Won’t happen again.

#6. I suck at pitching. I have a 3.72 era. I suck so bad that the Royal didn’t want me. And they love terrible pitchers. I needed all the help I could get okay? Just let me have this one.

There ya go Joely! Take any of the above and I guarantee your appeal will be successful. There is no way you will still be suspended after this.

*Don’t worry men of the Tampa Bay baseball team, I know ‘Rays’ is a pretty stupid sounding mascot, therefore you will always be the Devil Rays to me. You’re welcome.
**This is a real rule. I googled it. Google does not lie.
***I have absolutely no evidence that this is a fact.
****Would you believe that we’re not actually friends at all? I’ve never even met the guy.

Memo to Self: Don’t Slam Baseball Bats Into Walls

Let me set the scene for you.

It’s a delightful May evening in Washington DC. It’s warm but there’s just enough of a cool breeze to keep a person from getting heat stroke. A perfect night to take in a baseball game at Nationals Park.

You’re sitting in the upper deck enjoying a ballpark frank and maybe a cola of sorts. You’ve just sat back down after the a rousing chorus of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” signaling the classic 7th inning stretch. Next thing you know a bloodied 19-year-old ventures out onto the field.

You’re shocked, appalled and maybe even vomiting a little bit of your ballpark frank back up, when you realize, “Hey wait! That’s not just any bloody faced 19-year-old! That’s our wunderkind of an outfielder, Bryce Harper! What the heck happened to him?”

Well, it seems this young, talented, first-round draft pick was getting frustrated with his inability to connect his bat with a ball. So he did the most logical thing he could think of.

He went down into the dugout tunnel and slammed his bat into the wall.

Apparently, young Bryce does this often. Normally, he slams that bat hard into concrete and goes back onto the field with a little less anger, but this time, that bat fought back. That bat was tired of being slammed into things and decided to get its revenge.

It smacked Bryce Harper right in the face. That bat just bounced right off the wall. Into his face. Either he didn’t realize that the bat had caused him some serious face marring or he just didn’t care but he went back onto that field with blood dripping down his face, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

I imagine the conversation between Harper and Rick Ankiel went something like this:

“Uh. Hey Harpy*….”
“Ya Anks*?”
“I don’t want this to be awkward, but you’ve got some blood leaking out of your eyebrow.”
“Oh, ya Anks. That’s probably because I just went down into the tunnel back there and slammed my bat into the wall, then it bounced back into my face. So ya…that’s probably why I’m bleeding.”
“That was pretty stupid Harpy.”
“Get off my back old man! I’m a 19-year-old rookie. I do stupid things!”
“Yes you do Harpy, yes you do.”

So then young Harpy recieved 10 stitches in his eyebrow. And as if hitting himself in the face with a baseball bat wasn’t enough he had to wear this sign of shame for the rest of the game and was also forced to sit out of the lineup for the next two.

The moral of the story is: if you are upset about going 0-5 in your at-bats don’t hit your wooden bat into a cement wall. It will hit you back.

Quite frankly, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened to him sooner. Logical sense tells me that if I slam something hard into something slightly harder it will bounce back.

But you know, Harper has obviously skipped out on the college experience and that’s why he’s a 19-year-old MLB player and I’m not. We’ll chalk this one up to youthful stupidity.

In the meantime maybe the Nationals should buy the guy some Sock ‘Em Boppers.

More fun than a pillow fight…or having your own baseball bat hit you directly in the face.

*I made up these nicknames, but I will be incredible upset to find out they aren’t real.

[Side note. The guy does NOT look 19. I’m seeing at least 25, they should probably check his birth certificate. But you know, whatev.]

Baseball: Reemerging America’s Pastime

I love baseball. I do. We all love it. Why wouldn’t we? It’s America’s pastime.  Unfortunately the start of baseball season has been eclipsed by the Stanley Cup playoffs this year for me. This is just terrible. I need to apologize to baseball for that. And as I tried to formulate how I would go about apologizing to an inanimate object, I started wondering, why is baseball America’s pastime?

And since I know every single one of you are wondering the same thing, I took the liberty to do the research for all of us…you’re welcome guys. And wouldn’t you know it, wikipedia had the answer right there for me. (I only use wikipedia for my research. I’d be a terrible investigative reporter.)

As it turns out baseball was originated from a very popular game in Great Britain and Ireland called “Rounders“, which, get this, has exactly the same rules as baseball. I know, I was surprised as well. But then I was a little confused as to how this tidbit of information answered my question about why baseball was America’s pastime, but stick with me here, wikipedia clarified it for me.

Turns out in the 19th and 20th centuries (apparently I’m not very well educated because I had to double check what years that would have been. It was the 1800-1900’s. I had terrible schooling) baseball aka “the sport formerly known as rounders”, was the most widely played sport in the country. So as far as I can tell the Brits and Irishmen came over to the good ol’ US of A and taught everyone the game. And it was pretty much the only game they knew how to play. According to my good pal, wikipedia, it says baseball was as popular then as video games and tv are today. Baseball was the way they, dare I say it, passed time. And because all Americans had for fun was playing and watching baseball that’s what they did.

They all shared the common bond of baseball, it united all humans. They talked about it while plowing the fields, waiting for the bus, after school, before school, while eating dinner, at the grocery store, buying new shoes, eating Chinese food, pretty much during any activity, the discussion was centered on baseball

And then wikipedia went on to be depressing and told me that there really is no national pastime anymore. Apparently America is just to ‘splintered’, whatever that means. Stupid internet age.

With my best college thinking skills I came to the conclusion that America needs to revive baseball as its pastime. The world is too sad without it. We need to discuss it at the water coolers and bus stops again. (Also maybe I should start hanging out at water coolers. Turns out a lot of conversations happen at those)

In my attempt to make baseball America’s pastime again I’ve come up with a handy list of conversation starters. If we all use this list then we’ll all be talking about baseball and then we’ll all be centering our lives on it again, thus, pastime. So ya, this plan is basically flawless.

  • So how ’bout those Yankees? They have really high payroll! And terrible fan base!
  • Hey, do you know how many stitches there are in an MLB regulation baseball? Me neither! Let’s count them together!
  • So…the allstar game is in Kansas City this year. There’ll probably be cows and stuff in the outfield, cause you know, Midwest.
  • Do you find the Cleveland Indians mascot to be slightly racist?
  • Guess who my favorite player is! And no, I won’t give you any hints! (This is a great one if you want your conversation to last hours, there are a lot of baseball players in the world)
  • So RBI’s. Runs batted ins? ha. They should just call it RBI. Ha!
  • What kind of wood do you prefer for your baseball bat to be made of?
  • You ever seen The Sandlot? That Squints! He’s a riot!
  • Would you rather take a 100 mph fastball to the thigh or the back?
  • Want to race around the bases? (This one only works if you are someone who just hangs out on baseball fields or an actual baseball player.)
  • Who’s your favorite baseball mascot? That green Phillies thing?
  • Would you rather lick the pitchers rosin bag, or run full speed into the Green Monster in Boston?
  • Who’s your least favorite Yankee: Jeter or A-Rod?

It’s pretty simple guys. Anytime there’s an awkward silence, just blurt out one of those things up there. And soon enough everyone will be talking about baseball again.

Bingo! Bango! Bongo! America’s pastime.

You’re welcome America.

Catching Up on My Snail Mail

I’ve been needing to write some letters recently, but I’ve been very busy and haven’t been able to. So I hope you don’t mind that I’m taking the time to do it here. It’s so embarrassing that I’m this far behind! Please just bear with me as I try to catch up.

Dear Walmart employees,

I realize that you work at Walmart and you may not be real happy with your life because you are forced to wear khakis with a blue shirt everyday. I know it seems obnoxious when I stand in your line to purchase things like deodorant and pretzel sticks. But I’m not doing it to ruin your life. I’m really not. Angrily placing my items in the bag does not make me feel welcome in your store. And when you don’t speak to me or rotate the bag holder thingy ma-bob so I can get my items, I get really sad. All I want is some delicious pretzels to enjoy while I tend to my armpit odors. So next time I purchase products from you, maybe you could at least speak to me long enough to tell me how much money I owe you? That would be nice. Then I wouldn’t feel as though I inconvenienced you quite as much. And I might not hate your store anymore. Okay, thanks for listening. Have a nice day.

Your best customer,

Dear Atlanta Braves,

I’d like to apologize in advance. “For what?”, you ask. Well for the fact that you are going to have a losing season. I don’t know if you’re aware, but the Kansas City Royals have been really terrible at baseball since I can remember. But I’m a big fan anyway, despite their ability to lose all the time. I have stuck by them thorough losing season after losing season. I sat through many a humid summer’s eve to root for them as they lost. It didn’t matter, they were my team. And then I moved to Nashville. I left my precious Royals back in Kansas and something weird happened. They got good. They began to succeed at baseball and they even have a chance at being contenders this year. As it turns out, all the Royals needed was for me to leave them alone and they would succeed. I’m very bad luck for baseball teams it seems and since I left Kansas everything is going swimmingly there. All that being said, now we get to the real issue at hand. You are going to be really terrible this year and it’s going to be all my fault. I can’t watch Royals games here in Nashville, so I had to choose an allegiance here. Unfortunately for you, I picked the Braves. And just as a sign of how much bad luck I am, you have already lost 2 of the only 3 games you have played in spring training. Yesterday you lost 18 – 3. I’m already bringing you bad luck and I’m really sorry about that. But I must have a baseball team to root for. I’m probably even going to attend a game or two. Again, really sorry. I don’t know how I provide this terrible luck for baseball teams, but I do. I just wanted to go ahead and let you know in advance how bad this season is going to be for you. It’s the least I can do, because after all, I’m ruining your lives.  As it turns out I’m not allowed to have nice things, and can’t have a winning baseball team near me.

Your inadvertent worst fan ever,

Dear Kansas City Royals,

Hey guys. I left Kansas City and took my bad baseball luck to the south for Atlanta to deal with. You’re welcome.

Your best fan ever,

Dear writers of How I Met Your Mother,

I’m starting to question you. There’s not really a mother is there? Ted steals those children off the street doesn’t he? I’m not going to lie to you, but your show is starting to make me angry. Why do you keep making Ted fall in love with Robin? You already told us in the first episode that she’s their Aunt Robin. Why do you keep bringing up that story line? This is not a Ross and Rachel scenario. We already know they don’t end up together. So stop it. Stop making Ted love Robin. It’s getting annoying. If you wouldn’t mind just introducing us to the mother soon, that would be great. Otherwise I’ll probably stop watching.

A disgruntled fan,

P.S. I won’t really stop watching if we don’t meet the mother soon, but you will get another, more angrily worded letter.

Dear Kelly Osbourne,

I was watching you this morning on Fashion Police. You were critiquing people’s clothing and fashion choices. Your hair is lavender. How are you qualified to give people fashion advice? Stop it.

All my love,

Whew…glad that’s over with. I think I’m finally caught up on my letters. I apologize for the awkwardness that you may have felt through all of that. I hope you didn’t waste too much of your valuable time reading those. I promise this won’t happen again. It’s so embarrassing, I‘m such a procrastinator!

What’s in a Name? Um, Only EVERYTHING.

Every single person’s identity begins with their name (which makes sense as it is in fact, you know, your identity). Every single name also holds a certain unwritten connotation to it. For instance name your kid Apple, and well, we’re all going to think you’re kind of fruity. (Ha Pun!). Name your kid Hubert, we’re going to assume he’s a nerd (or 95 years old). Since the beginning of time parents have been inadvertently choosing the futures of their children at their birth, through the simple choice of a name.

“This seems like a bold statement, Amanda.”

Oh ya? Don’t believe me? Well let’s explore this a little.

Does this look like a Skip Schumaker?
Or does this?

If you chose the first picture, you’re obviously a liar because no one thinks Skip Schumaker is a scientist name. Skip Schumaker is clearly the best baseball name that has ever existed. You don’t call your kid Skip and not expect him to do something athletic.

Does someone named Landry Jones resemble this?
Or is Landry Jones this guy?
If you did not get this one right, I just don’t even know what to say. The top picture is clearly Landry Jones. How is someone not going to be a quarterback if his name is Landry? I mean seriously? Landry Jones does not grow up to become Donut Man. Rob Evans does. (Because Rob is a Donut Man kind of name)

Next. Is this a Cal Clutterbuck?

Or is this?
I hope you chose the first picture because if you think someone named Cal Clutterbuck is a successful businessman, well I’m worried about you. Cal Clutterbuck is most definitely a hockey player name. (With some serious dapper dan hair)

This next one is tricky. Think carefully before you answer.
Is this Steve Urkel?
 Or is this Steve Urkel?
I know what you’re thinking. “That’s the same person. He’s just wearing suspenders and glasses in one picture.” FALSE. Photo 1 is Steve Urkel. Urkel is an obvious nerd name. The second is Stefan Urquelle. Urquelle is clearly the name of suave womanizer. Just look at them. Their names make sense. Steve’s the nerd, Stefan the womanizer.

See what I mean? Those are just a few of the many, many examples. If someone is given a nerd name at birth, they grow into that nerdhood against their own will. It just happens. If they’re given a baseball name, they have to play baseball. There is no other option. I’m sure there is a scientific explanation for why this works. But I wasn’t given a scientist name, so I wouldn’t know. (You’ll have to ask an Albert)

I was unfortunately given a very neutral name. I could have been named Petunia or Bruhnhilda. But I was given the name Amanda. It’s a little bland. Amanda Badley. That’s what I’ve got to work with. Obviously I’m bound to a life of mediocrity. Maybe if my parents had named me something like, Persephone (Just Persephone, no middle or last name) I would be a pop singer in Europe. Or had I been named Gretchen Jones Badley I could have dropped the last name and been Gretchen Jones, famous mystery novel author. But alas, I’m stuck with Amanda. (thanks MOM)

So moral of the story is, name your children carefully. If you name your daughter Ginger, she’s not going to become a diplomat (and she’s definitely going to have red hair). If you name your son Spike, he’ll for sure become a member of a bike gang. Watch yourselves guys. You choose your child’s profession with a simple signing of a birth certificate.

Now if anyone needs me I’ll just be here sinking into my mediocrity as I pin on my name-tag that reads “Amanda” in plain black letters, headed to my job at the food court Pretzelrama.*

*I don’t really work at the Pretzelrama. I’m sure that’s a very respectable job however. If anyone works at place called Pretzelrama I’m real sorry for implying that your job is mediocre in any way. People love pretzels so your job is actually really important.