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Posted by Justin at 3:00 pm ET 7 Comments

To an outsider, there really was no reason for Bill Hall to be standing in the hallway.

The hotel was full of MLB All-Stars, and he wasn’t one.  He wasn’t a fan favorite.  Nobody was scanning the rosters of the NL squad, shouting “Wait a second… where’s Bill?!”  He was just Bill Hall, of the San Francisco Giants.  And his heart was filled with revenge.

“Excuse me sir,” a bellhop said.

Bill jumped.  As any analyst would tell you, his instincts were starting to fail him. After several moments of silence, he stepped out of the bellhop’s way and waited to see he would ask for an autograph.

He didn’t.

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Posted by Justin at 10:00 am ET 16 Comments

With a divisional rival in town, its only natural for the internet to turn into a festering Petri dish of insults.  Braves suck!  Phillies suck!  Bobby Cox hates women!  Charlie Manuel once killed and devoured a bull moose in front of a kindergarten class!

In response to such remarks, we often see our enemies and ourselves breach the topic of “class.”  Often times, the “classiness” of the other team’s fans is brought into question, just prior to an insult that questions the “classiness” of ourselves.  It is a neverending cycle with no end, and like a snake eating its own tale, we are doomed to choke to death if this keeps up.  But not on snake flesh.  On unpleasantness.

So we have compiled a short list of ways to install classiness in every baseball game, so that these intense rivalries become the vacant, lifeless sporting events they were intended to be.

And before you even say, “Hey, asshole.  What do you know about class?!”  maybe you should read my guide to Meeting a Lady at Citizens Bank Park.

Apology accepted.

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Posted by Justin at 9:54 am ET 25 Comments

Kyle stormed into his room and kicked the nearest LEGO set with the adorable rage of an irate pony.  The pieces scattered across the floor as several small yellow men looked on in horror at what used to be their home.

Kyle dove onto the bed and buried his face in a pillow, hoping it would smother the sound of his sobs.  A gentle knock on the door caused him to sharply cut off the emotional display.

“Hey, buddy,” came the voice of Phillies bench coach Pete MacKanin through the door.  ”You in there?”

Pete knew he was in there.  Kyle Kendrick’s sobs were often audible all throughout the night when the Phillies stayed in hotels (and probably when they didn’t, but nobody was around to hear them in those cases except his confusingly hot wife). Read more »

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Written by Justin


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R.I.P Harry Kalas