Sports Chica

So the merry-go-round that is the transfer market is beginning to drive me bat-shit insane.

First things first, up-and-coming goalkeeper Memo Ochoa is stuck in Mexico for another season. A part of me is disappointed, because he is one HELL of a talent--but at least I know he's going to play with America.

My biggest fear, as far as he's concerned, is that he's going to go to Europe and ride the bench. He's too good to play backup to anyone.

Maybe I can handle him staying in Mexico for a while if he plays every single game.

It may not be Europe: but at least he's gaining experience.

If I hear one more god forsaken thing about Carlos Tevez, I will commit murder. So I'm shutting that door right now.

Thiago Motta is being sought after by several clubs: but is Barca giving him the honest-to-god chance to leave? Of course not.

It's irritating, so now it's just a wait-and-see thing.

Positively lovely.

People need to learn my patience is not meant to be pressed.

Then again, I suppose things will never change.

Here's to the start of the Mexican league--I've missed footie a lot!

Next is La Liga: that's when the good shit starts.

Player to Watch: Andres Guardado aka Sideshow.

Believe me, you won't be disappointed!

Normally, I'm not an A-Rod fan, but now that I've mentioned him yet again, people are probably going to get the wrong idea.

Now, I've stumbled across something that's pretty nifty: Alex Rodriguez could have very well hit his 500th home run before ever hitting his 499th.

How is this possible, you may ask?

On June 28th (my birthday), the Yankees had a game suspended against the Orioles (my home team.) The game is to be made up...within the next few days.

That being said, Alex hit a home run on the 25th of July.

If he manages to homer in the game that's being made up within the next few days: that stat will count as his 493rd homer. Thus making the homer he hit on the 25th his 500th.

Or, the jackass could hit it later on and this 'pretty cool' thing bites the big one.

Also, I just want to take the time to announce that Joe Mauer rocks my socks. A catcher, my boy is a catcher, and he hit an inside the park homer.

And they say catcher's can't run, my ass!

In other sports related news, Carlos Tevez could fall off the face of the planet and I'd be a happy, happy girl!

And preseason has started for La Liga and Serie A...I'm stoked for this season.

Barca has Henry and a crop of new defenders, if they get in Rafa's way, I'll probably end up in jail for assault--and that's about it.

Besos!

So, if Bonds had a decent bone in his body, he'd retire the evening after he tied Hank Aaron's record and forget about breaking it. The man is the epitome of a douche and everybody knows (even the Barry faithful) know that Bonds was not the sole reason he got this far. He won't retire though, perks of being a greedy son-of-a-bitch, I suppose.

Face the facts, Bonds can't do anything but hit a ball. With a bit (okay, a lot) of juice on his side--he can hit further. Never mind the fact he can't hit for average.

I think right now, if any manager or pitcher in the league had a brain--they'd just walk the son-of-a-bitch until the end of his days as a pro leaguer.

How brilliant would that be, honestly?

No pitcher is going to want to be known as the one that gave up the big one...especially to someone who so totally doesn't deserve it.

But, you know what, Barry is going to break the homerun record. Fine...I won't be happy. I don't think he deserves it.

...In a few years it'll be broken again.

Here's to the natural talents of Alex Rodriguez and Albert Pujols. Mark the day in infamy, because I will never, ever commend A-Rod again.

I always figured that baseball was one of the most simple things a person could ever learn. I mean, I was a four year old child, sitting on the third baseline at Camden Yards, doing a play-by-play of the on field activities. Baseball was encrypted into my DNA it seemed and the thought of someone not knowing the sport simply didn't make sense to me.

Then I got to highschool where not even the boys liked the sport. Baseball was the only sport I'd ever known--up until that point--how could these people not know it? Not love it?

It was ridiculously un-American.

By the time I hit fifteen, I realized not everybody shared my passion for the sport. It was heartbreaking to hear the taunts, 'You only like baseball because so and so is hot.'

That's all good and fine, I'm not going to deny that baseball has bestowed upon us some great eye-candy...but if one more drunk frat guy calls me a baseball groupie one more time, I will turn around and slug him.

The fact of the matter is, and I'm going to be insanely cocky here, I probably know more about baseball than your average Joe Blow. You write me off as a baseball whore and I will make you look like an idiot in front of your friends and your girlfriend. I love *my* sport. I know the stats, my fantasy team can kick your fantasy team's ass and yes, I can tell you what the infield fly rule is.

Right now, I'm thinking my dream man can explain that to a five year old.

I've yet to meet one that knows it in specific terms.

Hell...most guys I meet can't even tell me if that's an actual rule or not.

I love my sport: the long ball is alright, but there is nothing like a breaking ball right down the middle that makes you go weak in the knees. Sure, there's the spectacular play that lands your shortstop in the stands...but give me a catcher that can catch your leadoff guy stealing and I'm good to go.

I love my sport, it comes almost as easily to me as breathing does.

Then I met Bia with her, 'This is the most difficult sport in the world,' comment.

Here I thought that sport was Cricket.

Goes to show what I know.

Bia is my kindred spirit. The peanut butter to my jelly and one thing we cannot see eye to eye on is baseball.

I love her dearly but I almost felt the need to scream when she told me, 'But I thought Derek Jeter was dead. Or retired. You mean, he still plays?'

She lives in Manhattan. New fucking York.

I was amazed. Absolutely stunned.

She's half-French and half-American: I suppose I should forgive her, it would be the kind thing to do.

But then she asked me what a Louisville Slugger was and I knew it was a lost cause.

I spent an hour plus trying to go over the basic rules of baseball and found myself with a migraine at the end of it.

And I still don't think she could tell me what the difference between a curve ball and a fastball are.

She's one of the most brilliant people I've ever met. Educated, well written, sports oriented to the core.

So I've come to this final conclusion: Europeans+baseball=disaster.

Take my advice, don't even bother trying.

Baseball cannot be forced, it has to come naturally.

And it's the most difficult sport in the world to explain to Europeans.