When this little gem of a column starts off with an Entourage quote in the first graf, you know we're in for something special. Breaking down the "Walk of Shame," Chris Surette handed in one of the most repugnant works of "journalism" we've seen in a while. Not repugnant because it's immoral, but because it's simply not funny.

But girls, even though many may consider you a slut after witnessing your glorious Walk of Shame, just realize that you have given this lucky guy a story he can share with others at the Grape for the rest of the year. We ought to thank you for that. And hopefully you got something out of this to … actually, we don't really care.

[snip]

Let's be real, we are too young to have a little mini-me running around. I would rather enjoy my college years drinking my face off and having to clean my own vomit, than cleaning the vomit of 16 month infant. Also, if you can't remember her name, there is a very good chance you don't know much about the broad. Trust me, you don't want that hood rat giving you a venereal disease. Not because half are not curable, but the next time you try to bang and that little cutie sees that rash around your genitals, she's going to be running for the fences.

Fairfield is a Jesuit institution, which means some in the administration aren't too happy with the subject matter. Indeed the entire newspaper faces harassment charges, and could lose their funding.

Now I'm not going to say that one student is solely responsible for the death of journalism, and I'm not going to say it's wholly because of his Red Sox fandom...I'm just going to imply it.

He Said: The Walk Of Shame [Fairfield Mirror]
Fairfield U. Newspaper Faces Discipline Over Column's 'Harassment' [Connecticut Post]

A memorabilia seller has somehow rounded up undies used during games by two of your favorite Red Sox, plus Hideki Okajima.

I don't know who would really want this stuff, but I'm guessing there's a lot of the same mindset as the people who buy used panties out of Japanese vending machines.

Phil said the Sox locker-room clean-out uncovered a pair of Dustin Pedroia's game-used drawers. And we know what you're thinking - Castinetti assures us Pedie's underpants do not have Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on them.

There's also a pair of unmentionables belonging to new catcher Victor Martinez . He's just the gift that keeps on giving, isn't he? And reliever Hideki Okajima's tighty-whiteys are also amongst the BVD booty.

"They are so used, I'd rather not be handling them, to be honest with you," Castinetti laughed.

I'm putting the odds of the winning bidders framing their prizes at 8/1, and actually wearing them at 5/2. I'll also give you even money on the winners masturbating with them.

‘Game-Used' Undies Have Sox Appeal [Boston Herald]

Yes, over the course of a single afternoon yesterday, two professional teams from the same area blew leads and ended up losing. THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED TO ANY OTHER AREA AT ANY POINT IN TIME EVER. And thus, the legend of Black Sunday was born. Indeed, this was the single worst day in the history of humanity. Worse than 9/11. Worse than Pearl Harbor. Worse than Saturday, when I found out TBS actually hired David Wells to speak on camera. Worse than all of those days COMBINED. Peter King says it was semi-Hiroshimaesque. Witness the tweeted emotional devastation wrought by the Patriots losing a regular season game and the Red Sox being knocked out of the playoffs when most people in Boston never liked their chances to begin with:

zym999 RT @sportsguy33: Black Sunday. // Is this possibly the worst day to be a Boston sports fan with friends who aren't? My email/txt say "yes"

darren_kennedy Sox/Pats lose painfully. Black Sunday. The worst part: pretending like they were "just games" for my 7-year-old so he won't end up like me.

It's okay, Darren Jr. It's just a game… really, just a game… OH, WHO AM I KIDDING? GOD IS DEAD.

bryanbeasley RT: Not sure if it's possible as a Boston sports fan to have a worse day

performancepro Black Sunday. (via @sportsguy33) does it make it worse that arod is having a good postseason?

PopsCaine Today felt like watching Requiem for a Dream and Leaving Las Vegas over and over for 12 hours. Boston Black Sunday.

JosephDBrown Its Black Sunday all over again First The RED SOX now the PATRIOTS going for the Hat trick when My Fantasy team loses

epeterson05 Horrible, demoralizing Boston sports day. (Even in make-believe! Lost fantasy by 5 while my benched RB had 15)

NOOOO!!!! NOT YOUR FANTASY TEAMS! I HAD SO MUCH HOPE FOR THE MONTCLAIR PEDROIAS!

suebrody1 @Ace2003 I am watching Sports Sunday, and Felger calls it "Black Sunday." I wanna cry again. :(

MattD19 As @sportsguy33 put it, Black Sunday RT @shwen: #RedSox lose in 9th #Patriots lose in OT too much for 1 day... & a sad day it is :-(

shanetq Thank God dollhouse & office was good this week. Rewatching them is soothing my aching head/heart/soul after Black Sunday..

amering black sunday in beantown sports. need to start staffing to take my mind off the ugliness.

bostonmike Still very depressed about the Boston sports "Black Sunday"

FitzyGFY It's Columbus Day, and I've discovered that I don't feel any better about Boston Sports Black Sunday at all.

Hmm. Well, this is all well and good. But I need something even more pathetic. Something that really brings the vintage Boston douchiness home. Something not even all the Eliza Dushku in the world can soothe. Oooh, wait! I got it! How about a woe is us piece from Danny Shaughnessy, that intentionally tries to dredge up all the supposed ghosts that haunt Boston sports fans? Oooooooooo…

It was shocking. It was time travel. It was back to the bad old days.

It was a macabre matinee at our ancient baseball theater.

All you young New Englanders who shrugged whenever dad said, "The Sox will blow it, they always choke at the end,'' . . . now you know.

NOW YOU UNDAHSTAND OW-UH PAIN! The Salem witch spirits have worked their black magic once more! HAUNTING! You can practically hear Shaughnessy pat himself on the back for this opening. But wait! This isn't quite lame enough. I need something even worse. Something that really encapsulates the idea that Boston fans cannot lose a game without demanding your maximum sympathy despite having won six titles since 2001. I know. Let's check in with el presidente at Barstool Sports, who is either 12 years old, or joking, or a complete fuckhead. OR all three!

We're in October of 2009. The decade is rapidly coming to an end. And unfortunatly so is our decade of dominance. I mean there is no other way to look at it after the tragic events of yesterday. I mean a day like this would have been unheard of a couple years ago. Tom Brady getting outplayed by Kyle Orten? Papelbon giving up 5 runs while only getting 2 batters out and blowing the season? (I don't count the guy he picked off as him getting an out) Bottomline is we haven't won anything since the Celtics two years ago. Sure our teams our still competitive but it's no longer a forgone conclusion that we'll be having a parade at some point during the year. In other words we've just become like everybody else. Mortal. But in typical Boston fashion we ended the greatest run any city has every seen in the history of sports with a day so horrific that it was almost awe inspiring in a weird kind of way. Like watching a tornado tear through a small town or something. And in the end I'm not sure whether I should go into Cabo and party like crazy and remember the good times or just sit in my hotel room and cry.

I have an idea. Why don't you go fuck yourself with a corkscrew instead? Because no one else gives a flying fuck about your bad day. Haven't won anything since the Celtics two years ago? Eat a cock and die.

Photo via boston.com

You don't get more than a quick glance at the girls, but there appears to be one blonde (who definitely looks like the Christina Rivas pictured in the Boston Herald), one brunette and one very angry boyfriend. He goes toe-to-toe with an Angels fan before security finally arrives to escort them all away. You don't see the moments before the fight started, but we're going to assume that there was heckling involved and it probably involved fat derrieres. So everyone loses.

And as a final side note: Is the stadium usher wearing a Panama hat? What lawless thug is going to respect that?

Angels Fight - Angels vs. Red Sox, Game 1 ALDS 2009 [YouTube]

The Boston Herald has the harrowing tale of two female Red Sox fans—who are also sisters (wink, wink!)—who took a terrifying journey to Angel Stadium, where they were set upon by a swarthy mob of L.A. fans who hurled "sexually explicit" insults at them, like "Hey, sit your fat (derriere) down!" And she's not even a plus-size model!

The night took a more upsetting turn for the ladies when one of their boyfriends lunged at one of the boorish "hooligans" (who is probably an illegal immigrant, btw) and security took him down with a taser. Fortunately, the completely irrelevant suitor was "hit with a weapon that only delivers a fraction of the shock of a full stun-gun blast," which made the incident slightly less traumatic for the girls, Christina Rivas, 24, and her sister, Kerrianne, 20.

Not that they will ever feel safe enough to attend a baseball game again. What if the boyfriend challenges another cop to a fight? Why must their adorable shoulders bear the weight of all mankind?

Hellish game for Sox sisters [Boston Herald]

UPDATE: Now with (possible) video of the fight!

The Red Sox clinched their postseason berth at 1 a.m. on September 30. They'd just lost to the Blue Jays and had to wait for the Rangers to lose their West Coast game until they could "celebrate." It was not exactly a wild bash. Here is how the Red Sox went crazy:

"Once the Red Sox lost, there was a bizarre feeling in the clubhouse. Some players packed up and went home, while others milled around and watched the Rangers-Angels game on television. Ortiz said he would go out to a local establishment and then return to Fenway if the Rangers gave him reason to celebrate. Rookie reliever Daniel Bard went to his apartment across the street to have a late-night dinner, but he was prepared to return and enjoy the clinching moment with his teammates."

It has been that sort of season for the Red Sox. They have chugged along, winning enough to outlast an uninspiring group of wild-card challengers, never really making the Yankees sweat, as uninspiring as a 95-win season can possibly be. Almost every Red Sox fan I talk to is far from optimistic about the postseason. It just doesn't have that feel, one told me.

This is a unique luxury for Red Sox fans, this notion that this year's team isn't the team, one that no other team's fans can possibly understand. (And after a year off from the postseason, that includes the Yankees.) It's a privilege to make the playoffs, a rarity, and that Pink Hat Nation generally seems more exhausted by his season than invigorated speaks to just how far they've come since 2004, since Johnny Damon was bearded, since that incredibly brief time in human history where the rest of the nation found the Red Sox likable. It doesn't have that feel. Please.

That is to say: Bah! The mad rugby scrum that is the baseball postseason has no time or patience for protestations of what is RIGHT and what is POSSIBLE. Certainly — here comes the Cardinals reference! — there are other teams than the 2006 version of the Cardinals that I would have desired to win the big pennant-spiky trophy. That didn't stop me from losing my shit when they pulled it off. The tsunami can strike anyone at any time. If the Red Sox beat the Angels and make the ALCS, who will even remember the regular season? Who will even remember it by ALDS Game Two?

I'm about to write something that will make you nauseous, so I apologize in advance. But: Doesn't this decade deserve another Yankees-Red Sox ALCS? Isn't that where all this is going? This has been the decade of Tiger Woods, of Lance Armstrong, of Tom Brady, of Favre of Favre of Favre, the decade in which we recognized brilliance, and then we recognized it again, and then we bashed it against the wall and pushed it in everyone's faces over and over and over and over. This has been the decade of overkill, the This Is The Greatest Super Bowl Ever and This Is The Greatest Gunslinger Ever and This Is The Greatest Rivalry Ever. It wouldn't be right to end this decade with a modest Twins-Angels ALCS. The Yankees-Red Sox rivalry transmogrified into the pulsating, tentacled mega-monster this decade, and it changed everything. It caused the sports networks to ignore any team west of the northeast corridor. It raised baseball salaries to unimaginable levels. It inspired everyone to start using steroids, and then pretend like they were stopping. It has dwarfed everything else in baseball over the last 10 years. None of us has been able to escape it. It has been the one part of baseball that resembles football. It is not humble and welcoming. It is loud and exclusionary. It is AROD AND JETER VERSUS PAPI AND MANNY TONIGHT ON FOXXXXXXX!!!!! It is exceptionalism and imperialism and everything that makes you want to throw your television across the room.

That all happened this decade. Doesn't it have to end that way? Could it possibly end any other?

See? Told you you'd get sick.

When you live in a suburb of Syracuse, you don't have much but baseball. One fourth grader had even that taken away from him. Nate Johns was forced by his teacher to turn his C.C. Sabathia shirt inside out, and it doesn't sound like it was because of a dress code.

Just because my teacher doesn't like the Yankees I should still have the right to wear a Yankees shirt," Nate said Thursday after school. The teacher has Boston Red Sox paraphernalia all over the classroom on display, he said.

The district is looking into the teacher's action, but the damage is done to poor little Nate's psyche.

I thought to myself ‘Is he serious or is he kidding,'" said Nate, 9, a student in Peter Addabbo's fourth-grade class. "But he had this look like he wasn't kidding at all."

Nate complied, and said he was later told to wear it that way until dismissal. At lunch, Nate said the fifth-graders made fun of him because he wearing his shirt inside out.

"It was such a horrible day." Nate said. "I don't ever want anything like to happen again."

Am I the only one who thinks being picked on by "the fifth-graders" makes this sound like an episode of South Park?

Well, on the bright side, at least this manifestation of the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry didn't end in vehicular manslaughter.

Baldwinsville Family Says Teacher Told Fourth-Grader To Turn Yankee Shirt Inside Out [The Post-Standard]

Maybe so. Schilling announced on his blog earlier today that he does have some "interest in the possibility."

Of course, Curt is a Republican, has no political experience and would be running in a Democratic state in the footsteps of a deceased hero —but hey, I'm not one to second guess Curt Schilling.

Senate hopeful of the day: Curt Schilling [Boston Globe]

Smoltz's tenure with the Red Sox could not have gone much worse than it did. He gave up 25 runs in his last four starts before Boston pulled the plug, signaling what looked like the end of his career. So St. Louis rolled the dice on him and then quickly solved his pitching difficulties with a revolutionary training technique known as watching him pitch.

Coaches noticed right away his foot was slipping off the pitching rubber, so they told him to stop doing that. Then starter Chris Carpenter noticed that Smoltz was tipping his pitches on the mound. So they told him to not do that either. The result? Five scoreless innings, no walks and nine strikeouts, including seven in a row. Was that so difficult?

In an interview with Dan Patrick today, Smoltz graciously did not blame the Red Sox for his sucking, nor did he point out that the Cardinals are eight games in front of their division while the Red Sox are 7.5 games down in theirs. I'm sure these many things are not related.

John Smoltz says he was tipping his pitches [Dan Patrick]

In 2004, after 121 games (same as today) they were 6.5 games back. On August 23 (that's tomorrow), they started a 10-game winning streak and finished three games back. They never caught the Yankees, but they still made the playoffs, setting up the magical four-game comeback that turned every Red Sox fan in America into an insufferable jerkoff.

So what happens next? One thing I can guarantee you is that if the Red Sox and Yankees do end up meeting in the ALCS, there won't be quite as many folks rooting for the collapse of the Evil Empire this time. Oh sure, the Yanks are still a boil on the face of baseball, but the Sawx have become the equally ugly wart on its nose. It's the kind of un-winnable choice that occasionally makes sports fandom seem futile.

But it's still baseball, so enjoy the afternoon! Even if today's game is not nearly as important as you might be led to believe.

Don't Worry, Boston: Red Sox, Yankees Made for Defying History [NESN]
New York Yankees/Boston Red Sox - Live Box Score [Yahoo]

Nothing — with the possible exception of flowers, springtime and the 3rd Earl of Pembroke — has inspired as much gooey bad poetry and aphoristic nonsense as Fenway Park. If Fenway didn't exist, we'd have to toss a bunch of Harvard professors in a room to invent it, which, not incidentally, is how we also wound up with a war in Vietnam. "Fenway Park, in Boston," John Updike famously wrote, "is a lyric little bandbox of a ballpark. Everything is painted green and seems in curiously sharp focus, like the inside of an old-fashioned peeping-type Easter egg."

I have never been on the inside of an Easter egg, peeping-type or no, but I will bet good money that it is nothing like Fenway, a steaming pile of steel and concrete resting on top of marshland that Boston didn't get around to filling in until the late 19th century. Somewhere along the line, however, the crooked old dump became a shrine for the local fancy classes. "I think walking up to Fenway is thrilling," the late David Halberstam once said. "The approach to it. The smells. You go to Fenway, and you revert to your childhood. You go to Fenway, and you think: 'Something wonderful is going to happen today.'" Quoth Stephen King: "There's no place like it, and it's ours." (We haven't even mentioned Donald Hall, whose poetry, without Fenway, would be just a couple of conjunctions and the word "snow.")

This is just a new, sporty strain of that old New England exceptionalism that John Winthrop was preaching back in the 17th century. The thinking runs thusly: Fenway, like its tenants, is somehow different, purer, a perpetual innocent in a fallen, godforsaken world. "The Yankees belong to George Steinbrenner," Sports Illustrated's Steve Wulf wrote in 1981, "and the Dodgers belong to Manifest Destiny, but the Red Sox, more than any other team, belong to the fans."

Let's just say it here, then: Fenway is not different. It does not belong to its fans any more than Tropicana Field belongs it its fans. "It was a land deal, nothing more," Dan Shaughnessy and Stan Grossfeld write in a book that otherwise treats Fenway like some sort of massive green Kennedy. The name itself was free marketing for its owners, the Taylors' Fenway Realty Company, prefiguring all the corporate naming-rights deals that would come at the back end of the century. The front of Fenway, done up in a red brick Colonial style, was ripped off from Philadelphia's Shibe Park. The first outfield fences at Fenway were erected not to enclose the field of play but to block fans — the fans to whom the Red Sox allegedly belonged — from crashing the gate or sneaking free looks from the street, according to Shaughnessy and Grossfeld. Fenway isn't different. Fenway is merely old and has long enjoyed the happy luck of being located among the most literary-minded regional chauvinists in the Union, all of them drunk on a baseball stadium's smells, all of them turning into children.

The view from the stands (everything sic'd):

I visited Fenway a couple years ago and I forgot how shitty it was until one morning I woke up and let a huge hangover fart and thought to myself, "this reminds me of Fenway." (Nick J.)

Me and a friend of mine were at a Red Sox game in Boston in the spring (I think) of 2005, about 10 rows back in the center field bleachers. Two drunk Tawmmys from Quinzee were sitting directly behind us, and spend the entire game yelling at Johnny Damon for having a little girl arm (while true, he's on your team, no?). One says to the other "I BET I COULD THROW A BALL FACKIN FAHHTHER THAN JANNY DAMON." Tawmmy Numbah 2 isn't convinced, neither am I, nor is my friend. Tawmmy 1 then bets my friend ten whole dollars that he can reach the infield on a throw. My friend laughs and takes the bet, as there's no way in hell this moron is actually going to try this during a game, right?

Wrong. Tawmmy #1 disappears for a while, and returns with a fresh beer and a souvenir baseball. My friend and I exchange a quick "No fucking way" look, and Tawmmy lets fly the ball. Sure enough, it hits the infield. Missing the back of Edgar Rentaria's head by about 6 inches . A man of his word, my friend pays up while Tawmmy gets dragged off by the cops, screaming "FACKIN' TOLDYA!" (Matthew L.)

It's a toilet. Whenever you wonder why Boston fans are so cranky and harsh, just go try to sit in those seats for a game. It was built in the early 20th century, when, evidently, people were typically 5'1" and their asses were half as wide as today. I'm under 6 feet tall and my knees were against the seat in front of me. This also makes it nearly impossible to exit your row unless you're on the end. So you climb out any way you can, to walk on narrow, shitty concourses that barely qualify as concourses. Most single-A ballparks have a better layout and walking area than Fenway. Oh, and if you're not a Sawx fan, be prepared to not just be heckled by Sully and Mikey, but to actually be physically threatened just for having the temerity to be from anywhere besides the cesspool that is Boston. The magic of that place is so overblown. We all act nostalgic about old places, but there's nothing wrong with modernizing things every 100 years or so. (Justin L.)

The worst experience I had in Fenway was in the right field box seats. They face center field, so I was forced to watch the entire game in the same posture that I use to back out of my driveway. I could only see home plate through the foul pole grating, which completely obstructed the view of all hitters standing in the righthanded batter's box. Worst of all, I'm not NBA tall or anything, but there was NO POSSIBLE POSITION for me to sit in without the row of seats in front of me digging into my patella tendons. You know, because the park was designed when the average American male was 5'3". This cut off circulation to my lower legs for the duration of the game, and for the next 36 hours I could not walk properly. That park almost took my legs. All for the low price of $50! (Jeremy K.)

Going back to Fenway after growing up with the park is sort of like meeting my dead grandfather if Wal-Mart exhumed his corpse and turned it into a cyborg greeter.

It's amazing how what was once the best park in the majors is now an absolute cesspool of forced promos and moronic "fans." Went to a game last June and got to see some CEO throw out the ceremonial first pitch (at least I wasn't there for the NASCAR force feeding the following night) then another highest bidder threw out the ceremonial...um, second pitch. Followed by those two words nobody wants to hear and the abysmal song that follows.

Saw a decent pitchers duel between Beckett and Haren, ruined by the pink hat buzzing in my ear about putting her house on the market from the time she showed up in the middle of the 2nd to the time she left with her posse of suburban moms who think they're the Carrie of their group in the middle of the 7th.

Ads now dwarf the Green Monster scoreboard (which was always my favorite part of the park as a kid) because WB Mason bought your first born. Any asshole not wearing a pink hat has a cell phone pressed to their ear, flailing their arms so their shithead friends wacthing NESN can see them at the hottest nightclub in Boston. Unless WEEI's harping on some trade that will never get done the Fenway faithful's knowledge of the game goes no further than 50 miles outside of 128, and even then only if it's "OMG Lars Anderson!!!!!111!!!!!!!11" Just like Steinbrenner ruined Yankee Stadium with the mid-70s overhaul Lucchino, Henry and Werner piss all over Fenway with each shoehorned seat. Camden Yards is a better place to see a game, Wrigley Field is a better ballpark, Busch Stadium is a better ballpark, hell even Tropicana Field is a better ballpark now. (Janssen M.)

My Father and I decided it would be a good idea to go to Fenway Pahk (as it is pronounced in Boston) for a summer baseball trip. We're from Houston, and have no AL rooting interests, so I wore a Craig Biggio t-shirt, and my dad a Houston Rockets polo, so of course we were asked about 50 times if we were from Houston, about 60 times "What's it like seeing baseball indoors?", and about 150 times "Where's your cowboy hat, boots, and jeans?" As if that wasn't annoying enough, we had an "obstructed seat" that was not advertised as such on the internet. I found the Sox dans almost as annoying as the fans from Dallas, and that's really sayin' something for a lifetime Houstonian. (Scott S.)

One night a few years back my brother and two cousins were at a game sitting in right field. Around the third inning, because who shows up for a whole baseball game?, a group of 30 somethings with their 8 dollar Sam Adams and still in work shirts comes in and sits behind us. After regaling each other for a few innings with tales of the mediocre chicks they have their dilbert-esque office one of them comes back with a tray of beer and proceeds to stumble, and spill beer all over my cousin and I. Fantastic. So we turn around, unsure at first where the rogue beverage came from (we were sitting under the new RF roof deck bar) and look for an answer. The Dilberts sit idly by acting as though nothing happened. For the next three innings, before they leave in the 7, they whisper and talk all about how they spilled the beer. Did I mention I was 17, and my cousin 12? So we got soaked in beer without so much as an apology, and had to listen to what amounted to three weeks worth of Cathy comics while we tried to watch the damn game. (Brendan from Medford)

When I was 10, I went to a Yankees-Red Sox game at fenway. I rooted for neither team, went in completely neutral clothing with my Dad who is a Sox fan. In the 7th inning, an incredibly fat guy for no reason whatsoever told me to go fuck my mother because he "thought" I was cheering for the Yankees because I stood up when Jeter came to bat. (I stood up to go to the bathroom). When I came back he threw a pizza box at me. Again, I'm not a Yankee fan. (Aaron G.)

The summer before my first year at college my Dad scored tickets for the Red Sox / Yankees at Fenway, something we had always wanted to go to. Believe me when I say that the real action wasn't on the field, but was spread throughout the bleachers. This was the summer of 2002, so we, as Red Sox fans, had yet to break the curse and become the most obnoxious fanbase in all of sports. Fenway was still a place of unabashed debauchery, racist Southies, and DRUNK B.U. students; Not a pink hat to be seen. A quick overview of the stands during the game revealed numerous amounts of fights and no small amount of hot dogs, beers, and plastic ice cream helmets flying back and forth between Red Sox and Yankee fans. Behind my Dad and I sat the biggest stereotypical South Boston resident I had ever encountered; He spent the whole game yelling at the middle aged women in front of us who had unwisely decided to wear their Bernie Williams' jerseys to the game. "Ber-knee! Beeeer-knee! Why are't you in da ghame Berrrr-knee?"

At one point a Yankee fan in front of us was escorted out by security and decided to flip off the crowd as a parting gift; As he was being showered with garbage, boos, and cries of "FAGGOT", I took the remains of my half-eaten hot dog and hit him square in the head with it. My Dad, a lawyer, and usually a model of restraint, turned to me and said, "Nice shot." Never have I felt so close to my Dad. (Sam)

Photo via B Tal's Flickr account.

Next up: The New York Mets' Citi Field. Got any horrible experiences to share? Send them to craggs@deadspin.com.

Jason Chighizola, a 34-year-old coach of the Slidell (Louisiana) Bantam league "Yankees," was convicted this week of slugging the coach of the "Red Sox" after refusing to shake his hand during the post-game lineup. The Red Sox had just beaten the Yankees in the final game of the season to claim first place, so Chighizola was understandably upset. So upset that after being pulled off of the other coach, he ran to the dugout to get a bat and started swinging that like a mad man. (The game took place last year, but the trial was held Thursday.)

Naturally this particular rivalry extended back well before the game. The Red Sox coach with the bloodied face, Robert Johnson, may have taunted Chighizola a bit, since Johnson has lost his coveted spot as coach of the league all-star team to Chighizola earlier that year. Both men had been fighting for control of the league's board of directors, because the hand that controls the Slidell Bantam Baseball Association board is the hand that rules the world. The kids, of course, just want ice cream after the game and could not care less.

So now both men are banned from all league events and can't even watch their own kids play baseball, which is fine because people this ridiculous should not actually be parents.

Brawling Slidell youth baseball coach is found guilty of battery [New Orleans Times-Picayune]

Jason Dill is no rookie at this, because before he was arrested this week, police had been receiving reports for months of a man in Red Sox gear talking a walk with a count of only two balls on him.

Back in April we began to receive a series of complaints about an individual in a specific vicinity of Silver Street in the nighttime walking nude dressed only in a baseball cap and sneakers. ... Of particular concern to us, he made no attempts to conceal himself when traffic passed," [Chief Stephen] Kozloski said.

The report said Dill offered no explanation for his pecadillo, though to suggest a theory, he did have a beer in his hand when he was arrested.

I just have to say, good thing for Bill Simmons he now lives in L.A., because he'd be suspect number one after this weekend's sweep.

Jason Dill Of Monson Arrested For Walking Nude Around Town [Springfield Republican]

Four thousand years of persecution; could it get any worse? Yes, if you happen to have dual citizenship in the Tribe and Red Sox Nation. That's eight hits and zero runs over the last 24 innings, but more importantly, three straight losses to fall 5½ games back of Babylon, aka the Yankees. If Jon Lester can't get things turned around tonight, the Green Monster could become the new Wailing Wall.

*****

Good Sunday morning. I think we all needed that rest. Want to know whose spot we'll be blowing up today? Just wait for the next post.