Sexball, by Hank Layton

Baseball has a lot of unwritten rules, taboos if you will. Don’t take too long to trot around the bases after a home run. Don’t steal the catcher’s signs. Don’t shave your face. Don’t get drafted by the Kansas City Royals. Things like that.

What I’m about to discuss does not necessarily fly into the proverbial foul territory of our national pastime, but it is something that I believe is ignored: sex. Sex and baseball. Together at last.

Oh yeah, baby. Sex! Sex! Sex! It’s everywhere in our culture, clearly, but perhaps nowhere is it more hidden than the sport in which cheerleaders with pompoms are replaced by interns with hotdog-loaded air cannons.

Let’s move ahead in the count by acknowledging the obvious connections. You’ve got “pitchers” and “catchers,” “ball girls” and “bat boys,” and “skippers” and “closers” – the latter of which just sound dirty. Baseball bats are phallic; baseball gloves are just leather vaginas. Even a pitcher’s mound is nothing more than a giant boob.

Going deeper into the count now, what is the most common thing a man thinks about in order to last longer during sex? You guessed it: baseball. Of all the boring games and sports we have created, the human race has designated baseball as the one to concentrate on while performing the very act that keeps our species alive. There’s something about baseball – something not found in golf or soccer or curling or darts – that maintains a man’s erection yet keeps all his sperm in the dugout.

And we wonder why there are so many erectile dysfunction commercials during the World Series.

I’d wager a few women out there have been in the sack and thought about baseball – although not for the same reason. Ladies, I hate to reveal your little secret, but the only reason any of you watch baseball is to check out the players’ butts. Come on. Admit it. At least one of you has gripped your man’s butt cheeks mid-coitus while imagining they were Derek Jeter’s. (Maybe the guy was thinking the same thing.)

It’s not just sexual intercourse that we connect with sex. In fact, the entire human sexual spectrum can be designated by a spot on the baseball field. Kissing is called “getting to first base” and is always the most memorable part of a relationship. Then you get your fingers wet at second base. Shit gets real at third base with a little oral action, and then you “score” a run. No other sport has this honor. You’ll never hear someone describe a blowjob as “converting a third down.”

Even in the confines of a ball park, no one is safe from thinking about sex. It arrives somewhere around the seventh-inning stretch, when we’ve all had enough and are ready to go home. Sixpence None the Richer’s Kiss Me echoes through the building and a heart-shaped frame pops up on the jumbo screen. It’s time for the kiss cam.

Against their will, complete strangers are forced to perform public displays of affection for the enjoyment of thousands. Against your will, you watch. You cheer them on, even though you’re on the edge of your seat, secretly hoping they’ll select you to grace the kiss cam next. Then they get into the freaky shit, like old couples. Those get the loudest cheers, perhaps because most of those couples started dating when it was illegal to kiss in public. Then you start to hope a cameraman finds some hot lesbians. That’s the only thing you’d rather see than yourself on the kiss cam: lesbians. Even a pair of Rosie O’Donnells would suffice. Then the kiss cam ends. The game resumes. Yet you look around your section for lesbians. You can’t help it. You just sit there in the stands of a professional baseball game and think about lesbians…

This is our national pastime, ladies and gentlemen, and it is one sexy bitch.

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Put Hank in your starting lineup here…

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