HomeSportsYankees' Aaron Judge ties Roger Maris with 61st home run

Yankees’ Aaron Judge ties Roger Maris with 61st home run


Aaron Judge has moment to remember, but this glove-wearing clown has one to forget.

Aaron Judge has moment to remember, but this glove-wearing clown has one to forget.
Image: Screenshot (Getty Images)

I thought I was annoyed when all the Yankees fans were complaining about Aaron Judge walking all the time (just wait for the ALDS, Vinnie Bag O’ Screwdrivers). Then we got back to all the crusty baseball men trying to pretend that the AL record, or the Yankees record, is anything the masses should care about. Which they don’t. Aaron Judge isn’t going to set a record for homers in a season. Just get used to it, no one really minds. 61 is a cool number on its own and doesn’t need the dressing of ballooned benchmarks made up by those who are still working out their self-inflicted guilt about not calling out the Steroid Era when it happened. Or something.


I have a rule, one I think should be instituted in every ballpark. If you’re over the age of 13, you can’t bring a glove to the game. I used to amend that to allow if a fan was sitting in the first five rows, because hey, I don’t want you talking a liner in the teeth anymore than the next guy does (I want it a little more). But now that the screens are up, that’s null and void. Gloves at a park are for children. Gloves are for Zack Hample. I don’t know how there could be more of a blinking, neon sign screaming “I’M A GALACTIC LOSER WHO GETS HIS TACOS PLAIN” than doing something that Zack Hample does.

But if you’re going to bring your glove…CATCH THE FUCKING BALL. I don’t care if someone else got in your way. That’s a five-figure payday at least flying at you, jabroni. Box out, get position, fight, WIN! This dude let it clank off his glove like he was playing left field for the White Sox. You’re already wearing the giant sign that marks you out as a resident of Dipshitville, and now you’re going to be the village idiot of said town? Dude basically wore a raincoat in the shower and drowned in his own tub anyway.

Now, there was some buzz going around Twitter last night that this guy’s name was “Frankie Lasagna,” which clearly is a pseudonym this giblet came up with to cover his identity so he isn’t pelted with various staplers by his co-workers tomorrow, if not straight up fired for bringing a glove to a game as an adult (or a reasonable facsimile). That kind of image no company could overcome in dealing with clients/customers. “Yeah we employed the guy who couldn’t catch Judge’s home run ball but seriously, we’re the best choice to clean your gutters I swear!” I sincerely hope this guy’s name is actually Frankie Lasagna, because a guy named Frankie Lasanga was born, if not grown in a lab, specifically to be the donut who lets a generational opportunity like that doink off him like a Looney Tune. This was his destiny, his purpose.

A year’s salary, at worst, and it just bricks off his glove. He’ll be seeing that forever. As he should. Deserves no less. Live with your pain, Lasagna. It’s what you get for bringing your glove.


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