Confessions Of A Voyeuristic Baseball Fetishist, Home Run Viagra, & 5-Hour Girl-on-Girl Marathon Sessions

I had planned on spending my day watching the OU-C Hilltoppers Womens Softball team take on Wright State-Lake, but the combination of the poor attitude of the OUCH’s at times diva-like right fielder and the rain outside changed all that. My last venture to one of my sibling’s games was the season opener on March 31st, which saw me wrapped up in a blanket, wearing a ski jacket and stocking cap for a night double dip, all the while receiving text and picture messages from Dr. O’Malley in sunny Florida. It turned out to be a 5-hour two game sweep over Ohio Christian and a brush with frostbite. Perhaps it was the temperatures from that night that rattled my brain  and inspired this recent writing session and its subject matter.  Or maybe it was the fact I was the lone fan who was stupid enough to sit out in the cold next to the dugout and all that estrogen that gave me the idea. Nonetheless, that night I noticed a few things about that which occurs on the diamond I’d not thought of or considered putting into words for public consumption – until now.

Baseball exudes sexuality. Its facets suited not only for the sport but that which may be found anywhere from sex shops to truck stops, bedrooms to brothels, websites to strip clubs and various other sin dens. We’ve all have at some point in our lives either heard or used the phrases first, second, third base and home run in the context of baseball and sex. But I’ve come to notice either by my own depravity and perversions or just by the sheer observation of the many similarities between, that the game contains a far greater element of kink and coinciding content in relation to the art of carnal knowledge.

Looking past the surface and the sophomoric play on words regarding bases in respect to sexual contact and conduct, the sport contains more than a few intricacies which fit not only on the diamond but perfectly as the subject of a session with a therapist, the ultimate fantasy for fetishists, or perhaps simply the search engine topics of  late night dwellers who frolic on the information superhighway to get their rocks off.  Yes my dear reader, baseball has a dark pyschological side rarely noticed due to its often virginal and pure public and historical portrayals in writing and in film. Hold on to your hats , because unlike in previous posts here at Diary Of A Mad Fan, we’re covering the topic of baseball in a different light.

Like many who write on the subject of baseball, I have often done so with a flair for the conservative Americana point of view, depicting the game as a religion or the banner of all that is wholesome. But face it, the truth is the sport is far from that overall. From gambling controversies and the racial divide to the issue of steroids, baseball has throughout its inception been wrought with a darker side that is quite often overlooked in the majority of artistic depictions. However, I’ve come to realize that fanaticism gives way to seeing the game not only as holiest of holy religions created by a mythical yet mortal man in the form of Abner Doubleday, handed down by a god, played by saints, and followed by mere mortals, but the baseball fanatic and portions of the game itself as fetishism. A subject matter which is the topic to those who seek arousal via their voyeuristic tendencies, memorabilia collectors who long for materials worn by those players who they obsess over, fans who gain pleasure from the suffering of constant pain or dominance. Yes indeed, baseball is not just a house of worship but one of ill repute.

For instance, the main instruments in the game alone are phallic in nature. A long shaft and balls. Players don leather and strap on various other equipment for protection. Some wear masks and some even need performance enhancers in order to maintain their performances, such as they did at younger ages. Men often take on men. Women often take on women. And sometimes you may even see gatherings in public where the two intermingle in orgies on summer afternoons and evenings. Voyeurs watch and gain delight from the hours of action, watching the participants score gaining intense pleasure as they do so.

Think I’m a bit out there or it seems like a bit of a stretch as a way to perhaps write for writing’s sake?  Let’s take a quick gander into the industry of baseball in comparison to the sex industry in various forms. My dear friend Madison, who works in “the industry” recently shared a story with me involving a night at a gentlemen’s club where she made $700 in several minutes from a shall we say “fan” who enjoyed “collecting memorabilia”. The man paid her $700 for a sock ladies and gentlemen and was willing to go even deeper into his wallet for “other” materials. Disturbing is it not? Absolutely. Especially knowing the further details of the story I’d say the gentleman patron was far from the normal clientele. Consider this however,  is this really all that different from what one might find performing a quick internet search on the topic of game used equipment or memorabilia via a dealer or a site such as eBay?

And I speak from experience here folks, as even at the moment I am writing this I am within a few short strides from a catcher’s mask, a bat, and balls purchased or acquired solely based on the fact they were once worn, touched, or used by a Major League Baseball player. Granted, I’m not looking to “make love” to my New York Yankees game used bat as our trusty foot fan stated he was going to, but it’s not a stretch to say that I too gain great pleasure from these material items and paid good money to have them. So deep down we’re all freaks in respect to something. 

And the depraved lot is not barred simply to the stands or dimly light back rooms of the local strip club. No, we can find them in uniform taking the field as well. Like a late night infomercial promising longer lasting and better performances players have been using the power of modern medicine for longer careers and bigger gains in the gym, on the field, and in their wallets. The Steroids Era and the home runs that came as a result were the virtual Viagra the game needed to recover from the flaccid attendance and ratings that were a result of the strike of 1994. Unfortunately,these small dosages created some side effects that have lasted long beyond 4 hours that led to Congress and courtrooms coast to coast and are still all over sports publications and programming. The verdict will soon be out on Barry Bonds due to his perjury trail regarding steroid usage and his association with Victor Conte’s BALCO labs.  And less than 24-hours ago another false idol was exposed in Manny Ramirez. The enhancers have made the days and nights on the diamond memorable indeed, but the side effects have done much damage to the heart of the fan. Quite a trade-off. With great pleasure comes the morning after, filled with more guilt and vacant feelings and bitter tastes in the mouth than a one-night stand.

Ramirez is not the last, but the latest. The next great name comes in the form of a player who was considered to be one of the greatest of all-time – Roger Clemens, soon to have his day in court.

Quite a strange position we find ourselves in as fans. Of course positions are an important part of any baseball game and obviously a well-played roll in the sack. The psychology of how a player plays his role on the field is perhaps no different to how one would role play. For instance there’s  nothing more extreme in regards to the game as pitching, A role played most often and most effectively by a dominant individual deriving pleasure and notoriety by inflicting their will over batters. Pitchers are a sadistic lot. And many of the true greats are more dominating and controlling than the best leather clad woman with a few chips dips chains and whips money can buy. They control the flow of a game through their acts, faster, slower, harder, take a little off when needed to overpower those who are submissive. There’s a vast area of psychology in regards to pitching and one can even turn to extreme sadism by means of choosing to aim the projectile at someone intentionally.

Roger Clemens was both a baseball god and  master sadist of the modern era. During his days on the mound he was a mixture of Drysdale, Gibson, the Marquis de Sade, and Vlad the Impaler. However, he became over indulgent, needing help to reach the heights he had as a young man. Allegedly enhancing his performance as a means to reach the climax of Cy Young and World Series championship seasons. And while we await his day in court, it’s not hard to realize that as many other instances over the past several seasons, we are discovering that we the fans have been stretched out on the rack and what we have bore witness to is never to be spoken of again – at least not in terms of the Hall of Fame.

The recent headlines regarding Bonds, Clemens, and now Ramirez reminds us all that baseball truly does have its share of depravity. The Steroids Era was baseball’s version of a live hardcore porn show. And being the voyeurs that we are, we loved it. Yet, like a peep-show fiend dropping quarters into the slot in order to raise the curtain, we the contingent of loyal fans watched with great pleasure and in awe of all we saw, until we became numb to the ever more present number of the game’s best who are regularly revealed as faker than the breasts on a porn star.  In the early years, we did so with a sense of naivety to it all, we once reacted with great disdain and surprise. However, we’ve  become like over sexed perverts chronically exposed to the pornography that is PEDs and we react with far less interest. We are no longer excited by the extreme and we require more to achieve satisfaction. We have desensitized ourselves to the debauchery and no matter the name released in regards to enhancement nothing is shocking.