David Ross, you stupid, pathetic, fuck. It’s time for a good old fashioned out behind the wood shed ripping of your false ass. You’ve hound-dogged the wrong guy’s chick dude, and not that I care because I’m not insecure and you’re not a real ballplayer, I just think it’s fun to expose you and let the sharks that are internet stalkers shred you alive.
It’s bad enough that you’re terrible and not hitting your weight this season to date (.195) at the time this publishing went to print. Dude, you are on the interstate. Do you know what that means? Do you know how hard it is to be that bad? It’s absolutely terrible. There’s a lot of schmucks out there reading this article that honest to God could show up and do that. I played the game, I know, and it’s forseeable that someone out there not in the big leagues could get close to your average if they had that many at bats and all that coaching. You’re lower than dog shit. I’ve held off doing this all season but it’s finally time. You earned it
The other thing that’s worth mentioning about your stellar craft is that over the course of your career your performance this season has been just a bit less then what you’ve done your entire career. A career .223 hitter. Jesus that is bad. Looks like daddy gave birth to little miss Nancy ‘David’ Ross when he had his first son. Come on little Davey Ross, swing the bat hard like you mean it. Alice Ross, that is what I’m gonna call you at the ballpark from now on.
Alright, now time for the meat and potatoes of this meal and to let my readers know why I’m all the sudden ripping the little-known catcher of my favorite and equally shitty ballclub, the Cincinnati Reds.
Ross has a 4 month old daughter. He also has a wife. I know this because of an article I read on fathers day where I had to stare at Ross in full uniform making his goofy ass face at his little spawndling. So David, how great is it being a dad?
“When you get home from the ballpark, good day, bad day,
it doesn’t matter,” said the proud parent (David Ross) of 4-month-old daughter
Landri. “You forget about anything that happened at work. It takes your mind
totally somewhere else. That smile is genuine. There’s no hidden agenda. And
then you go on the road, and you’re like, man, you want to get back because
they’re changing so fast.”
Fuck that dude. You’re about as good of a dad as you are a ballplayer. When you’re on the road all you’re thinking about is hound-dogging for the next piece of “Road Beef” as Jose Canseco called it in his book. I’ve got a few stories to serve as some proof.
Here’s a bit of a recap of what my fiance had to tell me about her experience at the ballgame the other day:
“Well I had fun, but you know the Reds’ catcher, Ross? He wasn’t playing (no surprise there) but he was down in the bullpen about 4 feet from us the whole game and he was so gross. First he just kept staring at us like a possessed pervert and would just stare and stare and not look away. Then he threw me and Hope a ball and no one else. Even little kids that were begging him for a baseball all game and he just ignored them and ended up giving two more baseball’s to girls that flashed their tits at him. He kept staring at me and Hope kept telling me he was and I would look over quick and try and catch him doing it but there was no need. He was staring with no shame, like a typical asshole ballplayer. Then I said ‘what a pervert’ and he just started laughing and kept staring, and undressing us with his eyes. He wasn’t wearing his wedding band either. Then after those two girls that flashed him got thrown out of the ballpark, he went to the spot in the bullpen where he could still communicate with them and they exchanged information and he looked to get their number.”
Wow, what a guy. Sounds like father of the year right there. Way to go Dave, you fuckin’ boner. I find this easy to believe because I had a similar encounter with Mr. Family Man David Ross last year.
I was at the Reds game and I was sitting front row on the Reds dugout (my favorite seats) just leaning over and taking in batting practice before the game, watching the different scenes in the dugout as the players prepared. Just before they cleared the BP off the field, here comes David Ross making a beeline towards me in the stands like he knows someone or knows me. All that I was standing by were a ton of little kids wanting autographs, and a younger looking girl, I swear to God she might have been 18 but I’m talking looked 16-17. There’s little Davey Ross, ignoring all the kids, ignoring everyone around him, ignoring when I said “good luck today Ross”. He walked over, like he was actually worth a fuck at what he does for a living, had a nice little conversation with this girl (in whispers of course), and she slips him a little note with a red heart drawn on it. Aw, how cute–our catcher is a fucking cradle robber. I asked her who she was and if she knew Ross, and she said to me ‘Yeah, I’m his girlfriend.’ Ha, well honey I bet a lot of gals think that, but if you like him, that’s just tremendous.
So there you have it, Dave Ross, our catcher, exposed as what he is, a true prick that is terrible at baseball that will someday need to find a real job. I hope your wife reads this and leaves you, dick. We’ll see how well you can hound-dog when you’re living in a van down by the river and not a .195 hitting catcher.