Hot Baseball Wife: Misty May-Treanor
Misty May-Treanor, originally uploaded by Pichichi.
Of course, since the AVP Pro Volleyball Atlanta Open is happening in my backyard –not literally, though I wouldn’t mind– I had to do some research as to how in the hell I could relate it to our fine baseball blog.
It took me all of five minutes to read this article and find out that Misty May-Treanor, one of the competitors in the AVP tournament is indeed… a Hot Baseball Wife. If you’re into the butch-women-who-can-beat-you-at-every-sport-and-kick-your-ass thing.
She is married to Marlin’s Catcher Matt Treanor (hence the hyphened last name) and yes, that was the sexiest picture I could come up with. Besides, I’d rather look at her ass than at her grimmy face while spiking the ball.
Okay, we’ve located another picture! Here she is from the front…
July 13th, 2006 at 11:34 am
What a picture of Manny and Papi!
Nobody’s made “Brokeback Red Sox” yet?
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July 13th, 2006 at 2:02 pm
sarah, try and go one week without writing about the red sox. i dare you.
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July 13th, 2006 at 2:35 pm
Lance, that could only happen if we created a special subsection of the site for Sarah’s “tennis expertise”
Maybe we could call it “LineJudgeBump.com”
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July 13th, 2006 at 2:42 pm
In Boston, you can’t go a week without writing about the Red Sox even in the offseason! A few years ago, the Pats had won twentysomething games in a row, but it was the Curt Schilling deal that made the front page of the Boston Globe.
Not the front page of the sports section. The front page of the entire paper.
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September 25th, 2006 at 12:39 pm
[...] Then there’s Manny. While my love for Nomar was pure and trusting, my love for Manny is sick and twisted. I need him more than I like him. Why? Because without his bat—or an equivalent—protecting David Ortiz, in the words of Papi himself, “I won’t see a pitch. I wouldn’t even pitch to myself.” And while Manny—who’ll dive headfirst into a base but rarely attempts a diving catch—won’t make anyone’s list of top defensive outfielders, he does return the ball quickly from Fenway’s quirky left, barehanding the ball or transferring it from glove to hand with an infielder’s dexterity. Look, I know that he’s just not that into me, and yet I can’t let go. When Manny missed the All-Star game again this year, I excused it because I thought a) maybe he’s really hurt (yes it’s pathetic, the way we lie to ourselves) and b) so he’s skipping out on a meaningless exhibition game–he would never do that to me. Ha! Well hell hath no fury like a Sox fan scorned. [...]
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