Pink.

Starting tomorrow Victoria Secret will begin carrying a line of MLB inspired clothing as part of their PINK brand. Special sparkly clothing with nifty sayings like "I only kiss Padres fans". And zippered pockets.

I don't begrudge a person the right to watch baseball because the players are cute; honestly, they deserve props for sticking with it--baseball is boring and ballplayers are, on the whole, a homely bunch. If Jacoby Ellsbury is the best you can do, then the bar is set pretty low. (There aren't too many Gabe Kaplers out there.) And, let's face it, with the amount of spitting that goes on and the fact that many of them still chew tobacco, they're mostly just gross.

What does annoy me is having to constantly prove that despite my lack of a Y chromosome, I am a baseball fan. I don't enjoy repeatedly having to show that I understand and love the game; that I know the infield fly rule. (How did that become the barometer for fandom, anyway?) I don't enjoy being accused of being madly in love with Josh Beckett. (The man's favorite food is steak. Is there anyway that he could have provided a less predictable--and boring--response?) I don't enjoy having men assume that I don't know a damn thing about what's going on in the game and set about trying to explain it to me.

And, therein, lies the problem. Because women who watch baseball for the tight pants (and who, among ballplayers, wears tight pants anymore anyway?) and the pert asses exist, many men assume that all women who watch baseball do so for the highly developed gluteal muscles. Do I have an appreciation for a high, round ass? Sure. But it's not the be-all-and-end-all of my baseball fandom. In fact, to assume that my interest in the game goes no deeper is highly insulting. I like baseball and I shouldn't have to prove it to you.