Honestly, if loving that "handshake" is gay then call me Neil Patrick Harris. I say that not because I wasn't taken aback by the casualness with which two professional athletes cupped each other's genitals in front of thousands of onlooking fans in broad day light. Instead, I say it because I can't get enough of the mental image of the old, repressed alumni of 'The Goose Gossage School of Hyper-Masculine and Emotionally Constipated Hardball' grabbing their left breast in narrowly avoiding an untimely demise at the sight of some platonic holster checks between the boys. Again, having my testicles given a celebratory squeeze by a teammate wouldn't be my preferred way of celebrating a solid swing of the bat. However, so long as it gets people to try to suppress their laughter long enough to have a serious debate about the social acceptability of homoerotic self-expression during sport then I fully support it. There's not a fanbase that would be made more uncomfortable in their sexuality by two big, strong pillars of manliness gleefully checking the balance of each other's account at the sperm bank then that of a Major League Baseball team in Texas, and their distress leaves me almost as satisfied as firing off the only gun I care to unload when I'm anxious.
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