Hey guys and gals!

So one of the things I enjoy the most about being part of the Bloguin Network (having joined in December), is access to a database of over 100 great sites on anything you could ever want in sports. There are baseball blogs, hockey blogs, college sports, MMA, really anything. Some of my personal favorites include SECRivals.com (SEC Sports), BlatantHomerism.com (Oklahoma and the Big XII), and FavreDollarFootlongs, where Gene Zarnick writes with the sharp wit that I hope to bring to my writing as well. Hell, the name of his website alone is more clever than anything I've ever come up with.

Anyway, being part of the network has many perks, beyond just having lots of good reading material while on the toilet. One of those perks is the opportunity to occasionally work with other sites, and collaborate with some of the other great writers on the network, which is what I did this weekend...

Out of every sport, baseball is the one I go furthest back with.

In my formative years, while my peers were ingesting unhealthy amounts of Sesame Street and  Power Rangers, I spent my time watching the Braves and Red Sox with my parents (Alright I can’t lie, I watched the Power Rangers too).

I played from the time I was barely old enough to tie my own spikes all the way until my high school graduation. And it’s the sport whose strategy and tactics I understand the best, making me annoying to watch postseason baseball with, as I turn into an armchair Tony LaRussa any time something even semi-exciting happens:

Well if you double-switch this guy with that guy, then the pitcher doesn’t have to bat until the 11th inning, we improve defensively at 2nd base and right field,  there won’t be a lefty vs. lefty match-up for eight batters, and…

Meanwhile, whoever I’m watching the game with, gives me the same stare your grandpa does when it’s time for him to go to the proctologist: Aaron, I really don’t care what you think about this double switch. Just shut up so I can enjoy this game!

Yet out of every sport that I do watch, baseball is still the one which I write about the least, and it really isn’t even close.

Before I start this column, it’s important to note that I’m a born and bred Red Sox fan.

I’ve been to Fenway Park more times than I can count. I can name every player on the 2004 World Series champions, as well as the five teams that proceeded them and the five that followed. I know that Clay Buchholz dated a Penthouse Pet of the Year (and you better believe I’m proud of him like a father for it). Hell, at this point I’ve basically put the Sausage King’s kids through college (every Sox fan knows exactly who I’m talking about).

I spent my youth rooting for guys like Brian Daubach, Heathcliff Slocumb and Shea Hillebrand just as much as Pedro Martinez, Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz. And I still remember where I was and who I was with when Martinez pitched the game of his life in the 1999 Division series against Cleveland, as well as the Aaron Boone game of 2003 and the two Red Sox championships in the four years that followed.

Yet, after all that, here I am, at 12:05 a.m. on Thursday morning, November 5, 2009, watching the New York Yankees- the evil empire of baseball- celebrate their 27^th World Championship. And as I’m watching them jump on top of each other like a group of Little Leaguer’s with too much sugar in their systems, a strange thought came to me. I’m actually enjoying it. A little. I think.

Crazy I know, and embarrassing on some fronts. But I just don’t hate this Yankees team. At least not as much as the previous versions. They just seem different.

Baseball’s not a perfect sport, we all know that.

The games start too late. They run too long. Tragically, Steve Phillips is no longer around to analyze (He’s innocent I tell ya!). And because of rain, snow, sleet, meteor showers and aurora borealis, this postseason- which seems like it started 11 weeks ago- might not end until sometime around Christmas Eve.

But come on this is baseball. It’s America’s pastime. And it’s time for the World Series.

Whether its incredible athletes (ok incredible might be a little strong), beautiful girlfriends or just baseball you like, there's something for everybody in this World Series. So while you shouldn't need a reason to tune in, I'll give you a few anyways.

When we look back on the year of 2009 and baseball, it’ll likely be the “Summer of Steroids.”

Manny Ramirez failed a test.  Alex Rodriguez came clean.  Word leaked that David Ortiz and Sammy Sosa had enough testosterone flowing through them to make Superman walk the other way in a bar fight.

But taking steroids is a cognizant act, a knowing decision to manipulate your DNA and allow your body to reach peak physical performance.  Sure we chastise and chide these players, but who among us doesn’t strive to be the best at whatever we do.  It’s the human being in us.

Josh Hamilton is a human being too.

It finally happened.

The last big piece of the steroid puzzle fell into place this week, when word was leaked that Sammy Sosa- he of 609 career home runs- failed a drug test in 2003. Like the ending of a gangster movie, the walls closed in and last big Don finally fell, piano music playing quietly in the background.

The information itself had about as much shock value as your mother telling you as a 15-years-old that Santa Claus doesn’t exist. Of course at the same time, it’s still weird watching her place the presents under the tree for the first time.

Sosa started his career in Texas as a slap hitting speed and singles hitter, and over the better course of the 1990’s transformed himself into the Dominican hulk, his body built like a brick house, and neck thicker than a Texas strip steak.

(Author's note: This is just one man's unbiased, impartial view of Citi Field. In no way am I implying that I am speaking for all Mets fans. Just my thoughts)

After surviving a brutally cold winter in the northeast, last Sunday was one of those beautiful spring days that made it all worth it.

Upon waking up, I decided that rather than doing the original productive things I had planned, namely sitting around and watching re-runs of King of the Hill until the NBA playoffs started, I wanted to d something productive, and something outdoors.

Maybe go for a hike? Nope, after a winter of sitting on the couch, my lung capacity wasn’t nearly there. Play some hoops? Not really interested in breaking a sweat. How about go to the Mets game? I can sit around, and eat and be outside all at the same time. It’s official, I’m a genius.

After phoning a few friends, me and my buddy Rosa were on our way, without directions, and no tickets in hand, just a few hours before the first pitch.

We did get there right in time, and with it came all the excitement of going to a new stadium for the first time. There were the shiny new signs, and bright new lights, as well as the highs and lows of an afternoon at the park.

Overall it was a great day, but it would have been nice to have a game-plan going in. So with it, I decided to do a little write-up for all you Mets fans out there who may not have made your first excursion to the new park yet.

Here it is folks: Your Idiots Guide to Citi Field

Growing up in central Connecticut, the start of baseball season was as exciting as any time of year.

Every April all our thoughts centered on the American League East, with Yankees fans repeatedly teasing us Red Sox fans, adorning us with fun pokes like “1918,” “Got Rings?” and any other stupid T-shirt slogan they could steal to make us feel bad about ourselves.

As we got older, the fights went from the playground to the diamond itself, as my high school team pretty much was divided right down the middle with Red Sox and Yankees fans, the jabs a little cheaper and dirtier than a few years earlier.

Of course there is a third team that was within driving distance, but nobody ever talked about the New York Mets. I can count the number of Mets fans I knew growing up on one hand, and rarely did we ever pay to attention to anything they had to say. They were like that kid in elementary school who ate too much paste. It was probably best just to ignore them, and pretend like they didn’t exist.

While the Yankees were winning championships, and the Red Sox had arguably the most dominant pitcher of his generation, the few Mets fans I knew were constantly trying to jump in the conversation, telling us about their newest washed up free agent signing. Mo Vaughn is going to hit 50 home runs we were told and Robbie Alomar will bat .350. John Franco has to be the best closer in baseball.

According to their fans, every year was the “Mets year.” Even though last year was supposed to be the “Mets year.” And the year before that one too. It was like going to the strip club with your friend, and him insisting the morning after that he was “this close,” to taking one of the girls home. After the third or fourth time you get sick of hearing the same story.

With the 2009 baseball season just underway, here are some thoughts to take with you:

To anyone who knows or talks sports with me, the one thing I’ve been saying since the middle of this off-season is that the New York Yankees are simply not the juggernaut that everyone is making them out to be.

Despite having the games highest payroll by a mile, it is still a group that is old and injury prone, and doesn’t nearly play the defense it used to.

With the news that Alex Rodriguez will be out for the first month of the season, the pressure is still on in New York, heightened of course by the off-season signings of C.C. Sabathia, A.J. Burnett and Mark Teixeira.

Mark Teixeira is the new face of the Yankees