As we all know, it doesn't matter if you can write your way out of a paper bag, all that matters is if you can compete on the field of intramural athletics. We have a theory that your personal relationships won't ever really evolve past high school, so the kings on the field will be the kings at the office for the rest of your life (it applies especially to you Ivies). Self-reflection and a feeling of intellectual superiority is just a crutch -- the only real accomplishment is a two-out, go-ahead RBI.

While we're happy to hear that Gawker, Inc. is 2-0 in softball while SFist is a lowly 0-1, we want an opportunity to prove our loss a fluke. They beat the , and recently beat the New Yorker's gang of chain-smoking navel gazers, but haven't even challenged league leaders High Times. While we can't pay to fly you Gawker kids out here, every day that you delay our satisfaction is a day that we become more powerful, because your budgetary reticence belies your ultimate cowardliness.

So the gauntlet is down, and satsifaction demanded. We bet a month of our ad money against topless pictures of Denton that we can beat you bitches at softball, with or without Krucoff. Charter a flight with all your dirty CheapTickets money from Gridskipper and marvel over the California sunset whilst you get a softball ass-fucking.