As Jazz Chisholm lay writhing in the dirt, victim to a foul that clipped him square in the balls, pearl-clutching YES announcers Ryan Ruocco and Paul O'Neill simply refused to say what happened.
Remember the old rules about swearing on TV? They're gone. We now occupy a world where politicians say "fuck," and nobody bats an eye. Good grief, yesterday, the President nicknamed U.S. Sen. Jon Ossoff from Georgia - Os-jerkoff. Are you worried about the loss of decorum? Listen: That ship has sailed. Yet the two Yankee announcers danced around Chisholm's situation like ballerinas, taking for a solid five minutes without ever saying aloud what happened.
Moreover, when Chisholm left the game, still in agony, both announcers acted surprised, denying verbal comfort to a fellow human being, one who was clearly suffering a pain that links modern man to prehistoric Neanderthals, and which - now and a million years ago - cuts to the heart of the male experience.
They could not bring themselves to speak any of these words...
Balls
Testicles
Gonads
Cojones
Nuts
Bollocks
Genitals
Ballsacs
Ta-tas
Nads
Crown Jewels
Giggleberries
California Raisins
Weather Balloons
Seed bags
Cosmic Cubes
Queenmakers
Happy Chandeliers
The Straits of Hormuz
Free speech? What's that? Instead, they talked about talking about what they couldn't talk about - what Ruocco later called a "region" they could not discuss. And remember: This is cable TV, where even white bread Anderson Cooper has been known to swear. Of course, they showed video replays of Chisholm being neutered. They showed Boone, smiling through a grimace. They showed teammates laughing. They showed Chisholm's face, a mask of bottomless anguish. The poor guy took one square on the oysters. Today, those ping pong balls must be as flat as beer coasters. I'm feeling it, just writing the words.
Let's hope Chisholm doesn't sing falsetto for the rest of 2026. And come on, YES: How about joining the modern world! If a ball mashes some poor soul's testicles, for God's sake, say what happened.
And by the way, bringing Doval into any close game is like kicking yourself in the nuts. I didn't think that was possible. But what do I know? Excuse me, just thinking about it, I gotta ice down my "region."
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Dandy Danglers
Mummy Daddy Buttons
Smelly Smeggy Sperm Sacs
Self-doodle bulbs
Baby Makers
Jellybeans
Gobstoppers
Hopefully, Chisholm was wearing a jockstrap with the protective cup. I know I wouldn't play baseball without that. I heard Charlie Hayes used to play without one. When people asked him why, he'd say he's already got enough kids.
We lost. Boone. Doval.
Nuts.
Nuts weeks
You know, in the old days, in Italy, they used to castrate young boys with beautiful high voices so they could become "castrati". These were opera singers with the power of a tenor but the range of a soprano. They were castrated before they started adolescence. This was to prevent hormonal changes from the effects of testosterone from making their voices deeper. (Testosterone not only makes facial hair and gives you muscles, it also makes the voice deeper. I think it makes the vocal cords thicker.)
Anyway, I once read an excerpt on the internet about how they did these castrations. And it's not how you'd expect. The parents of a talented boy singer would send him away to a special school to become the next great singer. There, they'd bring a tub of hot water (I think it was hot water), strip the unsuspecting boy naked, put him into the tub butt first. Then a bunch of strong men would forcibly hold the boy down whilst squeezing his nut sack with all their might and main. (You can imagine the severe pain from this torture.) After a bunch of these "treatments" over a course of many weeks, the boy's testicles would eventually be destroyed, and he would be a "castrati". (I don't know if this was the true method to producing a castrati, but it sounds reasonably real. Although I'm not sure how the boy still had a voice left after all the screaming he must've done. This was the time before they had anything like laughing gas to deaden the pain.)
Moral of the story: if you're a young boy with no facial hair, do not sing well in the church choir. Instead, do your best imitation of "Alfalfa" in the Little Rascals. Okay, that might be a little bit of an exaggeration, because they've stopped this barbaric practice. I don't think we've had a castrati in the opera since maybe the 1800's. Hope that story doesn't have you clutching your pearls, hahahahahaha!
"...bringing Doval into any close game is like kicking yourself in the nuts. I didn't think that was possible..."
I don't think it's necessary to kick oneself in his nuts. Sir Isaac Newton invented gravity for that! For any brave male soul, I suggest straddling a fence (use a fence with a wide top ledge, not those pointed spikes, or you'll disembowel yourself). Then whilst standing on top o' the fence, let one of your feet slip, so that your body slams down ball first on the fence top. Straight of the movie "Jackass", eh?
Alternatively, every gymnast (and every Benny Hill fan) knows about the pommel horse and the straddle mount fail. (Sound of crushing nuts!)
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