And now back to things we've never done.

So earlier this year, the A-Rod got himself in some trouble by shouting, "I got it" or something like that as he ran in front of a Toronto Blue Jay infielder who was about to catch an easy pop-up.

The ball dropped and the Blue Jays were livid.

So yesterday, during game three of what turned out to be a five-game, all-day, placed-fourth-out-of 24-teams tournament, we ran to third and in front of the shortstop, who had just fielded a ground ball.

"Wooo!" we said, hoping he would try to tag us and thus, keep the inning of a tight game alive.

As soon as we did it, our heart sank. The shortstop ignored us, got the out at first and ran into the dugout.

Unlike the A-Rod, though, we immediately stopped both the shortstop and the third basemen.

"Sorry about that," we said. "That was ass and (we'll) never do it again. Christ. It's not like (we're) the A-Rod."

Let's not talk about two games later when we hit a two-out, bases loaded, what-would-have-been-a-double but for the ump f*cking us and calling it foul, and, therefore, a two-foul-ball, rally-killing strikeout. Bastard.

Nor shall we talk about when the ump threatened to eject us from the game for mouthing off about the bad call for three straight innings.

Oopsies.