That sounds like I’m trying to be an asshole, right? It sounds like I woke up this morning and read that Mike Flanagan had committed suicide, and I’ve got no tact or personal connection to the man or his family so I came up with something jokey and tasteless for a headline. That’s what we do on the Internet, right? Joke about these things until they don’t matter?

I wish that were the case.

Flanagan’s body was found outside his Baltimore County home yesterday afternoon. He was 59.

Police have not released an official cause of death … But WBAL-TV Sports Director Gerry Sandusky confirmed with sources that Flanagan committed suicide “despondent over what he considered a false perception from a community he loved of his role in the team’s prolonged failure.”

Unbelievable.

Flanagan, in many respects, was as “Baltimore” as the city itself. He lived in Baltimore County. From 1975 until 1992, he played all but four of his 18 seasons in the Major Leagues there. He won a Cy Young for the Orioles in 1979 and a World Series in ’83, and in his post-playing days stuck around in Baltimore as a pitching coach, broadcaster and executive vice president of baseball operations. That would’ve been a general manager in most places. The Baltimore Orioles haven’t had a winning season since 1997, but as weird as it is to hope there was some reasonable explanation for a man taking his own life, you’ve got to hope that there was more to it than that.

The Baltimore Sun has started posting reactions from various Orioles players and executives, including a statement from Peter Angelos and this from Cal Ripken, Jr. I don’t think I can handle a sad Cal Ripken.

“I am so sorry to hear about Mike’s passing. He was a good friend and teammate and our thoughts are with Alex and his family. Mike was an Oriole through and through and he will be sorely missed by family, friends and fans. This is a sad day.”

Even sadder is Jim Palmer, who had to react to the news in the middle of last night’s game.

Rest in peace, Mr. Flanagan, and thank you for trying.

The video you’re about to watch spent most of yesterday afternoon being spread and shared around the Internet, and after so much of our coverage lately centering around spoiled kids and wretched adults who get what they want by bitching and complaining I wanted to put the spotlight on this — a nice adult and a grateful kid, and the way sports and fandom should work.

Boston Red Sox pitcher Josh Beckett finished his warmup tosses before Thursday’s game against the Kansas City Royals and walked over to a young fan, presenting him with a baseball. The kid’s reaction should make you smile, no matter how much your jaded Internet heart wants to start photoshopping him into things.

The event became so popular so quickly that NESN invited the boy and his family into their studio to talk about it, and that’s where we learn the best part. The kid was at the park with his father and grandfather, and it was the first time the three generations of his family had been to a ballgame together. Argh, my heart. You can watch that video after the jump.

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If you haven’t seen this video, I’m not going to spoil it for you. Click play, watch it, then experience what is either the mute button or an NESN having a crisis of the soul during a Red Sox/Orioles game. The absolute best part is the deadpan video description:

Nick Markakis takes strike one.

He sure does. This video is part of what I can only assume will be a never-ending series of guys grabbing boobs in public, because if you’re sitting next to your girlfriend for more than twenty minutes, chances are you’re going to (or at least want to) touch her boobs. I don’t know why we’re wired like that, but we are. Maybe it’s our 21st century equivalent to marking our territory. At least we aren’t pissing on you, ladies!

I think the public boob grab can be all right as long as you don’t make a face like that one weird soccer fan and you keep it to a minimum. It helps if you make the NESN guys laugh so hard they have to mute themselves for two minutes. Somebody listening at home is wondering what the next pitch is probably going to be, but nope, they aren’t going to find out because those nice young couples enjoying a summer night at Fenway Park are sexually active. (spoiler alert: another sh**ty fastball)

[h/t Bob's Blitz]

I was cleaning out my inbox yesterday (which is an awesome euphemism for a trip to the OB-GYN, ladies) when I came across the above picture of a Baltimore Orioles fan wearing his customized Nick Markakis jersey. I meant to post this last month when it was originally Tweeted and posted at Buzzfeed, but I lead a crazy life of freebased cocaine and toddler fight clubs, so sometimes I get distracted. Regardless, the above jersey, sent to me by a New York Yankees friend of mine, incited a great debate between me and said friend – we’ll call him Doucheknuckle for the sake of fluidity.

Doucheknuckle thinks that customized jerseys are stupid and should only be worn by small children, and yet he also agrees with me that children should be kept in a large cage in stadium basements, but that’s another debate. Meanwhile, I believe that customized jerseys are fun if done with creativity and genuineness, or at least recognizing rivalries and insulting other players. After all, people will probably think I’m a tool if I get a jersey with Burns on the back, and I’d rather people think I’m a tool for my collection of mesh tank tops. However, it would be acceptable if I purchased a customized Wilmington Quicksteps jersey to honor my great-great-grand-uncle Thomas P. “Oyster” Burns.

Either way, I’ve gathered my proof that customized jerseys are fun if they’re done in jest and, more significantly, attack a rival team. Feel free to weigh in and take the side of a guy named Doucheknuckle.

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A bad rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner is Hell on Earth. I’ve sat through everything from cracked pre-teen Christina Aguilera types to those quartets of old people singing opera (this is easily the worst), so I empathize with Baltimore Orioles manager Buck Showalter when the camera caught him mouthing “what the frank” (I think that’s what he was mouthing) during a particularly weird version of our National Anthem.

To his credit, when you manage the Orioles you’re mouthing that and shaking your head about 70% of the time. I think we need to take a more proactive approach to unusual covers of the Banner, air our what the fudges, and start garroting these people. You’re a good man, Buck, and I’m sorry you had to live through this.

[via @bubbaprog]

/glare

Something’s not quite right about baseball season this year. Maybe it needs time to settle. The Baltimore Orioles are 4-0. The Tampa Bay Rays added some big name free agents to their roster and they’ve yet to win a game. Cats and dogs are living together. Mass hysteria.

Whatever the problem, it’s time for the Rays to come together and figure out how to start winning ball games. Tonight they take on the Angels, and because you have never heard a joke about how long that team’s name is before, here is another one: The Los Angeles California Angels of the West Coast of the United States Area Code 90012 But Actually Anaheim.

Today’s Dugout follows.

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