When it comes to sports collectables, autographs and general memorabilia, you could say that I’m a big-time conservative. I fear the inevitability of change, in that I always expect my favorite players to be traded, so why would I invest my money and time into supporting them? Additionally, there’s the scandal factor, as in I wouldn’t want to spend a few hundred dollars for, say, a David Freese autographed glove if it turns out that he’s running an orphanage only as a front for an organ farm. (And if he is doing that, I want in, damn it.)

Yet here I am, this gigantic sucker for both sports and quirky artwork, admiring artist Dave Choate’s fun and to-the-point-titled work, “Sports Paintings”. The bulk of Choate’s work revolves around a certain Evil Empire team that he’s a fan of, but mostly his self-taught art stems from a love of sports and art. Much like my Kate Upton finger paintings, or as the judge called them, “Exhibit A”.

My work has been described as whimsical. At the risk of sounding like a moron, my goal is to come away with something cool. I’ve found that my best paintings are the ones where I have the most happy accidents, so I really try to tap into my subconscious or right brain and not analyze every stroke. It reminds me of the Yogi Berra quote, “How the hell are you gonna hit and think at the same time?” I stay loose, try not to think, go with the flow and have faith that I’ll eventually discover something that I couldn’t have created on my own, at least consciously.

I’m a Connecticut native and am a fan of the New York Yankees and Oakland Raiders teams of the 70′s and 80′s.

Choate’s art is a little pricey, but I think it’s pretty fantastic. In fact, if I were still selling meth, I’d probably buy all of his paintings. Wait, did I say selling meth? I meant making porn. I don’t want you guys to think poorly of me.

After the jump, check out the With Leather Art Gallery’s “Sports Paintings” exhibit, and feel free to purchase any of the Mike Tyson paintings for me.

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It’s good to know that some people out there are idolizing baseball greatest heroes.  Guys who played the game the right way, like Mickey Mantle and Pete Rose.  Because when I’m getting some expensive and permanent artwork done to the canvas that is my skin, I want to honor drunks and degenerate gamblers.  That’s why I got portraits of my mom and dad.

Big League Stew spoke to Mike, DeVries, the artist responsible for the Pete Rose and Nightmare Mantle.  DeVries spent 7-8 hours each inking these on a couple of friends.

I’m sorry, I can’t continue this story any more.  Mantle is creeping me the F out.  I hope that’s a leg and not a forearm.  I couldn’t imagine that on my forearm.  If you went to bed with your arm anywhere near your head he’d whisper drunken threats of violence to you all night.

Wow, sometimes sports stars can keep shocking you with their dark secrets even after they die. Like Mickey Mantle and the Yankees of the 1950s.

THE Bronx Bombers were scoring at will in the late 1950s – sometimes with hookers supplied by a well-connected pimp, newly declassified government documents reveal.

"A confidential source, who has furnished reliable information in the past, advised in June 1957 that a very prominent Washington, D.C.-area gambler and bookmaker arranged dates for members of the New York Yankees baseball club at a Washington, D.C., house of prostitution" – a group including Mantle.

Such a dark day for baseball. When an alcoholic Hall of Fame slugger whose favorite Yankee Stadium memory was getting a blowjob under the bleachers is found to have actually engaged in the services of a prostitute… well, I just don't know if the sport can ever heal these wounds.