I'm Keith Hernandez

By Keith Hernandez
I wear cleats

Hello, I'm Keith Hernandez.

Some of you may remember me from my days playing with the Mets, when I won the 1979 MVP award, or when I won two World Series with the team. I have more than 2,000 career hits, and a lifetime average of .296. And for those of you who find defensive prowess to be sexy, I'm an 11-time Gold Glove winner. Top that, Steve Garvey.

I also did a two-episode cameo on Seinfeld a few years back. I dated Elaine and called George a "chucker."

But enough about me. Let's talk about you out there. Are you a man? That's great. Glad to hear it. Are you a woman? Well, if you are, please get out of the dugout. You have no place there.

A lot of people are upset with me because I voiced those exact sentiments on-air during a game this past Saturday. After former gay Met Mike Piazza hit a home run, my eyes spied him giving a high-five to a raven-haired woman in the Padres dugout. Naturally, I was stunned. Not only because Piazza actually hit a dinger, but because he was celebrating with someone who had a vagina. In the dugout.

Now let me say that I'm all for "celebration" with women. After all, I'm Keith Hernandez. Say you have a big game -- by all means, live it up. Knock out two homers and drive in four one hot evening in Philadelphia? Take a buxom young blonde back to your hotel room and ring her liberty bell. Then let her make you a stack of pancakes and dust off your furniture. That's how it's done.

But please, don't engage in such tomfoolery while in the dugout. The dugout is a place for baseball talk, sporting gumption, tobacco chewing and sunflower seed spitting. It's where men adjust their genitalia and scratch that itch on their ass that just won't go away. A dugout is a sacred place. Its rugged steps are for cheering, the benches for lounging and the bat racks for idle talk about the opposing pitcher's two-seamer. And his wife.

Don't get me wrong. Women certainly have their place. Like I said, take them to your hotel room. Let them use your kitchen to cook meals for you. Hell, even let them use your bathroom to shower if you're feeling generous.

But they don't belong in certain places. The dugout is one of those places. So are board rooms, school administrative positions, executive offices, on stage as stand up comedians, in the military, in manual labor positions, as college professors, newsrooms, on Wall Street, any sort of engineering position, steel mills, scientists, airline pilots, Web development, the auto industry and book publishing.

So please, women, just get out of the dugout. You don't belong there. Would a man ever try to infiltrate your sewing circle or your weekly baking club? How about your frequent bitch-and-moan-about-everything-and-eat-a-pint-of-Haagen-Daas sessions? I don't think so. And if we did, you'd be just as upset as I am. We know our limits. Now you need to learn yours.

Thank you for your time. Until next time, I'm Keith Hernandez.