Slate Being Slate

I used to be a regular Slate reader, but it dawned on me a couple of years ago that cutesy and contrary for the sake of being cutesy and contrary gets old pretty quick. Today's piece on "How to Fake Your Way Through the 2008 Playoffs" is a good example of the stuff that made me stop clicking over there very often:

Conversation starter: "Say what you want about Ryan Dempster and Aramis Ramirez—superutility man Mark DeRosa is the Cubs' MVP."Conversation stopper: "Koyie Hill's Severed Fingers is the perfect name for my new death metal band!"
. . .

. . . Historical context: If the Brewers win it all, they could be the fattest World Series champions in baseball history. Milwaukee's 40-man roster features 12 players who weigh 220 pounds or more, including the (allegedly) 270-pound Prince Fielder, the 290-pound Sabathia, and Seth McClung, who ballooned to 475 pounds when he ate then-manager Ned Yost on Sept. 15. (The Brewers claim Yost was fired, but then how do you explain the ketchup stains on McClung's jersey?)

Some yuks to be sure, but it grows tiresome. Deep thought: you know, there's nothing wrong with simply being a casual fan and not knowing jack about the playoffs other than "I want [Team X] to win because they're the local guys/my boyfriend loves them/I want to participate in office camaraderie." If you know your stuff, great. If not, why fake it? Honest ignorance isn't as shallow as feigned, shallow knowledge.