Back it goes that seems like a long one! Still going! Still up there just going
and going! It's gone! Outta here! Literally in outer space.
To the moon Alice he said to that ball. Upsetting the logical
order of the universe on that one. Look look look! That ball is long gone! Home run! A river of tears for
the pitcher. Emblazoned only with obvious self hate and want for childhood memories of popsicles
and sticky fingers that guy is, that pitcher he is a such a schmuck for
yielding such a mammoth moonshot outta here. What a very
unplayable baseball. Hit in a manner nobody can even attempt to field to make an
out for his team! The hitter can run and touch every base one at a time until
finally he touches the last base home plate uninhibited. He's come home because nobody on
the opposite team could get to that ball because of the boundaries of the
field. This is a point for the hitting team! Our team! Touching the base home
plate it's a point! A run! Swung on with the vigor of a mad man. An actual psycho with a bat in
his hands literally murdering the ball dead sending its stiff and bloating
carcass into the throng of bloodthirsty fans situated for a day of family time
in left field. They want that dead ball they will fight over it. They are
wolves for it! Give them the murdered baseball! Hopefully our man there hopefully he promised a kid
with a deadly disease that he would hit one outta here today against this
schmuck hopefully he promised he would hit one out and it would be a run and
the kid would be healed and be able to leave the confines of the room that has
kid things brought in by family and friends but is still a hospital room
underneath the veneer of sports posters and video games and familiar-type
items. It's still that hospital bed where that kid will get eaten
alive by the disease in front of loved ones and nurses and doctors who see it
all the time the eating and devouring of children. They get paid, the doctors
and nurses, and go home and come back to work and some new kids with diseases might be there or some
other kids might be dead or both. But this psycho mad man professional hitter who hits balls to
the moon he hopefully promised a kid he would hit one outta here and the kid
could leave that room and go to his real home. His home where he has a real
room and real clothes and sports posters. This home run
probably most likely indeed healed a sick kid because the hero who hit it promised it
would. What a day! The miracle of sports! The fraternity of our great game of
hitters and healers and ball murderers. And that pitcher still a little weepy
out there still moping like a bastard. He's a bastard that guy that pitcher.
Good guy though, does a lot for his community. Lets just hope he hopefully did
not promise a sick kid from his own personal community that he or she would be healed and go home to his or her
real room if he happened to prevent a single home run in today's game. He might've
just killed that kid, logically speaking. Wouldn't that be something! What a day! Now the fireworks in
celebration of the home run! Bang! Boom! Get yourself a celebratory cocktail
everyone! Get a stiff drink get it and slam it stuff it on down the hatch
because the man our man nailed that ball outta here! Gone! The
scavenger wolf hyenas they got their paws all over it and are tearing it
apart! Watching them now. Hey don't drop your hot dog! Ha ha can't drop the dog my man! But he got a few shreds
of that decimated and picked-bone-dry ball anyway without dropping the dog! The
crowd loved seeing that hot dog save. Boom fireworks!
What a show today! It's all happening here my friends! That's
a firework! More and more coming from everywhere! What a show kicked off by
this home run nailed outta here to the moon! The numero uno explosion off the bat
leading to all these explosions of light and color from every direction. A veritable
firebombing. Illuminating the pitcher, now crouching behind the mound,
illuminating his tears of embarrassment. Burning the very image of the ball
thats now gone game-wise and existence-wise into his head. And maybe even the
kid he killed, we can only speculate! That's the beauty of
this wonderful game of ours. It belongs to all of us it's ours we are the
stewards all of us. Every single gosh darn one. Stewards making up the parts of
a sum larger than if we added us all together. It's that big.
Fireworks! They say OUTTA HERE! They're in the shape of the words! Can
you believe it? What will they think of next? You know our stadium celebration
guys they are the best. Stu and the Crew as I call them because Stu Benson he's
the boss of that crew. The brains of the good times, the unforgettable home run
times. These guys behind the scenes making sure everyone here
for family time and for the old game is having just the best time. We've got
the music the home run music. We got Kid Rock! This sound system is top notch let me tell you.
What a day! When we get a point in the way of the home run where the ball is
erased from multiple existences it just brings us all together. The game's got
fabric, weaved and needled together. Stitched, like that ball used to be. The ball's
stitching becoming the game's stitching of all of us when it gets blotted and
annihilated by the psycho swing of the bat of the guy! Stu and the Crew at it
again now with the parade float coming out of left field. This is new this year the parade float.
What a thing! Stu and Crew made it themselves. Paper mache and the like.
With the unmistakable Perseus donning our unmistakable Gil the Trout mascot
head, holding what is unmistakably Medusa's decapitated noggin itself donning
a freshly made paper mache mask of that bastard pitcher. Ha ha watch out center
fielder watch out you crummy sonuva here comes Stu! Ha ha Stu having a good time
with him now kind of chasing him. Ha ha. Stu drives that thing like he was born
in a parade is all I gotta say about how he drives that thing. He and that float
vehicle are just a single organism. Stu's Crew jogging alongside with the pistols! New
this year the antique Colt Peacemakers. They still work! Ha ha watch out shortstop. Stu and the
Crew! What a day! Just when you think you've seen it all you see one hit outta here like that. It
was a massive hit over all the legal containers of the field! The most exciting
play in sports as they say. This game of ours it's just a beautiful thing.
Family time here at the ballpark. We got ice cream for people to buy! And you
oughta get yourself an ice cream after that hot performance at the plate the
home run performance. Get yourself cooled off from the heat of the rocket
engined ball hit to the moon and into left field to the writhing-in-ecstasy
throng. Put that ice cream in your glove, even the grown men of you. Ha ha Stu
nudging that bastard pitcher with the bumper of the parade floatmobile pointing
up to the paper mache face on the bodyless Medusa head. Pointing like hey buddy you
bastard this is you up there! Ha ha love it! The old pastime as they say. What a day!