Random nonsense re: America's Favorite Pastime
[Here, we have a superhero with something on his mind. Gather 'round, children, and harken to his tale.]
Sooo... It's October, which means two things. First, there's now an added chance of gettin' mauled, stabbed, shot, bitten, lawnmower-ed, or otherwise violated by a horrible monstrosity of some sort--the most wonderful time of the year, an' all that. Second, there's post-season baseball! No thanks t'camp, however, I've got no clue how the playoffs are goin', which pretty much blows. Therefore, t'honor that noble sport I'm unable to watch, I'm gonna tell a story.
So there's this Irish guy visitin' America for the first time, an' he decides to catch a ballgame. He gets a pretty good seat, right along the first base line, an' settles down t'watch the game. And it's a good one, high-scoring--the pitchers suck an' the batters are havin' a field day. First batter gets a double. Next batter triples and knocks in the run. Third guy homers and clears the bases, an' the crowd goes wild. The Irish guy, he's really gettin' into it even though he doesn't really get what's goin' on--he's just shouting "Run, run!" at the batters like everybody else after they get their hits. The next batter who's up, though, gets walked. So he's just strollin' toward first base, and the Irish guy's all confused. He starts yellin', "Why don't ya run, ya lazy S.O.B.!" So the guy sittin' next to him tries to explain: "Dude, he can't run--he got four balls."
The Irish guy considers this for a second, then stands up an' shouts, "Walk with pride, ya bastard!"
((ETA: Duty calls. Will pick up any threads when I get back, promise. Once more unto the breach, dear friends.))
Sooo... It's October, which means two things. First, there's now an added chance of gettin' mauled, stabbed, shot, bitten, lawnmower-ed, or otherwise violated by a horrible monstrosity of some sort--the most wonderful time of the year, an' all that. Second, there's post-season baseball! No thanks t'camp, however, I've got no clue how the playoffs are goin', which pretty much blows. Therefore, t'honor that noble sport I'm unable to watch, I'm gonna tell a story.
So there's this Irish guy visitin' America for the first time, an' he decides to catch a ballgame. He gets a pretty good seat, right along the first base line, an' settles down t'watch the game. And it's a good one, high-scoring--the pitchers suck an' the batters are havin' a field day. First batter gets a double. Next batter triples and knocks in the run. Third guy homers and clears the bases, an' the crowd goes wild. The Irish guy, he's really gettin' into it even though he doesn't really get what's goin' on--he's just shouting "Run, run!" at the batters like everybody else after they get their hits. The next batter who's up, though, gets walked. So he's just strollin' toward first base, and the Irish guy's all confused. He starts yellin', "Why don't ya run, ya lazy S.O.B.!" So the guy sittin' next to him tries to explain: "Dude, he can't run--he got four balls."
The Irish guy considers this for a second, then stands up an' shouts, "Walk with pride, ya bastard!"
((ETA: Duty calls. Will pick up any threads when I get back, promise. Once more unto the breach, dear friends.))