Guys, we’re all aware of the struggles we’ve been having putting runs up and winning games. We’ve wasted a lot of good pitching performances with the inability to get a key hit. My pre-game Bigelow tea-party and group hug don’t seem to be as inspirational as I’d hoped. So, I’ve dipped into the “Road Trip Hooker Fund” jar and hired someone to help out. Take it away…
Whatsamatta with ya? I’ll tell ya what…ya got no heart! You go out there and run around in your tight pants and your fancy socks and collect your big pay checks but you don’t have what it takes! Paradin’ around till all hours with your pretty girls and your foreign beer…you make me wanna puke!
Yeah, no offense Skip, but this guy isn’t really motivating me to do anything but kick his wrinkly ass.
You better bring a coupla your boyfriends you four-foot-nuthin pile of sissy! Off writin’ your “life story” when you’re barely old enough to grow fuzz on your peaches! Go put on a skirt!
HEY! I WAS GONNA WEAR A SKIRT…YOU KNOW…SANS UNDERWEARS…TO GIVE “BENNIE AND THE JETS” A LITTLE AIR…BUT TEK SAID IT MADE ME LOOK “HIPPY”…WHATEVER THAT MEANS. I FIGURED IT WAS AN INSULT SO I MIXED A LITTLE NAIR IN WITH HIS SHAMPOO.
I’ll give ya hippy you light-footed, box-wearing pant-load.
Whoa, boys, let’s all calm down. We’re all trying to accomplish the same thing…
Listen up, cueball, I’m tring to “accomplish” collecting a few bucks and getting a shot at that blondie. She had on a tank top the other night…it was like watching a coupla kittens wrestling under a blanket when she walked. Where is she…
“Hippy” just means thick around the middle, not like you’re some Woodstock type…did you say Nair?
Shut it, Noodle Arm. Well, okay, that didn’t go as planned. I’m going with Option B. Effective tomorrow we start every practice with a sing-a-long of Carly Simon’s “These Are The Good Old Days.” If that doesn’t get you going, nothing will.
