Fictional Monologue: Will You Join My Fantasy Baseball League? 

McSwweney’s just loves to reject me, so here is an imagined monologue I thought was funny, but they couldn’t use. Enjoy!

That’s right, my friend, it’s baseball season! Who cares? This guy! Now I have the unbridled pleasure of spamming your Facebook and Twitter newsfeed with every conceivable piece of baseball news to hit the Internet. Free agents? You bet. Trades? Absolutely. Stats? Oh, you know it. I’ll have the league leaders in RBIs, HRs, slugging percentage, hits, and runs posted every Saturday. And I will even post about all the intricate designs mowed into the outfield lawns at my favorite stadiums. 

I would feel bad about the visual and cognitive suffering you are about to endure in the forthcoming months of baseball, but I don’t. Nope, not one bit, because alas, I have dealt with more than enough inane posts flooding my Facebook newsfeed about Game of Thrones. I mean, do you really think I care about what happened during the last episode? Okay, fine — it is one of my favorite shows, but at least give me a spoiler alert before you ruin the entire damn episode with your post. 

So maybe I can deal with the Game of Thrones stuff, but seriously, I don’t want to see this month’s delivery from your wine club, or know about the ridiculous mansion Stephen Curry just bought. And don’t get me started on the political posts. The frequency at which you post about Trump and Russia and that weird lady with droopy eyes playing with her phone in the Oval Office and that Spicer guy who always says stuff my overweight, 6th grade P.E. teacher used to shout at me when I took too long at the drinking fountain, is appalling. 

Even if, somehow, politics became as appealing as attractive women and buffalo wings, I would still get sick of it. Oh, but hey, that reminds me: Will you watch the games with me at Hooters? I’ll pay …. please, man, if I watch it at home my wife will try to turn on HGTV every time I leave the room. Yes, I do love HGTV, but it’s baseball, baby! And what better place to watch the games than at Hooters?

Come on, man, it’s the least you could do after subjecting me to all those snobby wine club posts. By the way, what’s a Beaujolais? Anyway, now you will know my pain — get ready to learn the intricacies of the curveball and why that bag of chalk on the pitcher’s mound is called the rosin bag. 

This, my friend, is payback. And let me tell you, I’m gonna savor this season all the way to the Fall Classic. What’s that you say? The World Series couldn’t possibly be as good as the Cubs finally winning last year, well, you’re probably right, but I’m still going to bombard you with posts to repay you for the way you inundated my social media accounts with highlights from the Super Bowl — I hated every damn minute of football season. Baseball used to be America’s pastime, now everybody’s obsessed with football, and other forms of head trauma, like the UFC. Well, I don’t know about you, but I have a conscience and prefer to watch athletes who won’t get dementia before their 50th birthday.

See, baseball players are gentlemen, not barbarians. They play a game of pure strategy and skill, not violence and aggression. Oh, and speaking of strategy, will you join my fantasy baseball league? If you don’t, that’s fine, I will just take every opportunity over the next six months to solicit you, and all of your friends, to join my league, which also may or may not be a front so my wife doesn’t know I’m looking at weird porn fetishes on the Internet late at night. So DM me and I’ll add you to the league roster. Thanks!