Congrats, You’ve Made It to the Majors
Congratulations. You’ve been bumped up from Triple-A and have officially made it to The Show. “The Show” is what we players call the major leagues, but of course you knew that already—you’re a goddamn baseball player! But you still have a lot to learn, buddy, if you want to stay with us in the Majors.
It’s not all caviar and champagne; just some of it—like 40 percent. SHUT UP! Don’t speak. I have a lot to say.
First off, you should know who you’re talking to. I’ve been left fielder on this team for 50 years, which means I’ve been around the block a few times, 50 times to be exact. Rumor has it they are thinking of trading me to the Tigers, but that’s all it is—a rumor. No one has caught more foul balls, hit more foul balls, or stolen more foul balls from children than me. I trained every scrub who’s walked through those doors: Mickey Mantle, Albert Pujols, Ted Bundy. They would have been nothing without my help.
You’re wondering how I got my start? Simple: janitorial work. Matt Damon and I are deep in the weeds in a lawsuit because you can’t just go around stealing the story of how you got your start.
But yes, it’s true: I’m the janitor who went to the chalkboard and drew the perfect baseball diamond. But those pompous, rule-following coaches can’t ever change me. I’m a diamond in the rough. I won’t ever stop doing speed.
I see the way you’re looking at me; you’re wondering how a 65-year-old man with a bum leg and a ticket for public urination is still making his way around the pitch. Well, if you must know, I recently took a bit of a pay cut. And a title cut. And I started mopping up after practices again. I may be the worst player in the league, but I’m the Babe Ruth of unclogging toilets.
My advice is to stay humble. Don’t start cheating on your wife immediately. Wait a week or two. Show some respect for the game.
Every day, I get here at the crack of dawn and kiss the mound. Really get in there, tongue, caressing, telling the mound my dreams and fears—how we should just leave this crazy town and get a casa on the water.
My point is you should create some relationships here. You gotta trust your team. We do a weekly poker game to create a sense of comradery. I’m in the hole pretty bad. I took out a loan to cover it, but I’m on a bit of a losing streak. I’ll get out of it. I always land on my feet.
Do you got any money on you? Nah? Oh, not in your baseball pants, that’s fine. I’ll ask you again later.
Speaking of money. Don’t let it change you. You think I always had this ruby-crusted crown and velvet robe? You gotta earn this stuff. Don’t make any big choices at the end of the season. That’s something Tina Fey said about SNL, but it applies here cause baseball also has seasons.
Oh, you’re surprised I know who Tina Fey is? You think I’m just some illiterate guy who can’t keep up with those East Coast comedy elites? Well, I had sex with Tina Fey, and it went pretty okay, not that it’s any of your business.
I know you gotta go to the bathroom, and me talking to you is making it so you can’t go, but I thought we should have this talk now—before the rest of the team starts lying to you about how I’m a bad guy and you shouldn’t lend me money.
Kid, you’re gonna be fine. You got a good head on your shoulders and I like the cut of your jib. Just remember to keep your chin up and hit straight. Or hit wherever you’re trying to hit. Just don’t hit me, ha. Well, I hear the coach coming in, guess I should go to the mound and start my day.
See ya later, player, and welcome to The Show.