The Little League team sponsor is going to pull the plug if you kids can't get your act together
You're not the rag tag group of so-and-so's he thought you were.
I don’t care if I never get back…
Alright, kids, it’s time to cut the shit. No, I’m not your new coach, I’m Mr. Pederson. Pete Pederson. From Pederson’s Pizza. Good Christ, I’m your team sponsor. The guy who put the uniforms on your backs and the post-game pizza in your ungrateful little tummies.
The time has come to wean you off the pizza teat. That’s right, no more freebies after losses. It’s about time you start earning your slices by putting some ticks in the ol’ wins column. I can’t have the “Pederson’s Pizza” name next to a goose egg in the standings in the town rags any longer. I’m a laughingstock at the local kid’s sports sponsors’ dinners. They told me I’d be better off putting my money into sponsoring the 3 AM shift at the 24-hour dance-a-thon for the general concept of hope, or adopting an abandoned highway than continuing to back you losers. If you think that hurts to hear, how do you think I feel? It’s my name on those uniforms.
Frankly, after all I’ve done for you, I feel a bit disrespected. Before I came along, you didn’t even have uniforms or proper equipment. You were wearing mismatched sweatpants and old, dirty t-shirts. Your catcher was using old couch cushion you found on the side of the road as a chest protector and a copper pot as a helmet! You didn’t even look like a ballclub. You looked like a bunch of idiots.
Before you became the Pederson’s Pizza Pirates, you didn’t even have a team name! You were officially known as “Region Three,” but you had an unofficial nickname with the other teams around the league. Do you know what that nickname was?
That’s right. They called you the Fuck Bums. Would you like to go back to being Fuck Bums or continue to be Pirates?
That’s what I thought.
I’m looking around, and I see potential here. I see you - a kid with glasses - clearly you’re a nerd who can formulate some sort of strategic, outside-the-box way to manufacture runs. No? You’re just nearsighted. Okay, how about you - tubby catcher - you must be the team’s comedic relief. Can you come up with some pranks to pull on the other team to distract them from the task at hand, helping to lead your team to victory? I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that pranks were “the lowest form of comedy.” What about you - the kid who looks like he’s way too old to be on this team. Yes, you. Obviously you. You’re six-foot-two with a mustache. Please tell me you’re a bad-boy twelve-year-old the locals tell tall tales about, who signed up for the team just to clear his name and prove that he’s not as bad as he seems by leading the way to victory with your amazing talents and surprising leadership? Hold on, you’re actually a 19-year-old babyfaced creep? Somebody call the cops.
Now, all the blame doesn’t fall on you kids. I have to point a finger at your coach as well. A man who is coaching your team as community service because he crashed his potato chip delivery truck while he was high on Robitussin. He was driving a potato chip delivery truck while he was high on Robitussin because a career-ending injury ruined his shot at The Big Leagues. Clearly, he hasn’t yet rediscovered his love of the game by seeing it through the eyes of babes. He’s gotta find his inner whimsy so he can start doing a better job preparing you for victory. What would you kids say is the greatest lesson he’s taught you so far?
What would you say is the second greatest lesson after “don’t drive a potato chip delivery truck while high on Robitussin”?
“Keep your eye on the ball?” That’s some real first-level amateur bullshit. To be honest, it’s the kind of thing I’d expect from a bunch of Fuck Bums, and I thought you said you didn’t want to be Fuck Bums.
Hey, wait, stop that. Stop chanting “Fuck Bums.” You don’t want to be Fuck Bums. Being a Fuck Bum is a bad thing. No, you can’t just own it! You can’t reclaim it as a positive thing! Bonding and becoming friends is not the most important thing! Winning is the most important thing! Bringing glory to the name of Pederson’s Pizza through Little League Baseball victory is the only thing that matters.
Stop that! Stop hitting me with baseball bats! It’s not even hurting all that much; that’s how bad you are at swinging baseball bats! I paid for those bats, you can’t just hit me weakly with them!
I’m going to leave now, but it’s not because this hurts. The getting hit with bats thing, I mean. You hitting me with bats doesn’t hurt as much as the fact that I’m sponsoring a bunch of kids who can’t even hurt a guy by pummelling him repeatedly with metal bats. Maybe you should think about that some before your next game.
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