Baseballed
When I was a kid I went out for a variety of different sports and stuck with most of them up until high school. For the most part I hated playing every organized school sport. Once I quit most sports I would get called things like “pussy” or “faggot”. It also didn’t help that the year I quit football was the same year I went out for our schools production of Beauty and the Beast. I just got to a point where I would rather spend my time with attractive ladies as opposed to wrapping my arms around sweaty teenage boys and trying to take them to the ground and then celebrating by taking a group shower. Yeah, I was the gay one.
I had played baseball since I was just a tiny kid, for some random league with team names like “Sport’s Page” and “Tim’s Window Repair”. I was more like a half baseball player half billboard combo. Sure, T-ball was fun when I was really little, but everyone was good at T-ball except for the fat nothings who would always hit all tee and no ball before face planting into first base.
Baseball really stopped being fun when kids started being pitchers. I was a tiny kid, so my strike zone was the size of a Cheez-It, plus 10 year old kids can’t exactly throw consistently so I’d get walked very often. The part that I hated (besides everyone on my team, in the stands, and the creators of this douchey sport) was getting nailed in the leg every other week by some kids “fast ball”. The ball would hit the same fucking spot every week too. It would always hit my high inner thigh area, just skimming across my childish manhood. It almost looked like a miniature, whiter version of this:
Sure, contact and injuries are part of every sport, but that was only the cause of some of my hate. I was just fucking terrible at the sport. I played baseball for about 5 years, got walked 25% of the time, averaged one hit per season which was always a foul ball, and also played in right field. They might as well have just replaced me with a cardboard cutout of myself. At least the cardboard cutout wouldn’t have developed an alarming amount of hate towards people and itself.
I actually think that this was the exact same time in my life that I started loving thunderstorms. I would hope for a thunderstorm every game day. Thunderstorms rarely canceled games, but when they did I was the happiest kid in the world. I’d get to stay at home, play Sega Genesis, and rub my non-bruised self up to Silk Stalkings at night. Then I’d drift off to sleep and dream about a hot, blond 16-year old runaway girl knocking on my window and rubbing on her with my elastic waist jeans on my family’s kitchen table.
My history in baseball can be summed up in one event that happened during one of my little league games. I was sitting on the bench hoping some catastrophic event would occur so I wouldn’t have to go up to bat again. That’s when the biggest kid on our team stood up on the bench, bent over with his ass in my direction and farted in my face. It was even more traumatizing because a hot 18-year old assistant coach lady was sitting on my other side. It totally ruined my chances for some illegal 10-year old on 18-year old action. If you take one thing from this site it should be this: No girl wants to bang a fart face, no matter what age.
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