Right Field Memoirs 3

Suniland Park. Miami, Florida. Late Nineteen Eighties.

So, I am stuck out in snoozville, USA again. Right field. Fourth inning. The game is snailing along. Run after run, on walk after walk. And dribbled infield hit after dribbled infield hit. And walk after dribbled infield hit. And dribbled infield hit after walk. And, well you get the idea. A whole lot of nothing to do for a right fielder. The other team is winning once again-something like 12 to a little. We got like three, I think. It's a whoop down. And I got nothing to do, but spit some spit, punch my glove and yell out of nowhere, ' Hey batta batta, hey batta batta, suh Wing, batta batta, cant-hit-it cant-hit-it cant-hit-it, suh wing batta, batta, can't-hit-it.


Sometimes that works. Sometimes is doesn't. And to be clear, when I say "sometimes that works" I am not referring to the heckling working on startling the batter into a whiff. No, I am saying sometimes me yelling that works in getting rid of my dang boredeom. But most of the time it doesn't. And this is one of those times in which it doesn't. I am more gawd dang bored than ever. I blame that sick motha fucka Abner Doubleday who created this childhood purgatory.



All evil genius-like, I could just picture Doubleday now.

"Hmmm, yes, I will create a sport which will include positions to play in which certain people will be all alone and away from everyone. And forced to stay out there for 3 outs long, which could be 10 minutes or could be an hour. You just don't know. And this sport will become so popular that young children will play it. And the ones chosen to play right field will be bored out of there minds.,...ahhh haha haha"

Doubleday was down right evil! DAMN YOU DOUBLDAY! DAMN YOU STRAIGHT TO HELL WHERE YOU WILL BE FORCED TO PLAY RIGHT FIELD-IN A NEVER ENDING INNING!

So now that I have established the fact that I don't quite care for Doubleday, I would like for it to be known that FINALLY, on the fields of Suniland park (the field closest to the basketball courts), the fourth inning is finally over!!! PRAISE the LORD!

Editors Note: Yes we are aware that Abner Doubleday most likely did not invent the game of baseball, but at the time of this piece that is what I thought. So could you just let the character talk as if it were the eighties for crying out-loud. Jeesh. Everyones gotta point out the tiny historical inaccuracies about every friggin thing. All this stress of writing these things so perfect really sucks. I mean, I wish there was a place where I could go and not be bothered by anybody. I wouldn't care if it was boring. I just miss being left alone, I miss peace and quiet. DEAR GOD......(insert dramatic pause)..... DO I MISS RIGHT FIELD?!!!!