I would like to dedicate this article to every parent that has had to sit through this exhilarating sport. This sport, my friends... is tee ball. In all honesty, when I have a child, I would love to have a boy. However, I know this may entail having to endure one of the most torturous events known to the human race... Let me begin to explain...by describing a typical day, that involves hell.
What a great summer day, I feel like just relaxing, sitting in a lawn chair, and drinking my face off until I can't feel my feet. This is what life is all about. Until... you realize... your son, "little Johnny Ruins-the-day", has a tee ball game at 3. I would literally rather shut my head in a car door than attend this crying, piss pants festival. But what kind of parent would I be.
Show up at the field to see a shitty field that is never taken care of and sit on a metal bench (like what the hell, who thought metal was the perfect thing to sit on). You mind as well just put a huge dildo in every seat so when I sit down, I get a huge dick in my ass and it would probably be more comfortable than these fucking bleachers. Furthermore, where the hell is the concession stand? Even if there is one, how do they not serve alcohol. They want you to suffer. I may die by the end of this.
Oh look, the game has started. Now the real excitement starts. The guy next to you's son is up to bat. The guy is fucking annoying... "Ya!!! Hit the ball! You can do it, my little ugly shit son!" Dude, shut up. You making my ear bleed by screaming for your dumb shit son isn't gonna make him the next Babe Ruth. The kid is wearing a diaper still, idiot. Oh, look he struck out when the ball is on a tee and just pissed himself. Congratulations. Also, the pitcher is picking his nose, the shortstop is eating dirt, and the left fielder just shit his pants and is now crying for his mommy.
What the hell am I doing here?! Can't I go home and watch my dog shit?! It would be much more entertaining...
Then I start to think to myself... At one point, Albert Pujols was a little 5 year old, probably pissing his pants like it was going out of style. My son, standing there, with his hands down his pants, picking his nose, then without hesitating, shoving that finger into his mouth... He could be playing for the Red Sox one day...
Go ahead kid! Chase butterflies in the outfield! Eat that dirt! Shit those pants like you never have before! You are an All-star! It's all part of the stages of becoming a baseball superstar...I guess...
What am I talking about... Where the hell is my beer?
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