By Nathaniel Johnson, Foul Balls
Is the magic back? My brain is reminding me I need to remain cautious, but my heart is screaming FOUL BALLS! I'm not just going to dip my toe in the water this time around, I'm going head first off the community pool high-dive after too many Cokes and the prettiest girl at school is watching from the sidelines. Honestly, I was having some pretty serious doubts over the past two weeks about this blessed union surviving an entire kickball season. Players were dropping like...well, like any fly ball kicked to our outfield. As the dark skies over Hampton Roads rained, apathy reigned in the Foul Balls clubhouse. We were languishing through a second blowout, this time at the hands of the 5 O'Clockers and were hit-less with one out already in the books in the bottom of the fourth. Pitcher Jeff White, probably suffering from the ill effects of our second base collision, issued a walk to yours truly. I'll spare the readers the exhilarating details of a furious Foul Balls rally that ended with the author crossing home and promptly being on the receiving end of the first dog pile to ever conclude a 17-1 loss. Somewhere at the bottom of that pile, while someone was choking me (Brandon?!) and a second Foulie may have been a bit too aroused by our offensive explosion, I experienced apotheosis. No more was I one man on a kickball field, but I had the strength of eleven Foul Balls armed with three Bud Light pounders each firing flipped cups from our finger tips and Thursday morning Wendy's breath from our collective mouth.
It would appear from the WAKA blog-o-sphere that the surplus love we've been cranking out in Foul Territory seems to have even found its way into the Jagernauts camp. We're pumping Foul Balls #9 through the vents at Luckie's and things are really heating up. I know the entire league felt that little extra kick at the Mid-Season party....don't fret, that's just a little Eau de Foulie creeping up your nasal passages and lodging itself somewhere deep in the hippocampus. Those moves on the dance floor when you never thought possible before? All thanks to the sweet waft of Foul Balls Obsession.
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| Do you smell it? |
As a side note: I will be selling the entire Foul Balls Fragrance Line (TM) out of the back of my vehicle every Wednesday night. MSRP is $19.99 per 40 oz bottle, but I'm willing to cut an exclusive WAKA Peninsula limited time offer of $3.99 per bottle. Remember our slogan: One whiff of my Foul Balls and you'll taste victory for weeks!* (Victory guaranteed for only one week, after which you may face a series of humiliating defeats)
I would like to relay a message from our recently absent teammate:
I'd like to say something that I've prepared. Hello... how bout that ride in? I guess that's why they call it Bad Newz, haha. You guys might not know this but I consider myself a bit of a loner. I tend to think of myself as a one man wolf pack. But when my girlfriend told me about the Foul Balls, I knew she was one of my own. And my wolf pack, it grew by one. So there... there were two of us in the wolf pack. I was alone first in the pack and Jen joined in later. And three months ago, when Jen introduced me to the Foul Balls I thought "wait a second,could it be?" And now I know for sure, I just added twelve more guys to my wolf pack. Thirteen of us wolves, running around Luckie's together in Hampton, looking for strippers and cocaine. So tonight, I make a toast....WHOSE BALLS!?!? FOUL BALLS!
As a follow up to Zach's stirring words, I would like to make the following offer as the newly self appointed Foul Territory Ambassador to WAKA Nation. When Zach left us, he absconded with a Foul Balls jersey that he was borrowing from a teammate because he failed to wear a shirt or pants to the game. We are officially giving notice that we will accept the return of this jersey with no questions asked, because the player who purchased it requires it (We will play with a shirtless player for the rest of the season, but it won't be a shirtless player the league will enjoy). Upon return of said jersey, no questions will be asked, but we can't guarantee that William Johnson won't get your scent from the jersey and bird-dog you for the rest of your days.
This what William will be listening to on repeat during his epic quest for justice:
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