Do you hear those insolent fans, Yadier?

Yes, sire. I believe that’s the local custom of “giving you the business.”

I care not a whit for what these barbarians call it in their vulgar dialect. They’re mocking me, Yadier. Me! Would you not say that the Cardinals play the game of baseball the way t’was intended to be played?

No one would dare say otherwise, sire.

And would you also not say that baseball is the Good Lord’s game?

Certainly, sire.

Of course you would. Therefore, it follows that the Almighty has appointed me to rule these Cardinals. To stand for such insolence against me would be to mock His Divine Will. And that I cannot brook! Instruct the pitcher to hurl the sphere toward one of their beloved favorites.

Certainly, sire. I will command him to dent Ryan Braun’s upper back. Will that be all?


No, Yadier. I also took notice that this collection of lowly Brewers has been aiming their pitches quite purposefully inside and at the hands of our saintly Sir Pujols.

Yes, sire. I believe they’re attempting to prevent him from extending his prodigious swing.

Poppycock. They are deliberately trying to maim this stainless titan of men. And such essays at injuring my most prized footman are nothing more than a means to mock me. If they are going to resort to such deviltry, I have no choice but to respond in kind.

Of course, sire. Casey McGehee’s ribs shall be ground into a fine powder by a sharp slider. Now, if that is all…

It is not all, Yadier. Did you espy this stadium’s retractable roof?

Yes, sire. I’m told it’s quite useful for keeping the field dry during inclement weather.

Hogwash. They’ve constructed it for the sole purpose of mocking me, simply to point out that my own ballfield can not employ such witchcraft. And I know they’ve been adjusting it to my men’s disadvantage when I’ve had my back turned. I shall not allow such insults to go unanswered.

Of course, sire. I will try to intimidate the home plate umpire like a boorish jock about to give a nerd a swirly if that will help. Now, I must take my leave for the ball-grounds.

You must not take your leave until I say you must. Do you too dare mock me, Yadier?

Never, sire.

Good. But do you know who is mocking me, Yadier?

I can’t imagine who would try such foolishness, sire.

This dugout bench. It mocks me with its discomfort, the terrible pain it gives to my backside, and the awful mess of sunflower seeds and Gatorade cups with which it festoons itself.

I shall ensure that it is rendered into splinters by nightfall, sire.

Excellent…I say, Yadier, what is thing you wear across your trunk?

A chest protector, sire. It keeps my body from being damaged when projectiles and bats are flung in a careless manner.

You protect yourself with mere cushions? Do you not realize you are protected by God’s might, which flows directly through me? Remove that article at once. It mocks me.

At once, sire.
/crouches behind plate
/nailed in solar plexus by 95 mph fastball
/goes into cardiac arrest

Oh, what a burden this genius is some days. Thankfully, God gifted to a man as strong as I!