Back it goes that seems like a long one! Still going! Still up there just going and going! It’s gone! Outta here! Literally in outer space. To the moon Alice he said to that ball. Upsetting the logical order of the universe on that one. Look look look! That ball is long gone! Home run! A river of tears for the pitcher. Emblazoned only with obvious self hate and want for childhood memories of popsicles and sticky fingers that guy is, that pitcher he is a such a schmuck for yielding such a mammoth moonshot outta here. What a very unplayable baseball. Hit in a manner nobody can even attempt to field to make an out for his team! The hitter can run and touch every base one at a time until finally he touches the last base home plate uninhibited. He’s come home because nobody on the opposite team could get to that ball because of the boundaries of the field. This is a point for the hitting team! Our team! Touching the base home plate it’s a point! A run! Swung on with the vigor of a mad man. An actual psycho with a bat in his hands literally murdering the ball dead sending its stiff and bloating carcass into the throng of bloodthirsty fans situated for a day of family time in left field. They want that dead ball they will fight over it. They are wolves for it! Give them the murdered baseball! Hopefully our man there hopefully he promised a kid with a deadly disease that he would hit one outta here today against this schmuck hopefully he promised he would hit one out and it would be a run and the kid would be healed and be able to leave the confines of the room that has kid things brought in by family and friends but is still a hospital room underneath the veneer of sports posters and video games and familiar-type items. It’s still that hospital bed where that kid will get eaten alive by the disease in front of loved ones and nurses and doctors who see it all the time the eating and devouring of children. They get paid, the doctors and nurses, and go home and come back to work and some new kids with diseases might be there or some other kids might be dead or both. But this psycho mad man professional hitter who hits balls to the moon he hopefully promised a kid he would hit one outta here and the kid could leave that room and go to his real home. His home where he has a real room and real clothes and sports posters. This home run probably most likely indeed healed a sick kid because the hero who hit it promised it would. What a day! The miracle of sports! The fraternity of our great game of hitters and healers and ball murderers. And that pitcher still a little weepy out there still moping like a bastard. He’s a bastard that guy that pitcher. Good guy though, does a lot for his community. Lets just hope he hopefully did not promise a sick kid from his own personal community that he or she would be healed and go home to his or her real room if he happened to prevent a single home run in today’s game. He might’ve just killed that kid, logically speaking. Wouldn’t that be something! What a day! Now the fireworks in celebration of the home run! Bang! Boom! Get yourself a celebratory cocktail everyone! Get a stiff drink get it and slam it stuff it on down the hatch because the man our man nailed that ball outta here! Gone! The scavenger wolf hyenas they got their paws all over it and are tearing it apart! Watching them now. Hey don’t drop your hot dog! Ha ha can’t drop the dog my man! But he got a few shreds of that decimated and picked-bone-dry ball anyway without dropping the dog! The crowd loved seeing that hot dog save. Boom fireworks! What a show today! It’s all happening here my friends! That’s a firework! More and more coming from everywhere! What a show kicked off by this home run nailed outta here to the moon! The numero uno explosion off the bat leading to all these explosions of light and color from every direction. A veritable firebombing. Illuminating the pitcher, now crouching behind the mound, illuminating his tears of embarrassment. Burning the very image of the ball thats now gone game-wise and existence-wise into his head. And maybe even the kid he killed, we can only speculate! That’s the beauty of this wonderful game of ours. It belongs to all of us it’s ours we are the stewards all of us. Every single gosh darn one. Stewards making up the parts of a sum larger than if we added us all together. It’s that big. Fireworks! They say OUTTA HERE! They’re in the shape of the words! Can you believe it? What will they think of next? You know our stadium celebration guys they are the best. Stu and the Crew as I call them because Stu Benson he’s the boss of that crew. The brains of the good times, the unforgettable home run times. These guys behind the scenes making sure everyone here for family time and for the old game is having just the best time. We’ve got the music the home run music. We got Kid Rock! This sound system is top notch let me tell you. What a day! When we get a point in the way of the home run where the ball is erased from multiple existences it just brings us all together. The game’s got fabric, weaved and needled together. Stitched, like that ball used to be. The ball’s stitching becoming the game’s stitching of all of us when it gets blotted and annihilated by the psycho swing of the bat of the guy! Stu and the Crew at it again now with the parade float coming out of left field. This is new this year the parade float. What a thing! Stu and Crew made it themselves. Paper mache and the like. With the unmistakable Perseus donning our unmistakable Gil the Trout mascot head, holding what is unmistakably Medusa’s decapitated noggin itself donning a freshly made paper mache mask of that bastard pitcher. Ha ha watch out center fielder watch out you crummy sonuva here comes Stu! Ha ha Stu having a good time with him now kind of chasing him. Ha ha. Stu drives that thing like he was born in a parade is all I gotta say about how he drives that thing. He and that float vehicle are just a single organism. Stu’s Crew jogging alongside with the pistols! New this year the antique Colt Peacemakers. They still work! Ha ha watch out shortstop. Stu and the Crew! What a day! Just when you think you’ve seen it all you see one hit outta here like that. It was a massive hit over all the legal containers of the field! The most exciting play in sports as they say. This game of ours it’s just a beautiful thing. Family time here at the ballpark. We got ice cream for people to buy! And you oughta get yourself an ice cream after that hot performance at the plate the home run performance. Get yourself cooled off from the heat of the rocket engined ball hit to the moon and into left field to the writhing-in-ecstasy throng. Put that ice cream in your glove, even the grown men of you. Ha ha Stu nudging that bastard pitcher with the bumper of the parade floatmobile pointing up to the paper mache face on the bodyless Medusa head. Pointing like hey buddy you bastard this is you up there! Ha ha love it! The old pastime as they say. What a day!