[April 23rd, 2008. A date that will live in infamy. Batting Practice: Miller Park, Milwaukee]
Prince: Rickie man, that man is a fool. The chitlins had nutttthin’ to do wit it. You see this?
Prince: That’s where the fuckin’ pop come from boyyy.
Rickie Weeks: I’m ready to sit my mouth under a white bitch after she’s been to hibachi dinner bro. That’s how small the ball’s been lookin’ when I’m in the box.
Prince: Ain’t no thang brah, ain’t even a thing. It’s about flow–it’s about style and confidence. It ain’t what you eat. Tonight, I’m gonna get into one off that little fuckin’ missin’ shoelace Hamels like you never seen. Motherfucker’s head is gonna whiplash boy!
Rickie Weeks: You crack me up dawg. Tell Pops he owes me breakfast though, aight?
Prince: Sure thing. (under breath) I’ll tell that walking cardio myopathy to fall into a rotweiler den too.
[Later that night, bottom of the 1st inning. Weeks on base.]
Prince: This is my night. I got all the focus in the world. My swing never felt so right. Everything is perfect in my game. I’m Jim Rice. I’m Eddie Murray. I’m Josh Gibson. My style is incredulous. Imma fuck up this Cole Hamels. Imma eat his fuckin’ lunch. Nothing in this world could break my focus. Imma—
[Scratching of nuts/pubes heard at 1000000 times it’s normal ambiance]
Big Ceece: (Front row behind Brewer on-deck circle) Hey, 28! Boy, you look fat! You look sloppy and tired! Most of all, you look scared enough to cocoa in your drawers Champ! AND DID YOU MOVE MY FUCKIN’ LUCKY FERRETT’S FOOT BOY? IF YOU DID, I’LL COME DOWN THERE AND SUPA-FLY SNUKA YOUR ASS IN FRONT OF YOUR WHOLE CLUB! I NEEDED THAT FUCKIN’ FOOT BOY, YOU KNOW WEDNESDAY NIGHT IS GAME NIGHT DOWN THE BLOCK. I LOST MY ASS CAUSE OF YOU BOY. YOU KNEW THE DOTS TOURNAMENT WAS TONIGHT. STEAL MY FUCKIN’ FERRETT FOOT FOR YO’ OWN LUCK.
Big Ceece: You’re bout to find out what a pair of big black Cecil balls taste like, boy. You hear me sucka. Champ, you’re gonna get shit on by this run-of-the-mill lefty. I hope Ham-ills fucks you in the ass and makes you love him son. Know what else? It was me that killed your kitten when you were 6. I broke his neck cause you forgot to feed him. Eat that shit pie, Champ.
Big Ceece: (trailing off into the distance) Take ma’ lucky ferrett foot……shiiiet.
Prince: (rhetoric thought, warm-up swings) I could let this bat go right now and make it look like an accident. I could let this bat go right now and it’d be over forever. I wonder what his head would look like split open? What does he sound like when he dies? I can’t believe he killed my fuckin’ cat. That chubby piece of fuck.
Brewers P.A. Anouncer: NOW BATTING! FOR YOUR MILWAUUKEEEEE BREWERS, #28. PRINNNCE FIELLLLDDER
Prince: (rhetoric thought) I’m gonna get that bastard Pops. But furst and foremost, Imma fuckin’ destory you Hamels….
First pitch: CRACK!
Brewers Radio: Holy moly! There’s a long, long fly ball to right field…..
Cole Hamels: (turning and watching) Holy butt-fuck dude. That thing is like, gone as Jim Morrison.
Brewers Radio: That ball is OUTTA HERE! No really, it’s gone from the stadium. It’s still going. I’ve never seen a lazer hit like that in my life. Folks if you have had any recent doubts about Prince Fielder’s power, I think this definitely answers your questions. WOW. Prince Fielder has just kissed the Heavens!
Prince: (rounding bases) Kill ma’ fuckin’ cat? I’m gonna cut that fucker in half. Imma leave his prick in his throat while he sleeps…..
[7.8 seconds later, Planet Mars. All is quiet except….]
Big Ceece: (off in the distance) Just a lucky idiot, that’s all. He ain’t nuthin. Take my lucky ferrett’s foot. He ain’t nothing. That’s my pussy…. these are my bitches, champ….
Rickie Weeks: Yo, Prince! I told you it’s them Ghetto Steroids, boyoyoyoyyy!
Prince: Naw man…. it’s the Indian not the Arrow….
(pauses next to dugout garbage can)
Prince: Guess I won’t be needin this piece of shit anymore
*(Tosses Ferrett’s Foot into the trash)