Monday, April 1, 2013

Stories # 42, # 43, & # 44: "Team Prayer," "Team Player," & "Team Slayer"

Just having a bit of fun here using my wonderfully twisted imagination. Please don't take these seriously. (After all, it is April Fool's Day!) If you choose to interpret these to mean anything more than they're intended to (which is basically nothing) and are offended, well, that's not my fault. Enjoy?  ~  JH


Dear Lord,
We pray that You grant us the brute strength we need to kick the other team's ever-loving butts from here to next Tuesday. And Lord, we pray that those steroids that Jake's been pumping himself full of will kick in at just the right moment, like when their middle linebacker comes charging in at our quarterback on the blitz. Lord, keep us all protected from serious injuries – and when I say "us all," I know that You know that I mean our team. And Lord, we know that it's not just about winning, but it sure as shoot ain't about losing either, is it? So we pray humbly and earnestly, dear Lord, that Your will be done in this game and that we win by a large enough margin to cover the spread. Be with us and guide us through every third-and-long.
In Your name we pray,


If there's a rule, I'll follow it. Wholeheartedly and without question. No sir, there's not a shred of rebellion in me. I'm as clean-cut as they come and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm not concerned with myself or what I may want, need, or think. It is always and only about us: the team. I'm on board with whatever you think is right; even if it doesn't make sense, I'll stand behind it. "Yes" is my first name, my middle name, and my last name. Yes Yes Yes. I'm here for you and you and you, no matter what you need, and no matter when, where, how, or why you need it. Name it and claim it – I'm your man. (Did I mention that I hate myself far more than I've ever loved anyone else? Because I do.)


The catcher passed me in the locker room once without even saying hello. I impaled him with a pitchfork. The first baseman snickered at me during a lively conversation with the second baseman. I took batting practice on his face. The second baseman thought whatever the first baseman had said about me was incredibly hilarious. I strangled him with a steel chain. The shortstop couldn't field a ground ball to save his life. I smothered him with his own glove. The third baseman's name was Ken. I've always hated that name, so I went to town on him with hedge clippers. The left fielder spat a sunflower seed at me once – not on purpose, but still. I made short work of him with a kettle bell. The center fielder had all the beautiful women flocking around him after every game. I rearranged his face with a blowtorch. The right fielder kept calling me Jim. (My name is John.) I drowned him in the Jacuzzi. The pitcher was a nice guy. I really didn't mean to throw him off that bridge. These days, I get a lot more playing time. Imagine that.

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