Apr 10, 2015 3 min read

Baseball season has begun. I wish I was a better player. I’m not “Bad News Bears” bad, but I’m not good. I can play. When a baseball is hurtling at my face, I make an effort to catch it. I don’t cross my arms over my face and scream. Not anymore.

Baseball reminds me of summer, my favorite season. If you’re anything like me, you hear the word baseball and you start singing, “Take me out to the ball game” in your head.

While I’ve sung that song for hours on end, it bugs me. Mostly because of this one line: “Buy me some peanuts and Crackerjack, and I don’t care if I ever come back.” First, buy your own peanuts and crackerjack.

Second, peanuts are in Crackerjack. Why would you buy both?

Third, you have to come back.

You can’t live on soft pretzels and stale beer. I know. I’ve tried.

I’m trying to find ways I could hang around the field this summer. I think I’m too old to be a ball boy. The job title has the word boy in it. It’s been a while since I’ve been a boy. Also, I’d be all, “Get your own damn ball.”

I wonder if the Pirates or the Wild Things are looking for a new mascot.

I might not be good at sports, but running around acting like a goofball is totally in my wheelhouse.

A few years ago, my family went to a Wild Things game and my niece Chloe was terrified of the Wild Thing. Seeing a giant stuffed animal running around in public frightened her.

I felt bad because later that year, my brother took the wife and kids to Disney. I kept thinking Chloe must have had a conniption fit every five minutes in the park. Giant mouse! Giant duck! Giant … whatever-Goofy-is!

It had to be a nightmare for her. If I recall correctly, she got desensitized to them, like when you make some kid smoke a pack of cigarettes to scare them off smoking.

But I digress, like I do. I think mascot is the perfect job for me. I would finally have throngs of adoring fans. Throngs! I currently only have one throng of fans. I’d love to go plural.

You get to go to exotic places like Cincinnati and Cleveland. Um. Yeah.

You get to bust a move. Paid to dance!? Sign me up! Yes, you have to dance to organ music fight songs, but it still sounds like a great living to me. Dunt-da-dunt-da. Dunt-da-dunt-da. Charge!

I’m weird because I like to sweat.

I can’t think of anything sweatier than running around in a fur suit. I’m Italian. I already run around in a fur suit.

The problem is, I do get claustrophobic, and I don’t know if I can wear a head all day long without hyperventilating.

I could be known as the Fainting Parrot.

I’ve decided I’m just going to stick with the regular fans and watch the game like everyone else.