Howdy, I’d like to welcome y’all to my neck of the woods. No seriously, our little town’s place for sportin’ competition and what-have-you is literally in the middle of the woods. Yes, this here a small town, but we got some real BIG potential in our athletic department. Namely, my boy. Did I mention my boy play ball? My boy REAL good at ball. Say, you have boy?
Really? Our boys should play ball against one an-utter. I bet my boy beat y’all’s boy in ball. We take ball seriously round these here parts. I grew up playin’ ball here, now my boy play ball here. It’s a family curse. I mean legacy. I don’t know. I never did learnt much. I just played ball, like my boy.
Now, I’s never that good at ball. My boy, though, he play ball with the best of ‘um. I don’t live my life through my boy, but I do like to think anything he achieves is equal parts mine’s, so I tend to get a bit rough and rowdy when ball comes into the picture. That’s just the fun of ball: proving your better than someone by what you can do with ball. Or better yet, what yer boy can do with ball. And let me tell, I feel better than most people round here ever’day.
So, what do ya say? Our boys play ball together? We judge our own accomplishments in life by the outcome of our boys playin’ ball as rival opponents? We step inside the restroom at halftime for a pissing contest of our own? We step outside afterwards to fight over who won vs. who cheated? We talk our wive’s ears off about the sanctity of the rules of ball, our boy and our marriage the whole car ride home until it get uncomfortable for her and our boy?
How’s all that sound? Good? Alright, it’s settled then: our boys gunna play a little ball. Just remember that my boy play ball and my boy REAL good at ball. Come to think of it, until this moment I never even knew y’all even had y’all-self a boy. Must not be proud of your boy and his ball skills.
Ever’body in the tri-county area know what my boy can do with ball. My boy goin’ places with ball. Alright, best of luck to you then. See you when our boys play ball. I’ll be in the opposite bleachers with what is NOT a beer can in a koozie.
Taylor Sade writes wackiness all over the web, including, but not limited to, Twitter (@taylorsade) and its 140 characters. If you have enough free time to read more than just this story, maybe reevaluate your life, but also visit taylorsade.contently.com.