Our National Pride

I have been concerned with the recent decline in American values. Teenagers are getting pregnant, drugs are sold on a daily basis and Transformers is the number one movie. But lately, my biggest concern is the steroid use in baseball. What was once a great American pastime is now a national embarrassment. Even worse than the Jonas Brothers. Sports like baseball used to mean something. It used to be about running around in a circle while people threw peanuts at you.

So, let me offer some amateur advice to these baseball players: You all remember a guy named Babe Ruth, right? What do you think made him so great? What was it that made him deserving of the name Sultan? You guessed it: Beer. Back in the old days they didn’t have steroids to enhance their game. Instead, they had beer: a healthy and all-American alternative. I suggest we bring back the spirit of the game and turn the players into the drunken slobs they used to be.

The Babe, Mickey Mantle and a slew of other baseball greats proved that alcohol not only enhances your game, but it also guarantees an incredible legacy. They might as well make Cooperstown a Hall Of Fame/Brewery. These youngsters have to realize that every time they inject steroids into their system, they’re spitting in the face of history. It’s their duty as professionals to not only play to the best of their ability, but also do a keg stand before they do so.

I don’t mean to sound old-fashioned. History isn’t the only reason to bring beer back into baseball. It would also make the game more fun. It would add more drama to the field. Let’s say the batter hits a single. Will he run to first? Will he get confused and run to third? Will he pass out? The possibilities are endless. I don’t want to limit the drinking to only the players. Both coaches and umpires should take part in this. Picture this: A man on first goes to steal second. The umpire calls him safe. The problem is that the man didn’t even reach the bag yet. The manager staggers onto the field in a drunken rage, shouting at the umpire. They yell at each other, but five minutes later they’re crying and hugging. That’s great baseball.

America can’t rely on much these days. We can’t even enjoy the simple pleasures like rolling around in a pigsty in Cancun. Can we at least keep our baseball pure? A hundred years of frothy tradition dripping down the cup of athletic pride. America, our cup not runneth over. Our cup is empty. A little booze is all we need…and maybe some cocaine.

– Will

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