CUSTOM CUT PS23T

When the doorbell rang, my heart lit up like a Christmas tree in July. I tore open the box and there it was — the bat. More beautiful than an upside-down piano doing laps in a swimming pool. I almost didn’t want to use it… it felt too powerful, too elegant. Like swinging Excalibur at a tee ball. But I summoned the courage. First pitch — foul ball directly into my ankle. I saw heaven. Pain Level: Uncharted. Second pitch — ball, like 10 feet over my head. I considered leaving the box and just becoming a pitcher. Third pitch — inside strike. I turn on it, thought I crushed it. Ump says foul. I say nothing. You don’t argue with a man in cargo shorts and authority issues. At this point I’m thinking, “this bat is JUICED.” So next pitch, I swing with everything I have. And get folded like a camping chair in a hurricane. Now my teammates call me Mr. Pretzel Man. Did I get a piece of it? Yeah. Did I strike out? No. Ankle? Shattered Confidence? Shattered. Ego? Shattered. Anyways long story short (it was a long walk back to the dugout) But that bat? That bat is fire. I haven’t put a ball in play yet, but when I do… the world better watch out. Until then, I’m just a man with a dream and a bruised ankle.