I'm sure you know all about the Columbus Catfish running a promotion to name a night after one fan. And I'm trying to convince them that I'm the fan they should pick. And I've asked your help with that.
Well, I'm not asking you to fight my battles for me. I am asking for your help, though.
But I'm doing my part, too. For example...
I'm thinking I can tell the Catfish office to look at my competition for being the fan that gets a special night.
Here's my competition. Look at the fans in section HH:
Okay, let's move over to sections KK and LL:
Ah, behind home plate. I sit behind home plate. So compare me with other fans in that area.
Oh, wait. Those are scouts from other teams. They're being paid to be there.
Well, well, well.
Oh, I know. They can compare me to the fans sitting by the visitor's dugout.
If criteria is money spent on beer, I can't compete with this group that comes over from Auburn University.
If the deputies follow them out the parking lot, however, they'll be eliminated. I don't think you can attend Catfish games while sitting in the drunk tank. War Eagle.
So, that's my competition?
Heh. They don't stand a chance. How could any red-blood American male picking a baseball fan select anyone but me? Not possible.
. . .
. . .
Now I do have my work cut out for me.
I guess it's back to the drawing board.