THE COMPETITOR

The competitor was born and raised Methodist but is now a Roman Catholic (he admits privately that he does not know the difference and also says it does not matter).

The competitor only hit twelve home runs last year. He hit thirty-seven the year before. He chalks this up to his new holistic diet and ongoing divorce proceedings. He asked for a pay increase, which he did not get.

The competitor knows nothing of Senate proceedings, pork barrel spending, balsamic reductions, postmodern literature, triskaidekaphobia, car insurance policies, window sealing, collateralized debt obligations, mail sorting procedures, cassowaries, or health savings accounts. He claims he knows about these things but he doesn’t.

The competitor’s brother was a victim of cancel culture last year. This may or may not have affected the decision leading to his lack of a pay increase or his lack of home runs. The brother blames the competitor for not using his influence and celebrity status to curtail the cancelling. The two have not spoken, save for a Zoom meeting with a relative currently overseas on a study abroad program.

The competitor prefers ranch over blue cheese with his chicken wings. He will send back any flats.

The competitor has a history of not being copacetic.

The competitor had a steady girlfriend for quite some time, but she realized that she only loved him for his muscular arms; whenever they spoke to each other or had private time, it would always end poorly. Looking back, he chalks this up to the fact that he was told Catholics have to stay quiet, reserving their emotions, hiding any kind of feeling, whether it’s good or bad. She cleaned him out of house and home one day while he was out on the road, leaving only his copy of the Bible behind. Inside its cover, she left a blue sticky note on it that said, You do not know what the fuck this is, do you?

The competitor has had a long-standing fear of dogs and will not go to any charity events or parks that may have them around. He claims that they are vicious beings who dream of bloodshed; he will not risk their savage hunger, so he stays far away. He has admitted this to several of his teammates, who suggested perhaps he seek therapy.

The competitor has a leadfoot.

The competitor is afraid to go to the movie theatre because he has a weak bladder and as a result, cannot give any opinions about cinema.

The competitor, after a bad series in which he went 0-12 with nine strikeouts and no hits, decided to take out his aggression on a sickly reporter, grabbing him by the waist and lamely suplexing him to the ground, all the while yelling, “Deuteronomy, Deuteronomy!” He claims that the holistic diet has starved him of the proper amount of meat and this led to an emotional, stunted balance where he envisioned the reporter as a sharp-toothed wolf from medieval times, and that he was only defending himself from being attacked and torn to shreds. The team fired the competitor and bought out the rest of his contract.

The competitor now spends his days writing a blog from home, where he lectures about the Bible and refuses to talk about his days as a superstar. But occasionally he wanders through his small hometown, which never reminds him of who he was or who he is. He will sit down on a bench near his old high school baseball field, where he watches the kids who know nothing about anything, talk about anything and everything, and wonders if they are afraid of the same things the competitor was. He watches silently, weeping, and remembers the scant cheers he collected, and how he did nothing with them except store them in a box that he doesn’t have the strength to open. In this, the competitor has been bested, and may have never had a chance this entire time.