Note: all of the following is fiction.

The day before the all star game, we had the home run hitting contest. Because I was leading all of major league baseball in that category, I anchored last the American League contingent. I brought my own pitcher with me as well. The first pitch he threw me was up and in and I let it go by. The secret to winning these things is to relax and try to use your normal stroke as much as possible. The second pitch was right down the pipe and I slugged it 500 feet into the second deck in left at Petco Park and I was off to the races, accumulating 22 homers in a row before I just got under one and flied to deep center. I quit so I wouldn't get arm weary. In the second round, I sprayed homers all over the park and even a couple titanic ones out of it, adding 15 more on the day before I stopped again to save my energy. I just tried to stay nice and easy and hit middle in strikes. In the final rounds, I went off with 32 bombs to win it going away. Of all the dingers I struck, 20 were 500 feet or more.

In the actual game itself, I went 2-2 with a 500 foot shot on to the roof of the second deck in left and then a screaming mimi I lined over the centerfield wall with two on before they pulled me to play some other outfielders. That earned me the MVP.

Of course, when you have an all star game, it is a magnet for whores and groupies, especially since it was in Southern California. When I returned to the hotel from the game, there was this smoking hot little Mexican chick making eyes at me in the lobby. I walked up to her and asked if she wanted to go to bed. She consented to it and we went up to my room, where we both shed our clothes. I had her stand there so I could examine her body. She was a little firecracker! 5'2", skinny with b cups, cute little bush, dark brown skin, semilong dark brown hair, maybe just the slightest hint of aboriginal Mexican in her looks. "Oh my God, that thing is huge!" she blurted upon seeing the bell clapper dangling between my legs. "Don't worry mi hija, it's going to be a while before you're going to have to deal with it being inside you." She giggled at the silly bravado of me saying such a thing.

I picked her up since she couldn't be more than about 95 pounds and turned her upside down. I held her tightly in my arms with her pussy in my face while she squealed and laughed. I began licking and sucking her clit as I felt her tongue darting against my erect dick. I did this in a standing position for about five minutes before I slowly sat down on the edge of the bed and then reclined so that we were in a 69 position. I'm sure more men have been buried in her pussy than at Arlington National Cemetery, but I didn't care. Her pussy smelled clean and she was soon getting worked up as my tongue doggedly attacked her love nubbin. I was now feeling her little mouth stretched over my schlong and moving up and down it as she moaned for her own pleasure. She huffed and puffed on my rod while my mouth worked her clit over. Lengthy sucking on it elicited an explosive orgasm from her, her screams of ecstasy muffled by what she had in her yapper. She and I kept on sucking on each other and she went off over and over until I plastered her piehole with my cum, the intense pulses expelling ropey strands of it. "Swallow it!" I demanded. I rolled her over and pinned her arms to the bed as she held it in her mouth. "Come on babe, show me how much you love me!" I teased. She turned her head to one side and spat it out, the fluid making a long slimy line as it dripped down the side of a pillow.

"That's really rude," I kidded and rolled her over to give her a couple playful slaps on the ass. "What a naughty girl!" I rotated her body so she was on her back again. "Fuck, you have amazingly beautiful eyes," I observed, doing all I could to not get absorbed by her very dark pupils. I leaned over and kissed her heatedly, again not paying any heed to how many dicks might have been in it before me. I ran my fingers lightly up and down her sides to tickle her, provoking a very bright and delightful smile from her. I returned to kissing her passionately, only this time lightly playing with her cute little boobs that were topped with tiny dark chocolate nipples. I just had to get my mouth on them and so I slid down a bit to get in a comfortable position and sucked on her left one like it was a Hershey's kiss, which inspired her to moan seductively. I dropped my rigthhand to her pussy and she was dripping wet. I gently rubbed her clit while I enjoyed suckling her milk ducts.

I was already hard by then, so I laid down and told her to impale herself on my flesh pike. Her skinny legs flexed downward to obey my command and soon my penis was inside her dusky snatch. I sat up, wrapped her in my arms, turned my body toward the left edge of the bed, planted my feet on the floor and stood up, she holding on to my neck tightly. I put her up against the wall  and cupped my hands under her ass and began thrusting up into her. "Oh fuck, oh my God, you're going to split me open!" she squealed as I rhythmically pistoned my flesh spear in and out of her, her back colliding softly with the wall with each instroke. Her legs were tightly twisted around my hips as I invaded her over and over. Soon, she was orgasming into my right ear. "Oh shit, God yes, oh yes, fuck me papi!" she panted. I continued pleasurably penetrating her for another ten minutes and she was well into her second orgasm. I shifted my grip on her body and set her gently on the edge of the bed, from where I seriously commenced ramming my weapon into her with force and intensity. 'Oh shit, oh shit, God papi, fuck!" she exalted as her body quivered with a steady series of climaxes until I painted her pussy white with my ball batter. She left nail marks all over my back and shoulders, the subconscious indicators of how good she was feeling while I plowed her for my own pleasure.

I have to admit that I was a little crazy for her. I picked up the acoustic guitar I always carried with me on the road and played her a little set of ZZ Top songs. Looking at that beautiful little chiquita while I did this made me get an extension again  So I jumped on top of her, inserted my pistol into its target and went to town on her for the next hour, she enjoying the high she experieinced from the frequent climaxes I gave her while I kissed her, bit her neck playfully and whispered dirty words into her left ear. When she finally left, she walked like she was bowlegged since I had fucked her until we were both sore. I'm also sure she thought that she had hit the procreative jackpot since her gully had seen so much fluid flow into it. Her hopes of a lucrative pregnancy, if she had them, though, would prove unrequited.

When the regular season schedule resumed the next day with us beginning a series with Anaheim, I homered to left to kick the contest off and did that for each of the next four games, too and belted ten homers total for the week. I connected for 21 homers for the month of August and only six in September because I was being walked so much. I finished the season with the highest postwar batting average, 412 and took the Triple Crown as well as the OBP, steals, walks slugging, OPS and runs scored titles. We squeaked into the playoffs, where our pitching got us through the ALDS since the White Sox strategy was to walk me every time we had men on base and to pitch to me with nobody on only when necessary. The games were tedious only because they would walk me and then hold the ball, hold the ball, throw over, hold the ball, throw over, throw over and then usually pitch out once each at bat. Aesthetically, this was fucking horrible to watch if you were a baseball fan. This also plays havoc with a pitcher's rhythm to the plate and resulted in the pale hose moundsmen going into a lot of deep counts. This gave our hitters enough of a chance to see hittable fastballs to generate a number of runs sufficient to take the series.

Now we were going to play Tampa Bay for the American League pennant. In the press beforehand, I challenged the manhood of the Rays pitching staff and their manager, asking rhetorically if they were as balless as the White Sox were. "Dudes, if you can't make a pitch then please go back home and raise turnips so that fans don't have to see the same kind of tedious ugliness that was evident in the Chicago series," I said. "If any of their pitchers have any doubt about my manhood, see the Oakland game," I said ominously.

The ALCS began in that shitty Tampa ballpark. I suggested to the press in the run up to game one that their ownership should sell the team to someone who was willing to build an actual stadium fans would ENJOY coming to and that wasn't such an eyesore. The entirety of those remarks got me decked by a fastball on the first pitch of the series. I walked halfway out to the mound pointing at the Rays starting pitcher. "Hey you fuckin' sissy, if you can't compete without endangering people's lives then you put your dress back on and fuck off back to Sissyville. You're going to get your catcher killed doing this shit, you understand me?" The umpire warned both benches, which really set me off. "So they get a fuckin' freebie?

When we returned to the plate after the plate umpire pushed us back, I said to the catcher, "hey dickhead, you remember what I did to Suzuki? Well, you're next, When we clinch this thing, I'm going to rip your head off," I promised him. "Dude, what did I do?' "Oh fuck you! You knew that pitch was coming. If you're going to try to kill me or hospitalize me somebody has to pay," I said. The umpire called time out." "Listen you guys, stop this shit now or both of you are out of here, do you understand me?" The catcher jumped in the umpire's face saying it was all from my end. That was enough for the arbiter, who tossed the backstop. That brought Rays skipper Joe Maddon out to defend his receiver. "Hey Joe, your pitcher is a fucking pussy," I said. "And so are you. Why don't you take that joke of a baseball team to that little pussy town in Pennsylvania you're from and let us fight it out with a team that can man up." That caused him to lose his cool and get in my face, which got him run. When play finally resumed, I yelled out to the pitcher, "okay little girl, time to play man ball or go home. So get a pitcher up there that actually has a dick," I needled. He ran a ball in on me and that got him ejected. "Still playing sissyball, huh?" I laughed. He charged me and I avoided his pathetic excuse for a punch easily. That emptied both benches. The Rays had this big 6'7" 260 pound first baseman who came at me. I went inside his punch decked him, supplementing that by kicking him in the balls on his way down to the ground. The usual pushing and shoving ensued, which didn't come to much. A lot of the Rays players barked at me but didn't do shit.

The umpire kicked me out for being an instigator. "Listen asshole, first, I have a right to defend myself. A guy throws at my head and you're backing him up?" "Oh, fuck you, I'm not backing him up. But you can't foment fights." "Wait, they weren't fomenting a fight by throwing at me? What land of land of delusion are YOU from?" He had no answer for that. "Then three of those motherfuckers charge me and you toss ME? What, is there some rule now that I'm not allowed t defend myself from people who want to hurt me? Dude, if I accidentally spit on you I would get suspended. Their first baseman tries to take my head off and I punch him out in self defense and you run me? You still haven't ejected him officially, either. What, do you have a bet on this game or something? Or did you go to Squirrelville Umpiring College? What kind of shit is this?" My manager was in there, too, angrily inquiring why the umpire seemed to be favoring the Rays in all this. "I'm not favoring anybody you assholes." "Listen, dude, he threw at my HEAD! You understand that? You understand what happens if he does that on the street? That's a fucking felony! What, you think it's okay as long as it's done in a baseball game?" I reasoned. "Look asshole, I'm going to ask that this umpiring crew be pulled from this series because it's pretty obvious you're favoring them," my skipper insisted. The "asshole" was the magic word that got my boss kicked out. He lost it, calling the ump every name in the book  and his face and neck turning as red as a fire truck.

While all this is occurring, the crowd, and it wasn't even a full house, was getting restless and more irritable. My manager notified the umpire that the game was being played under protest for not allowing his players to defend themselves. Our bench coach joined the argument. "Listen, dude, you made a mistake running me. Now you can rectify it by reinstating me into the game or you're going to look like the king jackass of all time to baseball fans," I insinuated. "No, you're staying ejected. I can't repeal an ejection," he pleaded. 'Okay, I tell you what, "I said. "If you keep me ejected I'm going to go look for their starter and we're going to settle this ourselves, which means he will be leaving the ballpark on a gurney if not a body bag. He's not going to just need a police escort out of here, he'll need the fucking Marines," I said, in a very vicious way. I stomped off and headed toward the Rays dugout. 'Come on girlies, any of you want to fight? You're all big throwing baseballs at people, now let's see how you are one on one," I said. They all froze and I went right past them and into their clubhouse, finding the pitcher who threw at me. He took off running. I caught him in the hallway, unloaded a couple of vicious combinations into his face, knocking him out, and walking back to my side of the field and into our dugout. The Fox television cameras got the short confrontation on video they played it over and over again. 'Well, here we are, half an hour into the game and only two pitches have been thrown," Joe Buck obviously remarked. "But how many punches have been thrown is anybody's guess," he added. It was later revealed that the pitcher suffered a busted jaw and a concussion.

The Rays were rattled and lost the game 4-0. During game two, both sides were warned beforehand that any pitch even close to the head would result in immediate ejection. So the first pitch to me was a fastball away but belt high and I lined it into the rightfield seats for a 1-0 lead. My next time up, we had a man on, so they walked me. I reached into my uniform pants and pulled out a pink skirt and showed it to everybody in the crowd. "Here you left this at your mom's house last night," I said, wadding it up and throwing it at the pitcher. Of course, he had to come in and have his say. 'Come on you sissy, throw it over the plate girlyman!" I shouted at him as I went to first. That upset his concentration just enough that he grooved one to Franky, who parked it in the leftfield stands for a 4-0 advantage.

My third time up was with the bags juiced. The starter, who was coming out anyway, hit me in the shoulder and was ejected. I had another RBI and it became 5-2. It turned out that they were going to walk me (better to risk one run than four) , so he decided to nail me as his goodbye. We scored two more on a sac fly and an RBI single by Ichiro and were now in front 7-2. My last time up,  the pitcher threw at my head, so I kicked their catcher in the ribs, breaking them. Of course, both the pitcher and me were ejected as well as the Rays manager. We won 7-3. I called my local congressman to warn Commissioner Selig to be light with the discipline stick or else.  During the two off days, though, I was suspended for the rest of the ALCS, but so was Maddon. I protested the suspension as not allowing me to defend myself against the Rays thuggery. Our congressional contingent filed written protests, but those things are always ineffectual. By filing my protest, though, I was able to forestall when I would actually have to serve it. I also made the case that Maddon could still call the shots via cellphone to his bench coach, who would serve as his interim manager and thus had an effect on the games while I couldn't if I observed the punishment. Therefore, the commissioner's ruling favored the Rays. Not wanting to being biased in favor of either side, he rescinded the suspensions pending a review later in the year. Typical chickenshit Selig, kicking the can down the road. He created this, just as he helped create the drug crisis back in the 1980's and 1990's, by failing to take the problem head on when it first surfaced. Band aids never get the job done.

So there I was in centerfield for game three, which was at home. Their starter gave me four straight balls and I walked. Again with the stepping off and the repeated throw overs. Eventually, he went to that well too many times and flung the ball down the rightfield line and I motored to third. Franky squeezed and it was 1-0. Ichiro homered to put it at 2-0. A walk, a single another walk and a double into the corner got us two more A sacrifice fly plated another run and the runner at second made it to third. Now I was up again I got drilled in the ribs. The umpire wouldn't eject the pitcher. "Listen, dude, you either eject him or I'm going to put my foot in the catcher's face. Your call." The catcher started to run away because the Rays were down to their last one since they were only carrying two unless they wanted to see one of their utility infielders playing the position. I laughed and jogged off to first base. Meanwhile, my skipper asked why the pitcher wasn't making an exit. I yelled to their shortstop and second baseman that if they try to spike me I would explode their facial muscles. I stole second without a throw and nothing happened. Franky walked and that brought up Ichiro, who tagged one into the leftfield corner for a bases clearing double and that would be the ballgame, as we took it easily.

In game four, I homered on the first pitch, a hanging slider, for a 1-0 lead. They had to face Felix Hernandez, not an easy task. Meanwhile, we got lucky in the same half of the inning. Franky walked and Ichiro beat out a slow bouncer toward short. Justin Smoak blooped one into left to load the bases. Jesus Montero then got jammed and muscled it into center for two runs. Two outs later, our number eight hitter conked a hot smash to third that Evan Longoria could only knock down for a run scoring infield single. Our nine hitter, Chone Figgins, walked. They had a reliever come in to face me and he threw a two seamer that was up and out over the plate. I just about hit it out of the stadium, a monster three run jack that landed in the second deck only two rows from ending up in the street behind the stadium, to put it at 7-0. Felix was Felix and we carted off a 10-1 triumph for the Mariners' first trip to the World Series.

Now depending on which columnist you want to believe, I either willed that team into the series with my hardnosed play or I was a monster who shouldn't be permitted to step on an MLB diamond again. Ichiro was named MVP of the ALCS, which I felt he deserved.

Our offense didn't do much in the World Series, aside from me. I homered five times and drove in nine runs, but our pitching managed to make the sparse number of runs we got for them work for a four game sweep and I received the MVP.

During the postseason, I won the Rookie of the Year, the MVP, a Gold Glove and a Silver Slugger. But the best was getting Seattle that first ring.