**OnlineHost** Welcome to Seattle Mariners Chat!

YourWordsBeltreYou: /hobbles over to water cooler

YourWordsBeltreYou: /stares at Dixie cups

YourWordsBeltreYou: hmm

YourWordsBeltreYou: /drinks directly from faucet

Elijah_Price: How are you feeling?

YourWordsBeltreYou: How do you think I'm feeling? I suffered a contusion. My testicle is bleeding and I--

Elijah_Price: /vomits profusely

WakaMole: Listen everyone, I know it's a horrifying injury, but we really need to cut down on projectile vomiting in the clubhouse. Vomit is slippery, and the last thing I need is for my players to go to the disabled list on account of barf-slipping injuries.

Elijah_Price: That's already a problem, Coach. There's vomit everywhere. Nobody can hold it in. It's simply too horrifying an injury to not expect everyone to blow chunks.

WakaMole: Can we get the grounds crew in here?

Elijah_Price: I already tried. They were like, "why do you need the grounds crew in the clubhouse?" and I was like, "because everyone's slipping on vomit," and they were like, "why is there vomit in the clubhouse," and I was like, "because everyone's vomiting in the clubhouse," and then they were like, "why is everyone vomiting in the clubhouse," and I explained, "because they were told that Adrian Beltre got hit in the balls and has a bloody testicle and he's going to have nut surgery," and then the grounds crew started vomiting all over themselves and each other.

WakaMole: Well then. Okay everyone, we're on vomit clean-up duty.

YourWordsBeltreYou: i thought you said this season was going to be different

WakaMole: So are you, uh...are you still going to be able to have more kids?

YourWordsBeltreYou: You know, I didn't even think to ask. What if my bloodline is dead?

WakaMole: If it's any consolation, I really don't know how a genetic family of people who are really good for one year and then just sort of hang around were able to survive this long.

YourWordsBeltreYou: Oh God! What if I have no future descendants? What if I'm eternally forgotten?

Elijah_Price: you get used to the idea

parts of my body have been falling off arbitrarily for years now, archeologists are going to have a hell of a time putting me back together

Elijah_Price: they're going to think that i was a jelly-like, ligament-less man who ran for President in 1996

YourWordsBeltreYou: Natural selection is such a cruel thing. My lineage might be dead. All because I didn't want my balls to get sweaty.

WakaMole: Well, you already have a kid, right?

YourWordsBeltreYou: Yeah, but what if he's like me? What if they're all like me?

YourWordsBeltreYou: What if it's the year 2100 and you have to wear a pressurized radiation suit to go outside, and my great-grandson is like, "pfffft, f*** that s***," and his DNA gets pummeled with Gamma rays and he turns into a a lizard-man or something?

WakaMole: Then Rick Reilly's grandson will write a special-interest piece about him and then he'll lope off into the wilderness. Who knows?

WakaMole: In the meantime, here's a cup. You're wearing this from now on.

YourWordsBeltreYou: sigh

YourWordsBeltreYou: Well, I love this game. It's as close to Heaven as we can get on this Earth.

YourWordsBeltreYou: It's a silly game, really. You pull your socks up to knees, or at least you're supposed to, and you run out there wearing a single glove that makes your hand look like a crab claw, and you try to prevent the guy on the other team from running around in a circle.

YourWordsBeltreYou: But I love it.

YourWordsBeltreYou: You know, Pete Rose once said that he'd run through Hell in a gasoline suit, just to play baseball.

YourWordsBeltreYou: And if playing this pastoral game means strapping a miniature Jason Voorhees mask to my penis, well, then that's just what I'll do.