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Also, unlike most of the exaggerations in the original author's piece, most of these statements are true.

(Yes, this is a cross-post from the other blog. I posted it here by misteek and decided to leave it. Sue me. Even better, injure me and end my season two days early:P)

3A. ESSAY: IN ORDER FOR THE ADMISSIONS STAFF OF OUR COLLEGE TO GET TO KNOW YOU, THE APPLICANT, BETTER, WE ASK THAT YOU ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTION: ARE THERE ANY SIGNIFICANT EXPERIENCES YOU HAVE HAD, OR ACCOMPLISHMENTS YOU HAVE REALIZED, THAT HAVE HELPED TO DEFINE YOU AS A PERSON?

I am a dynamic figure, often seen dropping crucial pop-ups and injuring myself falling into dugouts. On more than one occasion, I have yielded a walk-off game-winner of a grand slam, restoring the faith and hope of my opponents' fans. I have been known to rip off my shirt and threaten to fight low-level prospects, making them tougher and more resilient. I refuse to engineer trades not producing the return of more Latino players for our roster. Occasionally, I tread water for three months in a row.

I woo fans with my sensuous disregard of team history and godlike playing of "Sweet Caroline," I can throw in from the outfield over the head of the cutoff man AND backing-up pitcher with unflagging speed, and I make fans conduct the Seventh Inning Stretch in the middle of the fourth merely out of a need to get up and stop looking at the carnage. I am an expert in mid-20th-century Brooklyn ballparks, a veteran in love with an overpriced multi-year contract, and wanted by numerous pitchers' agents for failure to provide support.

Using only an accountant and a large pile of money formerly invested with Bernie Madoff, I once single-handedly provided one of the most hated players in our history with an income stream that will last through the first third of this century. I once forced a group of still-admiring fans to remove homemade symbols of affection from the front of their seats because they interfered with an advertising ribbon. When I'm bored, I think up new trinkets to adorn with logos of failing banks to sell to the public at over-inflated prices. I study defensive sports medicine. During games, I sometimes offer fans an "academy" in bilingual education free of charge.

I own a world class ballpark, one of the 30 most coveted franchises in sports, and yet do not have a single employee capable of bringing either of them to their full potential. Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of "inaugural season" wear. For the past three months, I have not perspired. I formerly received fan mail. Wearing nothing but an oversized batting helmet, I returned from serious injury and appeared in a traveling summer musical revival of the original "Star Wars" film. This summer, I traveled most of the United States on a barnstorming tour to demonstrate the innocence and amusement of Little League baseball. I have never had a no-hitter in my entire history. My deft financial moves have earned me fame among players' agents. Phillies fans adore me.

I can hurl baseballs with deadly accuracy, but doing so causes bone chips that need to be removed in the early stages of my new contract. I once lost my All Star first baseman, shortstop and centerfielder in the same season and still had time to lose my Cy Young-contending starter before the end of August. I know the exact location of every emergency room in the tri-state area and have appeared regularly in Ripley's Believe it or Not. The laws of probabilty do not apply to me. I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills, at the moment, are all paid. On off-days, to let off steam, I hurl team Hall-of-Fame memorabilia from a 40th story window and film it smashing to the ground. Almost 25 years ago, I discovered a formula for building a winning franchise but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary meals and sold them at premium prices in the vicinity of an attraction known as the "Shake Shack."  I formerly bred prizewinning tomatoes. I have blown leads to the best of teams and the worst of teams, at home and on the road, and once failed to qualify for the playoffs despite being seven games in the lead with seventeen to play. I have re-enacted Shakespearean tragedy, I have experienced virtually every form of surgery, and I have played in the World Baseball Classic.

But I have never had my cryogenically frozen and severed head beaten with a monkey wrench.

The inspirations for today's not-so-happy recap can be found here, and to a lesser extent, here.

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