YES FATHER
I always get a little pep in my step on days when I see Old Man Moyer taking the hill against the Florida Marlins. Not only does he own them, but he’s officially in their heads now. The Marlins see him on the mound and their heart and pride just get flushed down the toilet. Just imagine, the Fish are little Billy sitting on the bus, happy to be with his fellow Boy Scout troops going away for a weekend at a nearby camp site. The bus starts up, the troops are ready to roll, happiness finally seems imminent, when suddenly the bus door opens at the last moment and….Father Moyer steps on the bus, shit-eating grin and all, ready for a weekend of ‘Hide the Rosary’. He’s got sweaty palms, dirty fingernails, and reeks of whiskey and Underoos. It’s all over from there on. Old Man Moyer has a bag of tricks. He’ll dink and dunk you to death with 81 mph fastballs, picking his spots perfectly, and rendering the Marlins big bats almost useless. Sort of like the way Father Moyer must open his bag of tricks come nightfall. Ecstasy-spiked holy water, communion wafers made out of crack and laxative, rubber studded crucifixes, and altar boy outfits with strategically placed holes cut into them, just to name a few. How can you compete?
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