(ARTHUR VANCE and ASSORTED OTHERS loiter in a baseball dugout in Nebraska, ca. 1909. ARTHUR VANCE clears his throat.)
Hey, everyone. I have an announcement to make. From now on, I’d like to be called Dazzy. Not Arthur, anymore. Just Dazzy. Dazzy Vance.
How about we call you Gay-Face Jones, instead? Because only someone with a gay face would ask a group of other male athletes in rural Nebraska — at the beginning of the 20th century, no less — to be called Dazzy.
(Undeterred and full of want-to, ARTHUR VANCE shows great promise as a pitcher, then suffers an arm injury, then toils for years in the minor leagues, then receives proper medical attention for his arm injury, then leads the majors in strikeouts for seven consecutive years during his 30s.)
(In 1955, ARTHUR VANCE is delivering a speech at the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown to celebrate his induction into same.)
If I have one piece of advice for young people, it’s don’t believe people who say you’ll never be called Dazzy. I realize that’s very specific, so far as advice is concerned. Nevertheless, the data I’ve collected in my own life suggests that it’s sound.
(THOSE IN ATTENDANCE clap and cheer.)
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