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John Kruk Is Having a Rough Morning


Oh, morning. Wait … is it morning? What time is it? Really? Damn.

Look, the first thing I’m going to need you to do is turn down that light. My head is killing me. And stop yelling. Well, it sounds like you’re yelling. Just … talk quieter.

Oh, man. Long night last night, you know. Why does my hand hurt? I hope I didn’t, like, punch a guy or something. Well, if I did, I bet he deserved it. Ugh, dry throat. You got any water? Gatorade? Beer? Well, shit.

Man, it hurts to keep my eyes open. Arrr, hurts to close them, too. Just gonna leave ’em kinda half-open. There. What were we talking about?

Am I in an alley? Did I sleep here? What the Hell happened? I remember chicks. I remember booze. That’s about it. Nope, there was one of those mechanical bulls, I remember that. Don’t know if it was me or the chicks on the bull. Maybe both. Hopefully both at the same time.

Man, I wish there was a place to lie down. I just really feel like putting my feet up and watching Cops for, like, four hours. That would rule.

My mouth tastes like someone else’s puke. I know the taste of my own puke. This isn’t it. Maybe one of those chicks got sick on that bull.

Damn, my hand really hurts. I hope I can play today. HOLY HELL! I HAVE TO GET TO THE BALLPARK! I better get home and  shower and change real quick … WHAT THE FUCK?! WHY AM I STILL WEARING MY UNIFORM?! Did I go on the town looking like this? Oh man. Gonna have to slip the clubhouse manager a little extra scratch so he doesn’t tell the Skip. I’d get my ass chewed.

All right, time to find my car. I’m sure I parked around here somewhere. Nothing looks familiar, though.

Wait … I’m not in Philadelphia, am I?