Long ago, but not so long ago, you were a man. The Man.
You owned jewels and gold and belts made of both. You were champion of two realms. You cultivated victories with leveraged buyouts, but also with your bare God-damned hands. You would use either in any situation. You personified the largest amount of money our stupid brains could imagine.
Look at your right hand. You slapped Hulk Hogan with that hand once. You balled it up and shoved it into Jimmy Snuka’s solar plexus. You put the Macho Man to sleep with it. Look at that hand. Find the biggest callus. It’s the one you earned by gripping countless folding chairs. Your hand is Wisconsin. That callus is Appleton. That’s where you are. You may find yourself in another part of the world.
What was once 5th Avenue and Wall Street is now Lake Winnebago and the Fox River Mall. Old Navy is probably having a sale, but not on sport coats with dollar signs. Maybe try Men’s Wearhouse? Virgil and limousines are now airport shuttles and some guy named Dan. This road smells like cows. Dan smells like Old Golds. These people are salt of the earth people. This is America’s heartland. Heartland is an old Gaelic word meaning “armpit.”
But all is not lost, for you are about to observe baseball. It may be Single-A baseball for a team with a terrible farm system, but, you know. The grass is still green, the balls are still white. The fans are also quite white, but never mind. You’re still a big deal in Appleton, so you’ll be treated like royalty. Like a king. The King of Appleton. Wisconsin. So enjoy your Large Domestic Beer and Build-Your-Own-Sandwich. This is how kings feast amongst the field corn.