I had been playing for a while, and I asked Louisville Slugger to send me a dozen flame treated bats. But when I got it, I realized they had sent me a box of ashes.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
When I stepped into the box, I felt the at-bat belonged to me. Everybody else was there for my convenience. The pitcher was there to throw me a ball to hit. The catcher was there to throw it back to him if he didn't give me what I wanted the first time. And the umpire was lucky that he was close enough to watch.
The only thing I do to my bat is put some tape around the handle to build it up a little bit because I broke my finger about six years ago and can't really close it the way I want to. Other than that, the same bat, same Louisville Sluggers.
What a couple. I'm consumed into ashes. And he's always raking up the ashes and setting them on fire again.
The fans know that I don't give at-bats away.
It makes no difference to me what kind of bat I have. For instance, I often grab the first bat I come across when I go up to the plate. Muggsy McGraw uses a light stick and Jake Stenzel uses a heavy one, but I'm liable to take any one of the miscellaneous lot that falls in my way.
To cure a batting slump, I took my bat to bed with me. I wanted to know my bat a little better.
I was much entertained last summer with a tame bat, which would take flies out of a person's hand.
I've got a right to knock down anybody holding a bat.
No ashes are lighter than those of incense, and few things burn out sooner.
I bat righty.
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