COOPERSTOWN, NY – Commissioner Selig loomed over his desk, a full six feet off the floor, and boomed down at The Bad Usher standing down there looking up. “You have meddled with the forces of nature!” The Bad Usher was shocked. He thought this meeting was about well-deserved kudos, a welcoming home to the Major Leagues after a years-long, self-assigned undercover mission, ushering the seediest east Hollywood porn houses – so much time, in fact, that his shoes still continued to stick wherever he went and his straw boater hat lighted up like a neon sign under a black light – before finally netting a big fish last week. “You idiot. Fred Willard has some powerful friends not only in Hollywood, but Washington D.C., and he wants you busted down bad. Real bad. I have no choice but to send you to Cooperstown to work the festivities this weekend.”
The Bad Usher perked up with renewed hope…
“No, not the big induction,” Selig wheezed, “the one on Saturday.” The Usher cursed inwardly. “Yeah, they’re giving McCarver the lifetime achievement of attrition award, and you’re working the stands. Believe me, if it was up to Willard he’d have you saying ‘wha happened’ as you worked the Chelsea-Paris St. Germain game at Yankee Stadium.” The Usher cringed at the very idea. “Now get out, and send The Bad Groundskeeper in as you leave…I’ve got to send him to Oakland to deal with the crater sure to be left of the mound by the sheer tonnage of CC Sabathia and Bartolo Colon starting the same game on Sunday. I’ve also got eight sweeps to orchestrate this weekend, including the Mets dropping three to the Dodgers and the Yankees to Oakland—now who is going to believe that?—plus I’ve got to figure a way to cool off that goofy long putter that Adam Scott uses, right at the worst possible moment for him. That’s right, Usher, it’s not just baseball…I want to ruin all sports!” In the waiting room, the Usher passed a surly looking hairy guy who, apart from overalls, could’ve been the Usher’s brother, and jerked a thumb back at Selig’s door. “Good luck, buddy.”
“What do you mean I can’t get in there?” cried the disgruntled reporter, his press badge reading “Cam James/Ram Rules.” The Bad Usher held onto the credentials and put them in his pocket. “Never heard of this Meet The Matts magazine, I think this pass is a forgery, Mr….Rules? If that is your real name.” “It’s not, and what do you mean ‘you think?’ Listen, I’ve got to get in there, all my favorite Cardinals are there, including Whitey Herzog.” Thinking this might be about money, the reporter pulled out a twenty, which soon disappeared into the same pocket as the press credential…but The Bad Usher didn’t otherwise move or make way for the reporter, he didn’t even make eye contact as he allowed another young woman (*you must watch this) to go through. Up at the podium, McCarver started making his acceptance. “When you give a speech to a group of people, what you want to use are words, and put them together in way that people understand…”
Out of the corner of his eye, The Bad Usher saw a man in a Cubs uniform releasing a toxic gas into the air and leapt into action, snatching up the smoking bomb, tossing it over the fence of the nearby batting cages, and then watching as it got sucked up into the machine and pitched to a waiting kid with a bat. The thing exploded in a burst of smoke, and everyone in the batting cages passed out, but at least all the luminaries in Doubleday Field were safe…though when The Bad Usher returned he found the entire crowd draped unconscious over their seats. “I was too late,” the Usher proclaimed, but upon closer inspection was relieved that everyone simply fell asleep during McCarver’s speech.
Meanwhile, in a secret underwater lair hidden beneath Otsego Lake, a group of retired players—Sammy Sosa, Mike Piazza, Roger Clemens, and Barry Bonds—all sit nervously waiting. “Gentlemen,” came a soft voice from the shadows, “today’s field test was a total disaster, it’s clear we have a lot of work to do.” Stepping forward and peeling off his Cubs fan disguise, Pete Rose stood at the end of the table. “We have one year to prepare, for if I can get you guys in, surely they’ll have to let me in too, right?” The ex-players nodded enthusiastically, and Rose hit a switch on the clicker that brought up an image of The Bad Usher disposing of the bomb. “But first, we’re going to have to do something about this Bad Usher.”
Charlie Hustler and his lovely Kiana will be in a new Reality Show. Not kidding… Tune in tomorrow for our own Reality Show Star, Grote2Max, whose twin boys are being watched by The Bad Usher.