The Future Is Now, Old Man: 5 Designated Hitter Options For The Dodgers That Would Piss Off My Stupid Dad

Ever since I was a kid, my dad’s been crying about the “death of baseball.” Wild Cards, video replay, starters who “crap out” after five innings. Now that the NL has designated hitters, whew, Dad is more pissed than ever. So here are five DH options that will send the old man into catatonic shock — fingers crossed.

  1. A player with pads covering every inch of his body — “Look at this guy,” my dad says, anytime a player wearing more than a leather helmet comes on the screen. “Elbow pads, shin pads. Next thing you know they’ll shove a Maxi Pad up his ass.” Well said, Dad. And this coming from a guy who can’t summarize the movie Ghost without crying.
  1. A player who hates Skoal — The old block never made it out of JV, where, in his senior year he batted .219. But he chewed a hell of a chaw — and doesn’t trust any player who’s “too chicken-shit to pack a lip.”
  1. A player with a walk-up rap song — Unless the song is by Frank Sinatra or George Strait, the old man will always turn and ask me, “What the fuck is wrong with your generation?”
  1. Elton John in his glitter Dodgers uniform — October 26, 1975: The worst day of my father’s life. The cognitive dissonance of Elton John in a skin-tight Dodgers’ uniform mind-fucked pops so bad he called out of work for a week. Can we squeeze Sir Elton into that getup one more time? Maybe in his old geisha makeup? This would sideline my dad—and give new meaning to the term drag bunt.
  1. A blow-up sex-doll of Tommy Lasorda — Can we get that with the “O” mouth, please? And could Dad’s hero, Kirk Gibson, limp out there and sort of hold the doll upright while the pitcher tries to get it in his “zone”?
  1. A woman — This honestly might be taking things too far. I am genuinely concerned this would kill my dad. He’s still foaming at the mouth about women being in the front office. “It’s MLB,” he says. “The ‘M’ stands for ‘Men.’”

Any of these would provoke Dad to forfeit his season tickets and leave baseball behind forever. But best of all would be a 130-pound woman delivering the game-winning hit. Maybe then he’ll stop watching the Dodgers and finally come see me play bass for the spring musical.