Dear Mr. President,
I just read a report from The Politico that says you are considering throwing out the ceremonial first pitch at the Washington Nationals’ home opener on Monday. As a baseball fan and as a patriot, I urge you to meet this challenge.
Perhaps you are worried about the fact that you received only four percent of the vote in the District of Columbia in the presidential election, and will therefore be throwing out the first pitch in front of a hostile crowd. You might assume that the thousands upon thousands of fans—honestly, there will be so many people there—filling the stadium will greet you with a gale-force chorus of boos. Perhaps you are imagining the boos carrying on for 15 or 20 minutes, so long that you start to wonder if you will even be able to throw the pitch after everyone else on the field—the camera crew, the ball boy who is supposed to hand you the ball, the catcher who is supposed to catch your pitch—abandon their duties and instead stare dumbly at the crowd, awed by the sheer force of its hatred.
You’re probably also wondering if you, a 70-year-old man with Augustus Gloop’s diet and an incredibly wide ass, will even be physically capable of throwing the ball more than, say, 15 feet. You might be imagining a situation in which you lose your balance at some point during the windup, leading to that big, dense ass of yours swinging in the wrong direction and carrying you stumbling off the mound, so that you struggle to keep your feet under you for a few awkward steps before pratfalling into the grass. Perhaps, you imagine, the fall will cause your shirt to come untucked and ride up your torso, revealing your pale, unbelievably bulbous belly to the thousands in attendance and the millions watching on television.
Please, Mr. President, put all those negative thoughts out of your mind. As an accomplished businessman, you know that the first step towards success is belief. “Most people think small, because most people are afraid of success, afraid of making decisions, afraid of winning,” you wrote in your best-selling 1987 book The Art of the Deal. “And that gives people like me a great advantage.”
Imagine yourself throwing a heater right over the plate. Imagine the haters crying out in agony as they watch you burnish your legacy with a perfect strike. Imagine the cheers washing over you. Do not imagine yourself losing control of your bladder—because you drank a supersized cola with your pre-pitch Big Mac—and leaving a puddle on the mound.
You must throw this pitch, Mr. President. Our country needs it.