The fans turned out in force

To the minor league game by 

The blaring flare stacks of the oil refinery

Because it was Tuesday,

Which meant 50-cent craft beer.

50-cent IPAs from the local craft brewer

And dollar hot dogs.

The opposing team noticed one fan, 

Well into his fourth or fifth beer,

Who hadn’t looked up from his phone all night.

A wager began on whether 

Anyone could drill a ball into him.

Every batter hit for the opposite field.

But their foul balls sailed over his head,

Into the parking lot.

The stadium was modern but small,

almost a high school field.

But everyone on the roster,

From the cleanup hitter to the benchwarmer,

Believed they could make it big someday,

Gain entry into the major leagues.

They wanted to make that guy

Remember, forever,

Why he should’ve paid attention.