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I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a ball game by getting picked off out on the basepaths. He won it by making the other poor, dumb bastard get picked off while out there instead.

Men, all this stuff you’ve heard about the Rockies not wanting to score, wanting to stay out of the game, is a lot of horse dung. The Rockies, traditionally, love to score. All real Rockies fans love the sound of the bat on the ball. When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooters, the fastest runners, other big league ball players, the toughest boxers. Rockies fans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser. the Rockies play to win all the time. I wouldn’t give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That’s why the Rockies have never lost and will never lose, because the very thought of losing is hateful to Rockies fans.

Now, a team is an army. It lives, eats, sleeps, fights as a team. This individuality stuff is a bunch of crap. The bilious bastards who wrote that stuff about individuality for the Denver Post don’t know anything more about sports than they do about fornicating.

Now, we have the finest food and equipment, the best spirit, and the best men in the world. You know, by God I, I actually pity those poor bastards we’re going up against, by God, I do. We’re not just going to defeat the bastards; we’re going to cut out their living guts and use them to pine tar our bats. We’re going to murder those lousy opposing bastards by the bushel.

Now, some of you boys, I know, are wondering whether or not you’ll chicken out under pressure. Don’t worry about it. I can assure you that you will all do your duty.

The opponents are the enemy. Wade into them. Spill their blood. Shoot them in the belly. When you put your hand into a bunch of goo that a moment before was your best friend’s face, you’ll know what to do.

Now there’s another thing I want you to remember: I don’t want to get any messages saying that we are playing safely. We’re not holding anything. Let the opposition do that. We are scoring constantly and we’re not interested in holding onto anything except the lead. We’re going to hold onto him by the nose and we’re going to kick him in the ass. We’re going to kick the hell out of him all the time and we’re going to go through him like crap through a goose.

Now, there’s one thing that you men will be able to say when you get back home. And you may thank God for it. Thirty years from now when you’re sitting around your fireside with your grandson on your knee, and he asks you: “What did you do working for the Rockies?” You won’t have to say, “Well, I washed the opposing team’s jocks.”

Alright, now, you sons-of-bitches, you know how I feel. Oh… I will be proud to lead you wonderful guys into battle anytime, anywhere.

That’s all.

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