“Yeah, Joe. Bad news from the top. You’re being sent down to the minors.”

“What? Say it isn’t so, Coach! You can’t send me down. Not Fresno.”

“Sorry, Joe, but it’s your batting average.”

“It’s just a slump, Coach. It’ll get better. Promise.”

“You’ve been in a slump since spring training. I’m sorry, Joe. But this is the way it’s got to be.”

“And I was so looking forward to seeing Marilyn Manson. I’ll bet he isn’t playing Fresno.”

“He almost did, once.”

“And Ratdog just announced some new tour dates. Are they playing Fresno?”

“Afraid not, Joe.”

“And I’m such a big Dead fan. I’ll bet they never played Fresno.”

“Actually, they did. But the promoter booked them for a Superbowl Sunday. I hear he lost his shirt.”

“And the tour is coming to town. I’m going to miss all the good shows. Please, Coach. Don’t send me down. Have a heart. Don’t send me to Fresno. Please!”

“I’m sorry, Joe, but the decision has been made. But if you work on that batting average, you’ll be back in the majors before you know it.”

“I don’t know, Coach. Missing all those shows like Keb’ Mo’ and The Tragically Hip is really going to make me depressed. I might as well call it quits right now.”

“Don’t talk like that Joe. Fresno’s not so bad. They even have Pearl Jam playing there next month. Plus, it’s the raisin capital of the world. If you eat enough raisins you’ll be whacking the old cowhide out of the park in no time flat.”

“Uh? What’s raisins got to do with my batting average?”

“Well, don’t you see?”

“See what?”

“That eating raisins is the only way you can increase your number of runs.”

“Gee, Coach, that was pretty bad. Even for you.”

“Yeah, a real stinker, eh?”