Top 10 Songs

Music, pens, papers, and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder are some of my favorite pastimes. I've taken to choosing a band or artist, writing down a few dozen favorites, and coming up with Top 10s. Whether it's cool or cringey, I then snap a picture and post it to an Instagram/ Facebook story. They're gone in 24 hours. Then it's on to the next Top 10... eventually. 

Here's what I've figured out so far (although no one should take the words "figured out" too seriously here, especially not me). The Top 10 Beck, for instance, already needs a revision. I've always been intrigued by new ways to try and fail in the name of love. 

Straight outta Parts Unknown *final

True story: I had an email exchange with the Ultimate Warrior. If you don’t know, the Ultimate Warrior was a pro wrestler whose popularity approached the Hulk Hogan-level in the late ‘80s/ early ’90s. Born Jim Helwig, he got famous for painting his face, having wild energy, and shouting bizarre promos. The man was a massively built kook who took his gimmick so seriously that in 1995, he legally changed his name to Warrior. He fathered two kids. No lie, their last name is Warrior.

Helwig/ Warrior was polarizing. He was a diva, a bigot, a superhuman weirdo on steroids who made his mark on pop culture in the WWF’s rock ‘n’ wrestling era. He was kooky and vain. He wasn’t billed from real places like Sarasota, Florida or Calgary, Alberta, Canada; they said he was from–get this–Parts Unknown. Clearly, I was destined to write about this man. 

He had been retired for over a decade when I began to write a story about him. It was 2012. We both had some down time. Doing my research—I guess you could call it–I found out he had a blog. Turns out, he was a decent artist. He drew these primal-looking sketches with captions of motivational quotes. Some were written by historical figures, some by Mr. Warrior. The space he occupied on the internet was surprisingly interesting. 

I left him a comment. (I wanted him to reply so I could get material, so I was super nice.) Here’s what I said: 

Quote: “Persistence. The only thing that will piss off failure enough to get the fuck out of the way of your success.” 

I love that quote! The quotes that you apply to your artwork from other bold and imaginative minds are great as well. For instance, the Frederick Douglass quote about getting ridiculed by others for not conforming to their expectations of you was another one I loved. 

I have to confess, I get a kick out of watching your WWF promos on YouTube. They were quite silly and eccentric. But more than that, they were wildly entertaining. Plus, you don’t seem to be troubled by the negative things people think about you. Although I enjoyed pro wrestling in my youth, now I’m more of a cynic about it. But after browsing through your blog, I’ve gained a newfound respect for you as an artist. You seem dedicated to the creation of some heartfelt artwork. 

Best wishes to you and your family. Take care now. 

Sincerely, 

Nick Olig

Less than a day later, I got a response from the Ultimate Warrior. 

Mr. Warrior said: “Nick, hello. Thanks for taking the time to write and comment. 

My career creating and performing Ultimate Warrior was an (sic) great and inspiring time. Also, wildly entertaining. A huge amount of creativity USED TO go into developing your ring persona. Things have changed in that regard. I’m very proud of what I achieved in the business–more proud of how I’ve moved on in my life to stay creative and inspired. Still being ALIVE is a good thing. Different than most believe, intensity for life is NOT an act for me. This life I have is NOT a dress rehearsal, and I will NOT disrespect it in that way. 

Always believe,

Warrior

###

Ten-year-old me would have been ecstatic. My modern-day, manchild self got the reward of creative fuel. I got the nudge I needed to finish this story. It’s a biography of the Ultimate Warrior’s life in Parts Unknown, as told by his old friend, a geeky, mythological Griffin. 

  ###

“Behold my presence, brothers.” That’s a common greeting where I come from, a town called Parts Unknown. We even say the “brothers” part to women. Parts Unknown, I must confess, is not renowned for chivalry or equal rights among the sexes. The only thing our women can vote on is the name of their children. The husbands also get a vote on the matter, which counts for 51% the women’s 49. 

It’s a chauvinistic culture here in Parts Unknown. In my idealistic teenage years, I was dismayed by my hometown’s dismissal of all Progressive notions. A short time after graduation, I flew the coup. I didn’t last very long on the outside. The same sensitivity that prompted my escape from Parts Unknown made me vulnerable to the judgments of Normals. They gave me the leper treatment. When I returned home a failure, I was not exactly welcomed back, but accepted nonetheless. The elders decreed that I could stay, on the condition that I never leave again, nor foul the minds of the children with foolish tales of existence outside of Parts Unknown. I was given a menial job as a paperboy and modest dwelling above an alchemy lab. They put me on probation for 10 years due to my “Radical Conduct.” 

Not everyone’s departure from Parts Unknown was ill-fated. In fact, a few thrived. I have crossed paths with the subject of this tale, and I wish to tell you Normals about his formative years in our fantastical town. The man made quite a splash in the pro wrestling racket some years ago. His name is the Ultimate Warrior. 

His mother wanted to name him Doug, by the way. Fortunately, his father voted otherwise. 

Born on the 16th of June in the Year of Minotaur to parents Mighty and Athena, the lone child in the Warrior clan spoke his first words with no delay. In a spasm of wiggling limbs that foreshadowed an adulthood rife with spasms of wiggling limbs, moments after his umbilical cord was severed by the ceremonial ax, he bellowed, “The intensity of Gorrilius, God of Combat, courses through my veins as Summerslam draws nigh!” He made this declaration years before the Summerslam, the WWF pay-per-view. The Ultimate Warrior claims he had a profound vision in his mother’s womb. What may have seemed like total gibberish back then is now mostly gibberish to the ears of Normals. 

The closest thing we have to baptism is the newborn’s Rite of Power. There is no Holy Water involved. Instead, the day a baby first stands on his own feet, he must body slam a baby rhino in order to join the Church of the Brazen Souls. The Ultimate Warrior still holds the record for youngest Parts Unknowner to accomplish the challenge. What’s more, he executed not a mere scoop slam but a military-press slam on the baby rhino. He hoisted the beast above his head and posed for ten seconds before heaving the poor thing onto the sacred mat. 

As a toddler, the Warrior’s favorite toy was the tusk of a woolly mammoth. He found it while digging a hole in the backyard. He loved to throw it like a spear and impale bee hives. He also used the tusk as a baseball bat to club the skulls of decomposed Bigfoots high and far.

When I was just learning how to fly, one of those airborne Bigfoot skulls clipped my wing. Suddenly I was in a frantic tailspin. I crash landed in the Warriors’ yard, badly bruised. Athena rushed outside, took the tusk from her boy, scolded him, and tended to my wounds. I whimpered as she dabbed the blood-stained feathers of my left wing.

The Warrior seethed from across the lawn, no doubt cursing me for being so foolish as to get in the way of a skull he had launched so impressively. His mother saw this misbehavior. An indignant tear ran down her face paint. It rolled into a glob of radiant color that dropped from her cheekbone as she turned to him.

“Ultimate, you have done harm to a fellow creature, for careless reasons the Gods of Combat frown upon. May the shame dwell in your heart until you know what it means to be contrite.” 

Her words vexed her son. He took a knee and contemplated. Finally, he nodded and stood up. He looked me in the eyes. I could see that a wild transformation had taken place. He walked over to his mother and me. 

“I have insulted the Gods of Combat,” he said. “From this day forward, you are my friend, noble bird. You ride on my back for my protection.” 

This declaration struck me as a reversal of logic. It was the sort of expression the Ultimate Warrior would be derided for saying years later by the likes of Bobby “The Brain” Heenan. But that hardly mattered to me. I had just made my first friend.

The mayor of Parts Unknown is a homely and wise ogre who dwells inside a cave made of sweet, delicious chocolate. His name is Kruffmobler, the Elder. He’s so disciplined that he only lets himself snack on his home once a year, on Halloween—the most sacred of holidays in Parts Unknown.

Ultimate went as Tarzan every year we went trick-or-treating. It is rare for a film made in Hollywood to find its way into Parts Unknown, even more rare for it to be embraced here. The residents of Parts Unknown were smitten with Tarzan, King of the Jungle, and Ultimate was his biggest fan. Our friend Juno, an adorable and spunky cyclops girl, always played the part of Jane. It was known in our neighborhood that Ultimate cared not for candy, that he preferred red meat rich in protein. While the others amassed chocolate bars and taffy, Ultimate was given roasted ducks, veal tacos, and mastodon burgers. 

For show and tell in kindergarten, Ultimate did the same presentation every time. When the teacher announced it was his turn, he sprinted to the front of the class and started flexing his muscles at us. To conclude the presentation, he would tell us, “This freak of nature right here is just beginning to swell!” 

Parts Unknown can be a savage place, and so bullying is a common practice. Goro, a humongous four-armed monster who went on to be a villain in Mortal Kombat, was one to harass and pummel the weakling creatures of our town–including me, your humble narrator. On one occasion, Goro dunked my head in a toilet while combing his ponytail and juggling daggers. Ultimate barged into the bathroom at the precise moment I realized Goro might be so cruel as to drown me in filth. I’ll never forget the words my friend and hero shouted at Goro. 

“Now you must deal with the creation of all the unpleasantries in the entire universe as I feel the injection from the Gods above!” 

Goro took several seconds to think of a comeback. At last, he smirked with satisfaction, having found his brilliant response. 

“Prick,” he said. 

Thus ignited a ferocious battle. The fight lasted two hours and sprawled from the bathroom to the gym to the boiler room to the playground. They obliterated walls, tore down ceiling fans, ripped pipes from the infrastructure to use as foreign objects, and destroyed the jungle gym. The school was decimated. The damage they caused exceeded the cost of repairs following the Great Chupacabra Tornado of olden times. 

At long last, Kruffmobler, the Elder, was called to the scene to put an end to the fight. He broke it up by flinging a bucket of leeches on the boys, then posing the question, “Boys, what is the sound of one hand clapping?” 

Ultimate and Goro puzzled over this question, which allowed their dads to dart in and knock the boys out with chloroform rags. 

My best friend once said in a promo that the only way for a Normal to gain entry into Parts Unknown was to overpower the pilot of a plane, grab hold of the controls, and steer the plane into the side of a mountain. 

That was claptrap. He was on coke. In reality, Parts Unknown is located 60 miles southwest of the Spirit World. Type that into your primitive Google Maps and see if you can find us. 

The chief exports of Parts Unknown are: devastation in pursuit of honor, the creator of the show LOST, and dragon hormones. Our chief imports are wrestling speedos, medicine balls, and swimming pools filled with liquid Creatine. 

In high school, I was part of a Saved by the Bell sort of clique, along with Ultimate, as well as Hoff-man: Jewish Cousin of He-Man, and Juno. Xena: Warrior Princess and Judy, the lost daughter from Family Matters, rounded out the crew. We were dear friends who had some crazy times and learned some life lessons along the way. Dick Cheney was our ill-tempered principal. 

Saying that Ultimate and Juno had a Slater-Jesse, love-hate dynamic would not be accurate. Ultimate and Juno were a couple before Slater and Jesse, so it’s more like Slater-Jesse had an Ultimate-Juno sort of thing happening, not the other way around.  

I won a beauty pageant at Thor High School. Me, a skunk-colored Griffin with the voice of comedian Emo Phillips: beauty pageant winner. It was a fine boost to my self-esteem. I don’t recall the details, but remain certain I learned some sort of a life lesson. 

During our senior year, Ultimate got into music. For a whole summer, he was a member of the shock-rock band GWAR. He played the woodchipper. Jackyl, a band with passionate yet tasteful chainsaw solos, had a profound impact on Ultimate’s musical tastes. He believed the woodchipper could expand on the gnarly snarl established by the chainsaw. 

One fateful night, Ultimate got into a dispute with the singer about which type of wood should be fed into the machine. Ultimate insisted on Strack, a genus of wood unique to the Forest of Tortured Souls on the outskirts of town, while the singer argued for the simple merits of oak. 

The Ultimate Warrior quit GWAR during soundcheck that night at Sludgemaster’s Bar. Ever since then, Ultimate has had a grudge against those strange heavyweights of metal. In a letter he wrote to me, splotched in chicken blood, Warrior mocked GWAR, still upset that oak “sounded too mainstream.” He added, “GWAR sounds soft to Warrior. Soft like ‘Ravishing’ Rick Rude, may the Gods have no mercy on his cowardly soul.” 

My best mate began to see that, for good or ill, Parts Unknown wasn’t big enough for him. Whenever I slept over at his house, he fell asleep first, and in no time he was rambling nonsense about steel cage matches at Survivor Series and “sending the power of the Warrior down everyone’s throat in the WWF until they became sick of it.” 

Ultimate had weird night tremors. 

He did, however, say something genuine and borderline-wise during one of his sleep outbursts. I’ll never forget it. I’m not allowed to forget much; as the town historian, it’s my job to recall that somewhere beyond that fog of incomprehensibility, the Ultimate Warrior had something to say. So, before we arrive at the rather somber conclusion in this note, I’d like you to hear what passed for advice from my old friend.

”Intensity enslaves the impossible!” 

The words of the Ultimate Warrior. 

Our high school prom was held inside a Thunderdome. Ultimate conquered all challengers in a 30-man Royal Rumble to win the Prom King Championship belt. He kicked all four of Goro’s balls when ref Cheney wasn’t looking to help him win, but so what? Goro would have done the same to him, except Ultimate had two balls.

Anyway, the Ultimate Warrior lost his virginity to Juno that night. Afterwards, he gave me the details. He said they made love at the foot of a volcano. At the exact moment of his climax, the volcano erupted. He then picked her up, chests heaving, soaked in each other’s sweat, and ran her back to safety from the flowing lava. Then he laid her down on the grass, kissed her tenderly and held her close. I couldn’t believe it.

“Whoa, really?” I asked.

“Nah,” he confessed, unable to lie. “We did it in the parking lot of a bowling alley. Warrior came too fast.

Our time together ended in a tragedy, I’m sad to say. Lovely Juno was a perfectionist. Her ambition was a force that sometimes clouded her judgment. She kept secrets. She got addicted to caffeine pills that allowed her to stay awake all night to study for final exams. Unaware that she had high blood pressure, she took one too many of those dreadful pills. In the wee hours of the morning, scrutinizing books to raise her test scores from a 99 to a 100, she died suddenly of cardiac arrest.

We had to trudge on as numb puppets of ourselves until graduation day, and beyond. Ultimate was never the same. The day after we got our diplomas, he boarded a plane to leave Parts Unknown forever. After his plane took off, I found the only thing he left behind. I kept it. To this day, I have it. It was a watery glob of his face paint.

Acknowledge my absence, brothers. And always believe.

Sincerely,

Crumwell, the Griffin.  

###

You’d think Death could bow out of this story, but nope. Outside of Parts Unknown, Mr. Warrior was inducted into the wrestling hall of fame on April 5th, 2014. He made a big speech and everything. The next day, he got recognized for his career at Wrestlemania. The day after that, he did a promo in the ring to thunderous applause on Monday Night Raw. And the day after that… he died. Heart attack due to cardiovascular disease. He was only 54. 

Now, early in the story, I did point out the man’s flaws. He was sometimes malicious, petty, homophobic, unprofessional, and ignorant. But for the last few days of his life, he was treated to sweet moments of redemption on a grand stage. And I could never say he didn’t deserve that. I don’t know everything that happened in that loopy mind or overworked heart, but I know that in my one exchange with him, the Ultimate Warrior was kind and thoughtful. And I still have the nerve to judge him. 

 

Brewbacca

 

Not a long time ago in our galaxy, some content came into our view. In a moment of phone distraction, it floated onto our screen like wayward space junk. It’s hard to say where it came from. Might have been an Instagram reel? Who knows… Life and Instagram reels are a bit of a blur. 

But as you can see, we found a baseball card of Chewbacca on the Brewers. (We call him Brewbacca and we’re calling dibs on the copyright.) What a sight to behold. A John Williams orchestral banger cued in our minds in this moment of triumph. Goodbye depression and internal deadness, because Chewbacca is on the Brewers. 

We did our homework. The card traces back to a mid-90s SNL skit. It’s a spoof of the Home Shopping Network in which Will Ferrell and Chris Kattan loudly hype silly merchandise. Ferrell screams something like, “Order now and we’ll throw in this rare baseball card of Chewbacca on the Brewers!” He adds, “He’s a second baseman.” 

That’s where they lost us. We’re still glad this image exists, but we feel strongly that Chewie’s talents would be wasted at second base. With his size and skillset, that Wookiee checks all the boxes of a first baseman. 

So, guess what? Because some SNL writer from like 1996 under-thought this one, it’s our job to overthink it. The Force needs to be balanced. That’s why we’ve figured out spots on the field for a team of Star Wars characters. We’ve even scouted vendors, mascots, and other non-players—because don’t tell us Chewbacca is a damn second baseman. 

1B: Chewbacca

Towering at a height of seven-and-a-half feet, it’s nearly impossible to launch a throw over the head of Chewbacca at first base. This big walking carpet is strong, athletic, and super-lanky. With his foot on the bag, he can stretch and reach into the farthest corners of the galaxy to snare a one-hopper in the dirt.

He’s got the power to rip off the arms of most men and aliens, so we’ve got to figure that translates to hitting for power at the dish. Plus, this Wookiee’s got a wingspan longer than Randy Johnson, so opposing pitchers can nip outside the zone and still watch their offering get crushed from Endor to Mos Eisley. 

His only weakness is that he’s a bit of a lumbering oaf, which is exactly why he’s a liability at second base. To make a tired point to the SNL writer from like 1996 who miscast Chewie on the diamond: Get your shit together, man.  

2B: Princess Leia 

Lovely Leia is graceful, swift, and nimble. Second is one spot on the diamond that requires a player to pirouette, and you bet your ass this Princess can pirouette. As we saw in her escape from a holding cell in A New Hope, she can gun down Stormtroopers. Ergo, we gotta assume she can gun down runners on the base paths. 

Her diplomatic skills are central to uniting the infield. Leia is an action-taker who rarely makes errors. For those who may naysay her quick hands and strength, remember the time she got free from Jabba the Hutt and choked the giant sloth to death with her own chains? Yeah, we bet you feel pretty dumb right now if you doubted Leia. 

Her on-base percentage thrives, in part, because she makes pitchers lose their focus as they imagine her in a metal bikini. Hell, we couldn’t pitch her three strikes in a row just thinking about her navel. It doesn’t even help to think about baseball since she’s literally playing baseball.  

As if that wasn’t enough, Princess Leia has a straight-up psychic connection with her double-play partner at shortstop. 

SS: Luke Skywalker

The Last Jedi is the next in a tradition of shortstops seeming to have otherworldly powers. In his prime, Javier Baez dazzled on defense with magician-like highlights that earned him the nickname El Mago. (Which is Spanish for… the Mago.) Further back, Ozzie Smith was dubbed the Wizard of Oz for his superhuman dives, leaps, throws, and flips. And not to be forgotten, Milwaukee’s own Robin Yount had a mustache that was enchanting. 

Luke’s supernatural mojo comes not in the form of magic, wizardry, nor mustache. He uses the Force, of course. Under the guidance of our right fielder, rookie Luke was batting laser shots from a practice droid as he wore a helmet that blinded him. His skills only multiplied from that point. Whether shooting a bullseye into the heart of the Death Star with no help from his targeting computer or using his mind to set C3PO aloft on a throne to convince the Ewoks the droid is their God, the Force is strong in Anakin’s kid. 

His throwing arm is strong too, and accurate. In Return of the Jedi, Luke finds himself in a murder pit with a Rancor beast. He uses his quick feet and resourcefulness to evade the monster, then he throws a rock at a switch to drop a heavy gate on the Rancor’s head. Perfect throw. Dead Rancor. The rock appeared to be heavy. True story. 

You’ve seen what he can do with a lightsaber. Give him a Louisville Slugger and watch him abuse pitchers like they were Jabba’s henchmen. 

3B: Rey 

When we first meet our third basewoman, she’s on the desert planet of Jakku, going through deserted spaceships, tryna earn a buck by picking parts. She’s a scavenger, a picker, so she was made to pick oncoming grounders out of the dirt. Rey also does a nifty slide down on a sandy hill early in Episode VII, so we can see her penchant for baseball. 

Her extreme sensitivity to the Force makes her a perfect fit at the hot corner. It’s called the hot corner because it’s usually played by the infielder who stands closest to the hitter, meaning they’re the most likely to have a scorching line drive rocket at their face. Rey has elite reflexes and reaction time, rivaled only by the team’s center fielder. 

She has the power to resist the creepy mind probes of Kylo Ren, and she showed remarkable poise by beating that same weirdly handsome devil in a lightsaber duel—as a rookie, no less. She can do everything—except save Episode IX from sucking. 

SP: Han Solo

He’s an unflappable gunslinger and a fierce competitor. He’s the most winning character in the franchise. He’s a great pilot—an ace, if you will. His best friends are a Wookiee and a Jedi, and he’s still the alpha male. We need this man on the mound.

We know he’s focused on speed, which translates to his fastball. Dude made the Kessel Run in less than 12 parsecs, so don’t expect his heater to fall below 96 mph. He’s no stranger to traveling at light speed, so of course he can light up a radar gun.

His background as a smuggler makes him adept at deception, so don’t be shocked to see the ace bust out some curves and sliders to keep ’em guessing. What he lacks in the Force, he makes up for with swagger, poise, and good looks. Can you imagine tryna get a hit with those dreamy, piercing blue eyes staring you down? We don’t know about you, but we’re going hitless. Three strikeouts. Then after the game, we want his autograph. We love him. He knows.

Manager: Yoda

Known as a paragon of leadership, Yoda is. Train Luke, he did, and embrace role of team mentor, he will. Likes Chewie batting cleanup, Yoda does. Funny in a hat, he looks. Run its course, this joke has.

Mascot: Ewok 

Picture one of these fidgety, furry bears dancing atop the dugout and doing cartwheels and shit. It’s adorable. If an Ewok with a T-shirt cannon doesn’t put a smile on your face, then the Dark Side has won. 

C: Jyn Erso

The job of a catcher is not glamorous. Behind the plate, catchers do the dirty work. After the game, their uniforms are the hardest to wash clean. They spend half their time squatting in the most uncomfortable pose in sports. They sacrifice their bodies for the greater good of the team. 

Rogue One heroine Jyn Erso is the team catcher because of her altruism. She gives herself up on a mission to retrieve intel on the weak spot of the Death Star. Like a catcher, she does the dirty work required to achieve the greater good, with little fanfare. Hell, we like her movie a lot, but we forgot her name a time or two while writing this thing. 

We love her big, beautiful, bright eyes. They’re ideal for scanning the diamond and processing what’s happening on the field. She is tough, gritty, and full of courage. She is smart enough to defer to pitcher Han Solo, but bold enough to shut down his ego trips. We are prioritizing defense over offense here, but hey, nothing matters more than defense against an evil Empire. 

DH: Mace Windu

During the climactic battle in the Arena of Justice in Episode II, Mace Windu puts on a helluva show with his lightsaber. He’s not the most fleet of foot Jedi, but he can deflect a droid’s laser shots with the best of ’em. He does a sweet fadeaway deflect to destroy a droid on the ricochet, while jogging to Jango Fett. Mace shows off some more sterling hand-eye coordination that’s clearly a transferable skill to hitting baseballs as he deflects shots from the bounty hunter. Then he beheads Jango Fett, with his kid watching in the crowd. Dude even takes a second to pose. Lil’ orphaned Baba Fett is watching on, traumatized. Meanwhile, Mace is basking in his closeup. Ice water flows through his veins, we say. 

We need Mace in the lineup, but he’s the designated hitter because he’s pretty one-dimensional. We’re pro-Mace all the way, but he’s not a versatile character. He doesn’t have the internal struggle of Anakin, nor the charm of Han or the arc of Luke or Rey. He doesn’t make the fight for goodness as compelling as Obi-Wan does. He’s not a weird, wise oddity like Yoda. He’s solid but prosaic. He swings a mean lightsaber and probably baseball bat, but he lacks range. He’s the David Ortiz of Star Wars characters and we’re thrilled to have him at DH. 

Ball Droid: R2-D2

As if the dancing Ewok with a t-shirt cannon wasn’t cute enough for the damn kids, this bleep-blooping droid on wheels will be programmed to fetch foul balls. R2 can extend that grabby metal claw from its body to snatch Spaldings gone astray. It’s also got a blowtorch and taser, so it can do security in the event of a Tusken Raider streaking onto the field or something. 

Social Media Manager: C-3PO

This neurotic droid is fluent in over six million forms of communication. And Lord knows he won’t shut up about it. His job is to hype the team and inform its fanbase on thousands of social media platforms in a wide array of languages across the universe. Do you know what they call X on the planet Tatooine? We have no clue, but it’s got to be a better name than stupid-ass X. What matters is that C-3PO knows, insufferable know-it-all that it is. 

We considered finding a spot on the field for Threepio, but then we remembered we wanna win. 

LF: Lando Calrissian

In order to see why Lando plays in left field, we’ve got to break down what it means when something “comes out of left field.” It’s unlikely for a left fielder to throw out a runner, so when it does happen, it comes as a shock. Along the same lines, when the leader of Cloud City betrays his friends and we see the reveal that his dinner party has been crashed by Darth Vader, that’s a classic moment that comes out of left field. 

The stunners keep coming from Lando. He seems guilt-stricken about his heel turn, but we question his sincerity. After all, he has been described as “scum,” and dude was a bit too flirty with Leia. But when our heroes are on the brink of doom with Han frozen in Carbonite—BOOM! Lando comes to the rescue. He turns on the Empire’s drones, frees Chewie and Leia from their handcuffs, and helps them escape. Double turn. 

That’s two cinematic stunners straight outta left field in less than an hour. He also made a trip to Earth in order to promote Colt 45 beer. No one saw that coming. Lando’s domain is covering space in left field. 

CF: Anakin Skywalker

He’s instinctive, brash, and so talented it’s scary. He shows both power and finesse when he swings a lightsaber (which kinda looks like a bat, if you think about it), and as we saw in the Boonta race on Tatooine, his reaction time is off the charts. We’re not crazy about his mass murder of younglings at the Jedi Temple, but we do love the way he can track a baseball instantly off the crack of the bat. He’s a high-risk, high-reward, franchise player in center field.  

Anakin’s hand-eye coordination is matched by his passion. Like Ken Griffey Jr., we can picture Ani running balls out at a dead sprint and crashing into the wall to make the catch. The trouble is, passion can be a detriment to a Jedi. (Junior broke his wrist making the catch. Anakin was almost killed by Count Dooku.) Anakin has the spitfire to try to gun down a runner at home when he’s standing on the warning track–-and if the guy was safe, he’d be pissed. And anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering, and so on…

Ok, we gotta admit: Those killing sprees are sort of a red flag. Still, the kid’s a five-tool player and we can’t deny his moxie.  

RF: Obi-Wan Kenobi

Perhaps the best pure hero in the franchise, Obi-Wan stands for what is right.  Therefore, it makes sense for him to stand in right. Anywhere else on the field would feel wrong.

We admire his moral compass and integrity. In the thrilling finish to Revenge of the Sith, he says to our center fielder, “I have the high ground.” The moral high ground included.

He’s even more righteous than Manager Yoda, who was on the verge of refusing to mentor Luke because the prospect lacked patience. It was Obi-Wan’s voice that insisted, “He will learn patience.” (And we have him to thank for Luke taking more walks as of late.)

When it comes to handling the bat (which you’ve got to admit, somewhat resembles a lightsaber), check out the beauty of his swing at the 6:20 mark in The Phantom Menace. It’s sweet enough to make the fuzzy Force Ghost of Tony Gwynn shed a tear of joy. In the same scene, O-WK is cracking battle droid shots up the middle, comeback line-drive style for hit after hit.

His only drawback is that he won’t listen when we yell at him to shave that awful rat tail. 

Food Vendor: Jar Jar Binks

Jar Jar tried to make it as a hot dog vendor. He got a chance to roam the bleachers, running his mouth, slinging borderline-pork products in buns. He spent three long innings shouting, “Whosa wants hot dogs?! Yousa want hot dogs? Meesa sell space wieners—ha!”

People got annoyed. Then they got furious. Then there was a palpable sense of bloodlust at the old ballpark. Worse, he failed to sell a single hot dog. 

Security had to escort him out of the ballpark for his own safety, because angry fans wanted to kill the unpopular Gungan.

Thankfully, Jar Jar escaped harm and was brought to an escape pod in the parking lot.