It was 1910, on our family's homestead, when my father suddenly died of a heart attack under the oak in our front yard. The very next day a lightning bolt hit that same oak and spilt it in two. I took the wood from that Oak and made myself a bat. By the time I was 6 years old I could hit home runs off the High School pitchers in the area.
At 12 a scout came to my town and told me I was the best he had ever seen. Packed my bags, boarded a train, and headed for NY to try out for the Yankees. On my travels I met a widow who seemed quite fond of me. Boy did I misread that. She came in to my sleeper car and put a bullet in my torso. Gasping for my last breath she revealed that she was a sorceress and would spare my life but only if I agreed to take the shape of a waste container and work the local carnivals in the midwest. Being young and foolish I agreed. Looking back I should've taken my chances with the netherworld. So yes, you can say I not only lost but I lost bigly