Sunday Stupid: George Brett craps his pants!

It’s October, the leaves are turning and falling, the air is crisp, and supermarket shelves are crammed with every pumpkin and apple product ever conceived by the puny mind of man. It’s also the time of year when the baseball playoffs have entered full swing, meaning now is the moment to post the above video, which stands at a pinnacle of both that sport and raconteurism in general. It’s the George Brett pants-crapping story, ladies and gentlemen!

A warning: beyond the scatological content, there’s also some further foul language involved, so don’t watch if that’s the sort of stuff that makes you run the other way. But if it isn’t, or if you’re willing to overcome your delicate sensibilities, you’re in for a treat. Because George Brett, perhaps the greatest hitter ever to strap on a set of cleats, a beloved figure not just for fans of the Kansas City Royals but the entire American sporting scene, spins one of the finest yarns a man can about dropping a dump in his trousers.

Check that. Not one dump. Multiple dumps.

What makes it so great? Mainly the context. Brett, like many a retired ballplayer, is still active in the game, something that’s especially likely for a legend that played across three decades for the same ballclub. He shows up at spring training, where he can impart some insights to current Royals stars, rookies and veterans both, and pass on some of his diamond greatness through sheer osmosis. So imagine being some young kid, still a bit awe-struck and desperate to prove yourself, and Brett sidles over to you one morning while everyone is stretching. Will he give you the secret to Hall of Fame caliber success? Will he offer up a never-before-uttered anecdote of his chase of the .400 batting average? Even better, one about his murderous rage during the Pine Tar Incident?

No. While you’re on the ground, readying yourself for the day’s workout, a captive audience, he stands over you and tells you in excruciating detail about his propensity to empty his bowels into his drawers, most recently in the last 24 hours. Crabs and the Bellagio in Vegas appear in this epic saga. It’s spectacular.

And he saves the best for last, in the greatest sequence of nouns, verbs, adjectives and the like ever strung together, as his poor audience tries to flee. Got up in the morning, took the most perfect double-tapered shit I ever had in my life. True story. [Pause] Who’s the pitchers in this game?

George, bless your pants-filling heart. That’s some real Sunday Stupid. Baseball fever — catch it!