Dante Bichette, 1996 Topps
Buoyed by a 23-game hitting streak, Dante was named to his 2nd All-Star Game in 1995. After being selected in ’94, he received a congratulatory call from his idol, Ted Williams, but wasn’t at home.
Hi, you’ve reached the Bichettes. We’re not home right now, but feel free to leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.
Beeeep.
Hello? Hello? Geez la freakin weez. Daniel? Listen, I don’t know if this confarnit machine is on or what. This is Ted Williams. Somebody told me to call you, because you uh, used to like me or something. Ya’ know, when I was playing ball – not in a homosexual kind of way, so just get that thought out of your head right now! Anyway David, I heard you made the All-Star team, and I wanted to say: Wow, what an honor. Can you sense the sarcasm there, Danny boy? What do they invite to that game now, 70 guys? If I had to call every guy they invited to the All-Star game my freakin finger would fall off! Mostly because I still use a rotary phone, and it takes me 12 minutes to dial locally. I time myself. Anyway, when I was playing ball, they invited two guys to the All-Star Game. Two! Me and DiMaggio. Not Dom – the good one. There was no one on the National League team, because they sucked, so me and DiMaggio would go out and there and hit until our hands were bleeding, and that was the game. In the ’41 game I hit 12 home runs and afterwards I caught a 54-lb marlin off the coast of the Pacific, so stick that in your ballot, Jimmy! And DiMaggio hit in 32 straight games that day, and it was only one game! You figure it out. But believe me – it happened. Hope you enjoyed your famous 23-hitting game hitting streak this year, Billy Bob. I once hit in 23 straight games myself, and by “hit in 23 straight games” I mean "shot down 23 enemy planes in the freakin’ war!" But really, hooray for you. By the way, it says here that you play for Colorado, so if somebody is pullin’ my chain and this is a prank call, my apologies. Baseball in Colorado…..pfft. Nothing but tree huggers over there, so good luck finding baseball bats! I met a Native American fellow in Colorado once. Cured my hangover with squirrel’s blood and two scoops of mulch. Nice fellow. Didn’t speak a lick of English though, and smelled like a sonofabitch. You’re not Native American, are ya’, Donald? Ehhh, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. These days. So…glad I caught you. Maybe the next time your childhood idol calls you’ll remember to be home, and not out dilly-dallying all over town with your long hair and what not. So I hoped you liked someone other than me growing up, cause I sure ain’t calling again. Maybe uh, Arthur Fonzarelli will call you up next week and you’ll be home, and the two of you nincompoops can talk about the good old days. I’ll be out on the lake trying to pretend this whole thing never happened. Anyway, congratulations.
Beeeeep.
