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If Hunter Pence hits 30 bombs, I will poop my pants.

That’s all it took. One little sentence causally thrown out in the excitement of the moment. After that there was no turning back. “Wait, what?”

“That’s right, if Hunter Pence hits 30 dingers, I will literally poop my pants. How amazing would that be?”

By literally he meant figuratively, but he wasn’t getting off that easy. A bagillion times a day, hyperbolic statements are thrown out with no regard to consequence. But no, not this time. We had a duty (pun intended) to enforce his casual proclamation. Our buddy (names have been withheld to protect the innocent and soiled) would poop his pants after Hunter Pence hit his 30th home run.

See, it was still early April; we all knew the pitching would once again carry the Giants and if Pence’s bat is able to produce, there is no way we wouldn’t cruise past the overpaid band of mercenary Dodgers who wouldn’t possibly be effective together as a team. It wasn’t that crazy of an idea, really, was it? Pence does that, it means the Giants are once again heading to another World Series, so who cares if there’s a little poop in some pants?

Almost immediately our minds raced. So many questions needed to be answered! Where should this pooping happen? Who do we invite? What should he wear? Do we really want to see this? Does he deserve this? How can we make him poop on command in front of a crowd of friends, friends of friends, and strangers on the internet who are into a very specific fetish (hey, who are we to judge?)?

It didn’t take long to come up with a plan: it had to be outdoors (obvi) and that Taco Bell / KFC combo on Lombard should have no problem inducing the fecal event, and he’d have to wear white. There’s something poetic and pure about fresh white linens being soiled in front of a drunken crowd. If that’s not a metaphor for life, I don’t know what is.

But then something awful happened. Or rather, didn’t. Hunter Pence didn’t really hit very many home runs. Sure his career high had been 24, but this would be the year. It had to be! How could he NOT hit 30? The baseball gods surely would smile upon us all…

But then September happened. Skeptics will point towards his looming free agency. But I guess I like to believe that Pence, in all his reverend glory, received a vision commanding him to hit more homeruns. I’m just one of those old fashioned guys who believes in the baseball gods intervening in an otherwise disappointing season (save for Lincecum’s no hitter) to force some random dude in North Beach to shit himself because of some silly bet.

So here we are, Hunter. We are all here with you. Keep doing whatever you’ve been doing the last few weeks. This isn’t just your quest anymore; it’s everyone’s #questfor30. And yes, you’re invited to the party.

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