From what I’ve gathered, the previous social media manager never took advantage of this, which is quite a shame. For a teamthat is all about entertainment first and interaction with its fans, this sort of thing was made for the Honky Tonk brand.
Easten welcomes everyone, setting up the gag perfectly. It’s obvious people are eager to interact as he instructs them, the viewers, that they not only get to pick a song for the upcoming dance-off, but also choose the player of their choice to go head-to-head with Honkers. Then, based on whoever loses during the live show, the viewers also get to pick that player’s punishment, which will take place on opening night.
There’s a chance things could go wrong, and they might not choose who I’m hoping, but we’re pretty confident we can steer them toward Fletcher. Not that it should take a lot of work. He’s already the most popular and well-known player on the team. Why wouldn’t they want to see more of him?
“Alright everyone, keep up with the voting,” he suggests, as fun and ridiculous song suggestions begin to flood the comments. “And how about we go and interview one of our possible contestants?”
I trail closely behind Easten and Honkers as they walk across the field. As planned, they approach Fletcher first.
“Look who we have here. It’s our very own, Mason Fletcher—shortstop extraordinaire, and one of our most popular players,” he coos, playing it up for the viewers.
Fletcher, never wasting a moment to show off, tosses a baseball behind his back to another player before turning his full attention to us.
His eyes dart between Easten, Honkers, and me, and it’s no surprise to see them light up as he realizes what we’re doing. The players in this league live for the spotlight, but Fletcher? He thrives on it.
“Only one of?” he repeats, feigning heartbreak as he places a hand over his heart. “Come on now. We all know I’m everyone’sabsolute favorite,” he adds with a wink directed straight at the camera. Or was it for me, the one standing behind it?
Damn it!
Why the hell was that so hot? It’s already warm enough out here. I don’t need any more reasons to overheat, especially as he glances past the camera with that annoyingly charming and dimpled smile of his. Pretty sure that sort of thing should come with a warning label.
Caution: Smile may cause excessive blushing, flustered speech, and questionable choices.
“Well, that’s exactly what we’re about to see,” Easten explains, pointing toward the camera. “In fact, we’re currently live right now with over one thousand of ourbelovedHonky Tonk fans, and they’re currently voting on their favorite player, along with who they want to see go head-to-head in a dance battle against our very own Honkers.”
"A dance battle? Okay, if I don’t get picked for this, I will hold all of you personally responsible for the emotional distress that comes from officially knowing I’m not your favorite. Plus, I could take Honkers here in my sleep. No, I could take him with one hand tied behind my back,” he confidently asserts, tossing his arm behind himself.
“Well, maybe you should prove it and give the people a small taste of what they’re in for if they pick you as tribute,” Easten suggests, as I inadvertently wrinkle my nose in excitement.
I couldn’t have picked a better host and partner-in-crime. Easten’s killing it, and just like we’d hoped, viewers are falling all over themselves for Fletcher. The majority of the commenters are talking about how of course they’re already planning on voting for him.
“As if you’d even have to ask,” Fletcher scoffs before nodding toward Easten. “Give me a beat.”
Without hesitation, Easten starts to beatbox, and honestly, it’s not half-bad. I store this tidbit of information away for later, especially as the number of viewers and comments begin to skyrocket.
Sure, the beatboxing is cool, but most people are reacting to Fletcher’s easy, effortless moves that are perfectly timed and in sync to the beat.
All of The Honky Tonk and Rowdy Rattler players can dance, especially since it’s a huge part of the gig, but damn, Easten wasn’t lying when he said that Fletcher was one of the best. Even Honkers, who's supposed to be the future competition, is nodding his oversized head as he flaps his wings in support.
Easten’s beats come to an end as he waves his hands in front of him. “Alright, alright, enough showing off. We can’t have you giving away all your best moves,” he chuckles before turning to the camera. “So what are we thinking? Is Fletch who we want to see go head-to-head with our man, Honkers?”
The viewer's comments flood the screen, making it nearly impossible to read them all as compliments pour in for their favorite shortstop.
Not that I can blame them—I want to see more too, and unfortunately, not just because I want to embarrass him.
He’s honestly really good.
Growing up I’d taken a lot of dance classes—thanks to my mom being a well-known Ballerina—but despite the years of training I found my passions elsewhere, and I'm not even sure I’d stand a chance in a dance battle against him.
“I’ve got my eyes on you,” Fletcher tells the viewers, pointing a finger between his eyes and the camera. “Oh, and before I forget, I can’t wait to see you on opening night and during the rest of the season,” he says, continuing to charm everyone, me included.
“Alright, Alright, get back to practice,” Easten jokes, giving Fletcher a light shove. “We need you primed and ready so we cannot only take on the Rowdy Rattlers next Friday, but crush them as well.”
Fletcher waves goodbye, and Easten turns back to the camera. “Okay, before we take a vote, are there any other candidates you want me to interview?”
A few random comments pop up in the feed suggesting different players, but the majority keep chanting Fletcher’s name. Looks like everything is going to go according to plan.
Hallelujah!
