“You call that a fastball? I haven’t seen anything that slow since Pentium II!”
“Hey, batter! You swing like your tension-amplification mechanism was sent to the wrong 3-D printer!”
“ERR-OR! ERR-OR! YOUR SUCKINESS AT FIELDING DOES NOT COMPUTE!”
“C’mon, let’s score some runs! If I wanted to look at zeros and ones all day, I would’ve gone to work!”
“Hey, ump! When was the last time you had your scanner checked? According to mine, that pitch was right over the plate!”
“These guys make how much money?! They haven’t even been programmed not to spit.”
“HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMAN! HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMAN!
HUUUUUUU—
Oh, shit, he looked at me.”
“Really? You can’t make that catch? What, are your tactile sensors malfunctioning or something?”
“Throw strikes! My calculations have determined that to be the most efficient way to pitch!”
“Look alive out there, team! You’re the ones with consciousness, remember?”
“We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher. We want a batter, not a broken—Just a moment, I’m scanning every rhyming dictionary in existence for a better word than ‘ladder.’ ”
“BOSTON SUCKS! BOSTON SUCKS! Hold on, you were developed by Boston Dynamics? My bad. So . . . what are those robot dogs like? I’ve been thinking about buying one, but I’m not sure about the ethics of doing that when I could just adopt. . . .”
“That shortstop has a rocket for an arm! I’d say he was one of us but I’ve listened to a few of his interviews, and, when I say that he could benefit from A.I., I mean Any Intelligence.”
“Hey, batter, batter, batter, batter, batter! Sa-wing battery level is low. Commencing power-conservation mode.”
“Beep BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!”
