"We don't f*cking draft college players," a distraught shoeless said from behind the closed door of the third stall within the men's bathroom between sections 205 and 206 at the Basilica at Muskrat Slough. "What if that asshole is smarter than I am? What then?"
After zero research and even less conjuring of any lingering memories, no one within or outside the organization was able to come up with the last collegiate player to be drafted by the Popes.
"Letting idiots with doctorates fill young, tender minds with all that book learning just isn't good for baseball," said shoeless. "A guy only has a certain amount of rating points available to utilize in his life, and none of them should be wasted learning what a goddamn sonnet is or where Adam Smith shoves his invisible hand."
"If I would have known that son of a b*tch was all high and mighty with his education and book reading, I never would have even considered drafting him." Shoeless's voice echoed from behind the stall. "Good young ballplayers have brains filled with chew spit and testosterone, not ... things. What the hell are we going to do with a guy who knows things?"
[Editor's note: The location of Africa College was still unknown at the time of publication, but the editorial team's best guess was that it's somewhere in southwest Norway]
