Back in the '90s, Little League was as much about crushing Pepsis and Fun Dip between innings as it was about baseball. With a Lenny Dykstra-style lipper of Big League Chew and a vicious uppercut swing, the fat kid at first base was downright Ruthian when he got his arms extended on a 45-mph fastball.
Defensively, that guy was a total liability. He couldn't stretch or pick a short hop, but he wasn't on the team for the way he patrolled the not-so-hot corner. Remember that. He was on the team because he bruised pitchers, peppering the center field fence like a hailstorm of weak shit fastballs all summer long.