Buy me some food pills and cracker jacks

Oooooooooh, time travel. Whatever. While I may not be enamored with jargony space-talk and the impending doom of our good planet Earth, I am DEFINITELY interested in pursuing anything that furthers, well, whatever I want. Thus, in the year 2214, ye will all know the hypnotic majesty of the LBL (Left-Handed Baseball League). Or, to put it a different way, I WILL get to play shortstop whether you right-handed elitists like it or not. Nope, I don’t care if first base is a dignified position. I want glory, damn it.
This will be achieved, of course, by using the wonder of time travel to ship all my former baseball heroes to the future for a showdown of south paw proportions. Not only will it be achieved, it WAS achieved. You know how I know? Because I was there and I saw Ryne Sandberg cry. Sure, I kicked him right in the nards* for not giving me an autograph that one time in 1991, but I’m pretty sure it was MOSTLY because of the trouncing he received from me and my left-handed brethern.
I know what you’re thinking: 2214? Does that mean the world overcomes the tyrannical rule of the robots? Didn’t have time to find out. Too busy making amazing nose dive plays that are my signature move in the LBL in which I catch the ball in my mouth (I had robotic chompers installed in my head. They respond to electrical pulses from my groin. Trust me: it works).

*The LBL stands firmly by its cup ban as a result of a larger process of change regarding the notion of “acceptable risk” that I discovered is an inescapable reality of the 23rd century.