I had an inkling something was up when I hit the practice field.
For the past several weeks, my Nintendo Mii just couldn't get it together. During the home run practice, he was lucky if he could knock one 138 feet, let alone 549 feet. Ground balls, pop-ups and strikes were the hallmarks of his performance, and I admit, I was disappointed.
Fast forward to Tuesday of this week. We head out to the practice field again and this time, I notice a particular swagger in his stance, a cockiness and confidence I hadn't seen before.
I wasn't sure what to make of it, but I knew he'd been really putting in some time in the Wii Fit area, working on his strength training, along with some balance exercises and even yoga. Yoga isn't my thing but, hey, it seemed to be paying off, and besides, who am I to judge?
With every swing of the bat, the ball sailed high in to the air, deep into center field, and over the wall. He even hit a couple out of the park, which surprised me because I had no idea that was even possible. He was a like a pixellated Alex Rodriguez.
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, the paranoia started creeping in, planting the seeds of doubt and suspicion. Had my Nintendo Mii really been working out in the Wii Fit area? I'm not there 24/7 and who knows what happens when the power button is off?
Before I started throwing accusations like a Roger Clemens fastball, I decided to check out Thursday night's game against the CPU All-Stars. They're a tough team, led by a coach whose nickname is "The Machine." He can rifle through stats in the blink of an eye, and with almost no indication whatsoever he can have his players altering their stance, swing and throw effortlessly, making it a difficult squad to beat.
My Mii had never had much success against the CPU, but on this particular night, he was on fire. He smacked a triple and sent another one into the upper deck. We won the game 8-3.
As the team celebrated the win in the locker room, the seeds of doubt and suspicion erupted into mighty elms of dubiousness, giving me a powerful headache and an upset stomach. I had to know.
At the Wii Fit training facility, I wade through a minefield of Wii Fit Boards to find my Mii's trainer, a pale-skinned man with a soft voice. I find him in a mirrored room with matted floors and ask him how my Mii's strength training is coming along. As he finishes up a set of side planks, he tells me he hasn't seen my Mii in about a week.
I was only a little surprised but still disappointed. That the Wii Fit trainer hadn't seen my Mii in a week certainly isn't concrete evidence my Mii is taking steroids, but what else could it be?
It's Friday morning and I'm plotting my next course of action. I think a confrontation is unavoidable now and I want to get to my Mii before Selena Roberts does. There are some shady Miis parading along the Wii mall, including a spiky-haired miscreant I have no recollection of seeing before. I'm sure he's involved somehow.
I'm hoping this is all untrue. It's been said, when you start digging, all you get is dirty. I'm willing to scrape a little dirt away from underneath my fingernails if it means Wii Baseball's reputation as a clean league remains intact.
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