A Random Paragraph from my Novel, Completely Devoid of Context

It's the summertime, which means I'm spending most of my time rewriting my novel The Strikeout Artist. And since I now have a blog to keep up with, and to post on somewhat regularly, I'm debuting a new feature here tonight: a paragraph from my novel with absolutely no context given and no reason to post it.

Tonight's installment comes from the beginning of Chapter 5. Take it away, narrator:

Cleveland finished the sweep, giving us 0-9 to think about as we packed our bags and headed down the dark rail to Cincinnati. Enough time to get angry, rediscover our tempers, come out ready for recompense against the Gentleman Pig Farmers, and by the time we pulled into town we were belligerent as Scotsmen, blustering off the train and mouthing off to people on the streets all the way to the ballpark--none of them had any notion who in the hell we were--and we brought our red-hot anger right into Pig Farmer Park and right up to the plate, and then Cincinnati swept us, too. It must’ve been heartening for the other teams to see us coming. Everyone we'd played had earned three in the win column, courtesy of the Knights-Errant. Cincinnati took four from us—their first wins of the year—and on the final out of that final game, somebody let loose a sow in the outfield and the park crier picked up his megaphone and implored young kids to come from the stands and chase it down. Ohio, by its nature, is a well-meaning disaster, but never more so than when pig wrestling is involved.

NOTE: This paragraph may be edited or stricken from the novel altogether. Except for the part about pig wrestling.