"NICE SUIT, James!" the voice of Jack McFarland, relief pitcher and team prankster rang out, as James made his way into the locker room with Phil, his cameraman.

In this city where baseball was more than just a game, the fervor for the local team's playoff journey had been palpable. The city had buzzed with anticipation, and among the host of passionate fans, one man had stood out, like a peacock, James Anderson. James, a charismatic sportscaster with a taste for the extravagant, was infamous equally for his flamboyant wardrobe and biting, cutting commentary. James would say he was just telling it like it is. Many locals would disagree, muttering "Oh that pompous blowhard of an ass" under their breath and rolling their eyes when his name was mentioned.

As the playoffs unfolded, James was a constant presence on the sidelines, his expensive and attention-grabbing suits rivaling the players' uniforms. Today, he stepped into the spotlight wearing a bold black and white plaid double-breasted, tailored to perfection and hugging his swimmer's body. It was as if the suit itself sought to dominate the arena. It was no secret James fancied himself a paragon of sartorial perfection, having parlayed his successful modeling career into this one of broadcasting.

James also had an uncanny knack for timing, often finding himself in the right place at the right moment. As the local team clinched a hard-earned victory, the locker room, covered in protective plastic, echoed with the euphoric celebration of athletes who had battled their way to glory. Champagne corks popped, laughter filled the air, and the atmosphere was charged with the sweet scent of success.

Seizing the opportunity to conduct interviews, James made his usual confident approach, microphone in-hand and asking Phil, "Do I look good per usual?" his mantra before starting to film, to which Phil responded, as he always did, with a simple vertical nod of the camera...YES.

James' confident demeanor and superficial charm were on full display as he engaged with the athletes. A few players shared their thoughts on the game and their anticipation for what lay ahead, offering glimpses of their camaraderie and unity. James, normally so critical of the team, for once let his guard down, basking in the team's, and town's, celebratory glow.

Yet, there was an undercurrent of mischief in the air. "Nice suit, Mr. Anderson," a second player remarked with a chuckle as he passed, the comment dripping with both false admiration and jest. Little did James know, those words were the breadcrumbs of a prank yet to unfold, a signal.

"NICE SUIT, JAMES!" Jack's voice again rang out, "HEY EVERYBODY, LOOK AT JAMES' NICE, FANCY SUIT!"

And laughter rippled through the room.

Players turned their attention, en masse, to the sharply dressed sportscaster, their expressions ranging from amusement to mischief. It was a simple phrase, but it carried a weight of irony that only those in on the joke truly understood.

In a sudden whirlwind of motion, players encircled James brandishing like trophies industrial sized garbage cans filled to the brim with Gatorade. The jubilant atmosphere transformed into a sea of liquid, as two-by-two, they dumped their contents all over James, Gatorade in many colors raining down upon him in torrents.

"TASTE THE RAINBOW, JAMES!" Jack shouted, and the entire the room, packed beyond capacity with players, coaches, staffs, other reporters and camera crews, their families and friends, and the fans who were able to sneak in, erupted into laughter and cheers.

Amidst the deluge, James stood in shock, stunned into uncharacteristic silence.

But the players were far from finished. The group carrying the trash cans made their exit, replaced by eight more players, each carrying colossal pies. But these weren't your typical harmless pies with shaving cream players occasionally used on each other. NO, THESE WERE REAL PIES, overflowing with custards, fruits, and other gloopy concoctions. In rapid succession, they pummeled James, transforming him into an absolute, unrecognizable mess.

He begged Phil to stop recording the humiliating scene, but with a simple horizontal shake of the camera, Phil answered...NO. And with numerous other cameras and reporters on the scene, it's no surprise that dozens of clips of this visual spectacle immediately went viral.

In one final act of utter humiliation for James, the scene was broadcast over the stadium's Jumbotron, so that when Jack mockingly asked, "What do we all say?" the team, then the crowd in the locker room, then THOUSANDS IN THE STANDS, yelled in unison...NICE SUIT JAMES!!!!, a chant they repeated over and over, until James attempted to flee.

However, the combination of James' haste and the now slimy plastic covering the floor engendered a flailing and ultimate ass-plant that landed him in the muck. The critical and once dapper commentator, transformed into a clown, a stooge, unrecognizable amidst a sea of mess, lay spread-eagle as cameras and camera phones filmed, snapped, and flashed.

Instead of being able to join in the team and town's joyful celebration, he had become its and their humiliated victim. And the town and team couldn't be happier to see this smarmy reporter finally get his just desserts.