"The fourth guy actually screwed everybody up. What he did was not right. I don't believe in any type of violence."
-- Albert Skutnik, quoted in the Chicago Tribune (April 17, 2003)

I speak on behalf of all legitimate fence-jumpers and field-runners today, during our darkest hour.

	One bad apple has spoiled the bunch of peaceloving fence-jumpers.

Rise up, brethren, and protect the dignity of our breed. Don't let one miscreant ruin the reputation of our noble avocation. We have fought hard for the right to shed our shirts, maybe even our pants, and run across big-league fields of green in pursuit of our dreams.

Allowing one ignorant lout to destroy, in one misguided leap, the hard work of thousands would be inconsistent with our mission as pioneers and boundary-breakers.

Remember our motto, brethren: They can't stop us, and they can't hope to contain us.

The Fourth Guy, as he will be forever known, is 24-year-old Eric Dybas, a man friends say is a fun guy who has had trouble maintaining steady employment. This Fourth Guy sullied our good name by taking the field at Comiskey/Cell/Whatever Park and grovel-hugging the legs of umpire Laz Diaz.

Friends, we have worked too hard for too long to return to the dark days of hiding beneath the bleachers, risking showers of beer and worse, while waiting for that perfect moment to free our real selves with a furtive sprint and heroic leap into the great green beyond.

Who among us has not felt the slings and fists of security personnel everywhere, those yellow-jacketed establishment pawns, not to mention the unmentionable violations that take place within the bowels of the stadium, whilst nobody is looking? Who among us cannot look back at that first night, in Dodger or Shea or Camden, and remember the first moment of inspiration, whether it be beer or dare, with fondest remembrance?

Indeed, we are bound by our first leap, a leap into the unknown, to rally the fans or impress the little lady or fulfill our deepest need to get chin-drooled drunk and show the world of what we are made.

	Justice seems to have been served to Dybas a little earlier than his court date.

Remember, brothers, our brave predecessors, those righteous men who shed the confines of the stands in Candlestick Park, Forbes Field and the Astrodome with the hope of making the world a better place for us to ply our noble trade.

You feel the need. I feel the need. We all feel the need.

Friends, I implore you one final time. Reject The Fourth Guy and all for which he stands. Raise a beer or 12 in honor of our good name.

Get up off your seats, brothers, but not too fast. Gather thy bearings and steady thy vertiginous gaze. Free yourself from the bondage of unwanted clothing. Take a deep breath and ponder the wisdom of the manager who would play three left fielders in the same inning.

Stand up, brothers, for our good name.

You are our only hope.

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Tim Keown is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at tim.keown@espn3.com.