Dear Mr. Wiffle™

Postscript No. 2

Aug 19, 2026

The Wiffle Ball, Inc.
275 Bridgeport Ave
Shelton, CT 06484

Dear Mr. Mullany,

I hope this letter finds your family in good health, your business strong, and your memory present in the minds of your friends. You may have left this world in 1990, but I think you’ll live forever.

You have landed in my story, so I researched your history.

I was expecting to find some geek at Mattel™ or some mad scientist at Hasbro™ who tried 580 different iterations of a curving plastic ball that didn’t break windows. I found you selling curveballs from the back of your sedan in the 1950’s. I expected to find you broke and forgotten like the guy that invented Chicken McNuggets. Your ball has allowed decades of ten-year-olds to become Mark Fidrych and Catfish Hunter in their father’s driveway.

Backyard baseball has lived in my memory as a joy of my childhood. My mother bought me my first bat & ball when I was four years old in Owosso, Michigan.

When I was four, I would hit for as long as any adult could throw. Half my time was spent finding someone to pitch (chase). I relentlessly interrupted many beer drinking sessions, card games and serious conversations. I was told to go play in traffic more than once...by adults!

When the eighties arrived, my cousins and I organized our own games, no longer dependent on half-drunk grandparents or the rubber arms of our uncles. We made our own rules, but were still subject to Mom’s laws: ‘stay out of the garden’ and ‘don’t break shit’. Wiffle Ball™ may have saved our lives, or at least our butts.

I am impressed to find that you repurposed injection molding technology from Colt™ to make your balls. I am stoked to find that you sold balls & bats from the trunk of your car. You were a hustler before hustle culture.

Commerce used to be like that.
I think your method is still valid.
Simple commerce.
Good ideas that fit needs.
Stories. Belief. Risk.
Value and values.

I have written a serialized story in which your product serves as the main object of one chapter. The ball is mailed as an invitation to a party. At the party, amongst other activities, we build an indoor batting cage that looks like Tiger Stadium for a bunch of mostly unsupervised ten-year-old boys.

My story, titled Varhaus™, is not a work of fiction, but a sales pitch, a dream that has yet to occur. I intend to make it so.

I have enclosed a ball as an invitation to you and your family. An artifact of a written story before it happens.

Yes, I am inviting you to a party that doesn’t have a date.

I have twenty-four individually wrapped Wiffle Balls on my desk embossed with the same message: MAKE COOL SHIT. I’m sending them to people who will understand, and you get the first one, because it’s already yours.

Thanks a million.

Jason Keusch
DeWitt, MI

P.S. There’s more to this story. I’ll leave the rest to your grandchildren, if they want to figure it out.