I threw my voice out more than once yelling at Adam Dunn from the left field bleachers at Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati. The jeers usually had something to do with how many tall boys of Budweiser he had killed the night before or where he and Griffey would be partying after the game. It was no small feat staying interested in the Reds from 2001-2008, but the Big Donkey’s uncanny knack for hitting meaningless solo home runs and whiffing when the team needed him most kept me keenly focused, mainly for the sake of formulating a good heckle.