The remainder of this article contains lore created collaboratively by the Blaseball community.
The Collective Dadconscious is a force that imparts Dadly qualities upon fans of the Dallas Steaks. No one knows for sure its purpose, but it is generally agreed upon that it is pretty chill.
In the Forgotten Times
The Collective Dadconscious is one of the great elemental forces in the universe. Since the forgotten times, there were rumors of beings that would, at various times in their lives, access it knowingly or unknowingly, often with the result of poor fashion decisions, horrid puns, and general (if awkward) concern for their offspring or others they had paternal feelings for. It is said that this force retreated from the world at one point, and that a few who were extremely in tune with it's whispering reported hearing a fading voice on the wind that seemed to say "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed."
For years afterwards, there was no Collective Dadconscious. Dads found that they couldn't be bothered with so-called "Dad jokes" with one reportedly going so far as to call them "lame" in mixed company. Lore on the proper care and grilling of steak also began to disappear, as without the murmurings of the Collective Dadconscious, meat just didn't end up searing quite right on the grill. It was a dark time, made darker by the fact that those living in it did not even know what they were missing.
There are a number of theories as to why the Collective Dadconscious has made its presence known again in the world, and why it seems to have made a home in the George Foreman Stadium, but the most widely accepted is that when the dimensions were torn asunder by the Grand Unslam, it briefly connected the dimension where the Collective Dadconscious was taking a Well Deserved Nap with our own, and that right at that instant The Grill Master tossed a beautiful T-Bone Steak on the grill. The combination of the noise of universes shattering and the intense aroma of searing beef is said to have woken the Collective Dadconscious from its slumber, at which point some say that it said "Oh, were we firing up the grill today? Hold on, I'll come over and help." The story then says that the Dadconscious proceeded to grab it's most garish Hawai'ian shirt, khaki shorts, sandals, and socks from the closet to look festive for the occasion and grabbed its favorite novelty apron and pair of tongs on the way out the door in case it was needed to Man the Grill. Upon making its way to Dallas it found a collection of thousands of potential Dads of all shapes, sizes, diets, and genders that had been brought together by their generally chill vibes and love of the grill, and decided that "yup, this is a good party."
Since the unseen descent of the Collective Dadconscious upon the George Foreman Stadium and its surrounding area, fans of the Steaks (an already a relatively chill bunch) have found themselves changed by their proximity. Meatheads report that the longer they follow the team, the more they just want folks to live up to their potential and make a good steak. Old concerns about What Team Is Best and Who Is Going To Win seem less important than the value of a good pun, an ice cold drink, and a steak cooked Just Right. For new fans, this feeling is often reported as a general feeling of paternal pride in the accomplishments of the Steaks and the Grill Master, but some older fans have begun to merge with the Collective Dadconscious more wholly, and, by uttering the sacred mantra "Hi Hungry, I'm Dad!" can temporarily surrender their body to the will of the Collective Dadconscious as a whole, passing on whatever messages it may have for the community. These messages have traditionally been simple, such as "You'd better let those coals burn a bit longer before you put the meat on."
Having a Real Heart-to-Heart Talk with the Blaseball Gods
The only complicated message to date is when, after accessing the Collective Dadconscious, the current Grill Master not only found themself making a beautiful steak, but also felt compelled to write a letter to the Gods of Blaseball on behalf of the Collective Dadconscious who felt the Gods were doing great but was a bit concerned about them. The letter has been reproduced below for posterity:
At the current time there has been little acknowledgement on the part of the Blaseball Gods to the gestures made in this missive, but the Collective Dadconscious seems un-phased by this so far. After all, a Good Dad loves their chosen family, even if they are Making Bad Choices.