A sound was heard on Thursday night. It echoed from brownstones. It bounced off of trees. It reverberated around the homeless. What was it? Scientists are still trying to determine that, but, if I had to describe it… sounded... as if Chewbacca’s heart was breaking. Or, for those of you who know what making out is like, sounded like: MOTHERFUCKERPIECEOFWHATTHEFUCKGODDAMNITNOTAGAINSHITSHITSHITHOWCOULDTHISBEJESUSYOUBASTARD. But the cause of the sound is well known, and I have transcribed its tale from the ink of tears I used earlier. Which is doubly sad as tears make really great self lube so now I’m just more lonely.
Our tale started out mightly, like Ryan Seacrest’s New Year’s Eve Bonanza, or a thoroughly cooked Hot Pocket. Kick This struck early, Matt “Aggressive Runner With The Ball In The Every Field” got on first. I got a single. Andrew “He Needs More Consonants In His Last Name” also got a single. Bases loaded. Chris “Hello!” Wood booted it deep. Scoring Matt, I was thrown out at home, but the throw was wild, scoring Andrew. Later, Jason “Biker” got a nice hit, scoring more.
We had solid defense. Henry out in deep center catching them balls. Nick getting a crucial deep ball in left for the 3rd out with bases loaded. It was 6-1. Then, they had the temerity to score 2. Then…. Not only did the wheels come off the bus, but Sandra Bullock went below 55 and bits of Keanu went everywhere.
With 8:14 left, we had to start another inning. We were 3.. in and out. They.. not so much. Scored 4 runs to clinch a victory of 7-6. It was a time of reflection, of camaraderie and for booze to take our pain away (or as I call it, the always time).
They didn’t bother to show up for Flip, so we played them in absentia, and mocked them furiously with mockery that may, or may not, have included banana hammocks.