Stinkmitt  •  October 23rd, 2016

BROOKLYN – One man, we know - even proudly - isn’t nearly enough. And the swagger of any stick isn’t billboarded or marquee’d. Rather, any half-attentive gruff with the juice to score at a Catholic funeral will find the quiet riches of the YFS ink-etched discreetly into the skin of the inner-thigh of the devoutest of wives, tipped on every trip of the lips of the pole-dancer next door. “This is why it came as such a shock to us up here in the MLB front office,” said Rob Manfred, the COO of Major League Baseball. “We knew the YFS RLCS was an instant stock-dropper for us if we had game six of the NLCS at Wrigley Field on the same day and so we pushed it to the night before.” And despite the televised fanfare in Chicago after the Cubs historic victory on Saturday night coupled with the mouthful-of-mash potato commentary of Pete Rose, the attendance, and especially the suds sales, were lower than they’ve ever been for MLB’s lead-up to the main-event.” “Let’s put it this way,” said Stuart Gotz, renaissance deal-maker with a razor-eye for raw and uncut opportunity, “we sold over 53,000 feet of woven nylon tarp so fans could camp out at York and the surrounding era the night before. I haven’t seen anything like it… Just supermodels on acid, everywhere, supermodels on acid going camping to catch the YFS championships the next day.” And the come down, as any V.S. Angel can attest, was nothing but heavenward for the 8th Annual YFS RLCS.     

Despite the R1 sophomoric youth of Stinkmitt, The Shepherd, and Time Machine, the R1s sleeked into the day behind the ice-swank of veteran baller the Local Boy and a farmer’s daughter post-coital hunger for a plateful of meatballs. Only a week before, the first ever Fuck My Finger Invitational had been damage-free for the R1s maestro of the mound, The Secret Agent, and the R1s tipped their tall-boys a little quicker with the prospect of cutting down an R2 return to the YFS Fall Classic for a possible repeat bass-hoisting. “Anyone who says they don’t get the feelin’ of pullin’ a few G’s before a game like this is taking you for a fool,” said “Mr. Tim Edward Machine” signing navel autographs in hieroglyphic Stargate script for teenage Suicide Girls, “I’ve had to eat an entire breakfast of Egyptian kushari while sitting next to Alexander the Great who had already shit his toga for being nervous about a showdown with Darius III.” Laughing suddenly, Joey, gestured to the coed unbuttoning her jeans for an autograph, “This one ends up marrying a buddy of mine in ten years, out of respect I’ll sign his name.”

And toward a brighter future with their name on it, the R1s struck first after a slash-filled start through the first four frames of game one, tacking to a “Stinky” solo shot in the top of the seventh to tip to a 3-2 finish. “We played like we borrowed underwear from the Elks Club,” said the R2s' Lone Wolf as he double-backed Mickey’s Hand Grenades with Philly Blunts and pocketfuls of Pop Rocks and polished his newly won Nobel Prize award for being the first person to produce an audible laugh from an adult Kodiak Grizzly Bear, “I just flipped my jersey for game two so these R1 clowns could see that it was the Lone Wolf that would be out front at the end of the day.” On that, the R2s in game two struck first with a four-run scratch in the top of the fourth, only to have the R1s get their own prize-moment from a different YFSer of equal legend. Just when the toil for the then series leaders R1s seemed to descend like a PCP hangover on the way to church, The Local Boy stepped-in and Roman-candled a Penn into the jet-liner sky-wash above the Cathedral to have it stall, admire the satellite view of the York blacktop, and dance the BQE. 

“I’m tellin’ you, that was it” said Shep while quilting for a leprosy cure at the Highlights Magazine Spin-Paint Interpretive Dance Postgame Party for Wayward Youths. “When Johnny split that atom in the top of the fifth to put us up 7-4, all of us R1s were convinced of what we already suspected, namely, that Hobbs is the kind of cat who has enough ‘jack’ to have raised us all from toddler-hood.” But, while fewer truths have been told, the only jacks that would bolster “red” would be on the side of the R2s as Dom The Deal would curb-stomp the R1 spirit with a top eight two-run wall-clearer to promise a series split. “I gotta confess,” said “Stugotz” with a bottle of Icelandic Brennivin in one hand and a face covered in cream while at the postgame Reddi-wip Only Barely Legal Food-as-Fashion Show, “I wasn’t feeling prime today. I had a deal in the works for a masculine panty-hose product that didn’t quite pan out a few days before the game. But a Consigliere has got to come through - even if there’s a bloody mess left - the job’s the job and it’s gotta get done.”

But the doing-in of the R1s, would handily be shared by both squads. In a “lycra-G” tight third game for the RLCS, the R2s loaded the bases in the bottom of the sixth after a circus act of fielding bungles by the R1 squad. “I don’t mean to pee in the cereal of any of those boys on that R1 squad,” said The Diamond Hass while inhaling Colombian “Candy” Straws with an El Jimador tequila I.V. at the Rough Rider Cherry-Popper Invitational, “but those pussy farmers looked like a bunch of dickless seals on wet tile in that inning.” With two outs and every base ticked, the reigning champ Diamond would pull a liner to left that would washing-machine in the brisket of “Stinkmitt” and find the blacktop for a series clinching RBI.  

“Mierda man,” said prolific YFS fan-art renderer and first-ever Ricky of the Year Award winner Rookie Remy, “I’ve only been here one season. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go ahead and take this whole groovy pinche chingadera.” And that fuckin’ groove of a thing my stick-full friends for the R2s is the 8th Annual YFS Fall Classic at York Cathedral this Sunday against the bomb-bully Black 1s. First pitch 1:05pm and available with a tin-can, string, and a little lighter fluid. 

G1 - R1s: 3, R2s: 2
G2 - R2s: 10, R1s: 8
G3 - R1s: 2, R2s: 4

HRs: R. Reid 2 (2), The Deal 1 (1), S. Agent 1 (21), Local Boy 1 (4)

The Red 2s are: Soy Peligroso, The Lone Wolf, The Diamond, Dom The Deal and Rookie Remy
The Red 1s were: The  Local Boy, The Secret Agent, The Shepherd, Time Machine and Stinkmitt

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