Soy Peligroso • October 17th, 2010
BROOKLYN – When summer ladies ditch their daisy dukes and leaves turn the golden shade of Ballantine, the Fall Classic is at last upon us. Players face an uncertain path: it's champagne showers, eternal glory, names emblazoned in dwarvish silver underneath the Bud and the Bass, a hero to future HOF visitors; or it's nothing, a mere footnote in the annals of history, a fat hairy pimple on the ass of Time. Captains get nominated, speeches get made, and friendships are forgotten. Anything goes once the first pitch is thrown…
The 2010 RLCS belatedly began as the R1s and R2s rubbed the sleep out of their eyes and collectively said "What the fuck are we doing out here at 10a.m.?" TBS hastily scrambled to fill time, airing a rerun of FrankTV. The two squads cracked breakfast brews like hungover gorillas in the dawn mist. The R1s brought hotheaded southpaw Le Grievance, budding star The Laser Show, ladies' favorite Mudnuts and the wild card captain, Top Gun shaded Big Wednesday. "I feel good about our chances today," said Wednesday. "If Mudnuts can lay off the fan BJs between innings, we're gonna win." The R2s fronted the hobbled The Connoisseur (recently maimed in a freak dining accident), scrappy The Craftsman, the mysterious Lone Wolf and captain firestarter The Diamond Haas. "I'm not going to lie, I'm a little nervous," sighed Haas. "We've got some injury issues. I got Conny squirting Icy Hot down his pants. I got Wolf nursing a hammy. It doesn't look promising."
Game 1 was a tense affair as both squads struggled in the morning sun. Angers flared as borderline calls and boundary disputes discolored the proceedings. No one ever said stickball was a gentlemen's' game, but this series came close to Pedro Martinez decking Don Zimmer. With some timely knocks in the late innings, Haas and the R2s squeaked 3 across as the R1s came up empty. "Should've laid off that Mickey's 40 after the bars closed," croaked a groggy Laser Show. Facing elimination, Wednesday and the R1s sacked up and showed plum in the late innings of Game 2, forcing the final and deciding Game 3.
Suddenly, an ominous rumble echoed throughout the autumn air. Sensing danger, birds and small animals scrambled for safety. Elk and deer boarded the ferry to Manhattan. Red eyes blazing, seething like hell spawn, a demonic demigod from depths unknown was waking, murder personified, hackles raised, fangs glinting in the afternoon... the Wolf was hungry. In an unforgettable display, the Lone one gathered his cubs on his back and tore into an overwhelming 4 straight bombs, garnering 6 RBI in the devastation and notching a post-season record. Wounded and shell-shocked, the R1s staggered out of the series, bloody and beaten. The Wolf, having gorged upon his 4 kills, retreated into the shadows, eyes still aflame like a child's nightmare. A joyous R2 squad will head to the Fall Classic, facing the winner of the BLCS.
G1: R1 0, R2 3
G2: R2 3, R1 6
G3: R1 6, R2 9
HRs: Lone Wolf: 4 (6)