The Intern  •  April 7, 2018

LOS ANGELES – On April 6, 85 miles off the coast of mainland California, a 5.3 tectonic rumbler shook the foundations of every structure in the greater Los Angeles metro area. All that rock jiving though, didn’t amount to a dog fart compared to the cosmic tremor felt not 24 hours later by anyone who ever had the stones to snatch up a Balljacker or Mother Gun and crank a dinger past the outstretched arms of some degenerate glory hound half drunk on the Budweiser he's still sweating from the night previous-

What you felt was the LA Chapter finding its field to infest.

This isn’t just any dirt barnyard though, the LA contingent has infiltrated a patch of blacktop within one yard-shot distance to some of the world’s richest muckety muck hollywood douchers' private jets and choppers.

Our stickball stank is all over the elite of the west coast elite.

It all began after the local authorities welcomed us to our new digs with a well deserved apology for their tardiness - then with the trade winds blowing east, we set to doing what we do and divvied up the teams - YFS mainstays, The Surgeon and The Consigliere, found themselves on opposing sides as they witnessed the unmitigated splendor of the west coast crop of talent that’s been germinating for years.

Golf Shotz, The Intern, The Surgeon and Rookie Alex W flipped Black.

Rookie Jeff D, The Consigliere, Raw Dog, Rookie Connor B and Rookie Colby P batted first for the Reds, but The Airfield refused to be deflowered in the Chapter’s first contest- mostly due to a menacing left field hill that threatened to snap even the beefiest of mail carrier’s ankles in its patchwork of holes and rebar hidden under a blanket of drought resistant vegetation. Using this to their advantage, the vets of the Blacks employed small-ball tactics, pummeling the left field hill that deterred any defense and forced the Consiglieri to shout his lackluster (and stationary) taunts from the relative camouflaged safety of those left field succulents. In the end the Blacks manufactured a 6-0 education for the rooks of the Reds, a tough day-one lesson about a game that demands excellence and doles out glory only to those who deliver.

Game two rewarded the skeleton crew who remained to explore the launch pad range of their new confines. A revised field plan resulted in the Airfield busting wide open for those who stuck around- Raw Dog deep dicked our new home with a first inning bomb that soared with more majesty than any G6 owned by any member of the Black Eyed Peas, giving the LA Chapter its first recorded round-tripper and profound (yet fleeting) hope to the rooks of the Reds. Fleeting because in the top of the second, the Blacks responded with a 5 run punch to the gunt fueled by a deep ball clinic from Golf Shotz and The Intern, much to the joy of the dog walkers and yoga panted mothers of the neighborhood. Throughout the next 7 innings the Blacks would pour on runs with three Deep Taters served up by the Intern and two from Golf Shotz, leaving a flustered Consiglieri with no recourse but to strap his teammates to his bat and blast into that hill like a drunk redneck with an M-16, which resulted in only one Dinger for The Deal. In the end though, the might of the Blacks bats was too much. They walked off the field with a 12-6 victory and visions of what this burgeoning chapter could be with a little watering from Modelo tall boys and a healthy mix of leather-necked Angelinos who want nothing more than to chase glory with the finest crew of bastards since the Portland Mavericks spat their tobacco on the grass.

Here comes LA.

G1: B: 6, R: 0
G2: R: 6, B:12

G. Shotz: 2, Rawness: 1, The Intern: 1, Dom the Deal: 1

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