The Intern  •  April 20th, 2019

LOS ANGELES - The Intern lifted his head after placing the last hot orange Katfish Kone delineating the left field foul line on the asphalt of our friendly confines to spot EZ sauntering across the tarmac with paper sack in hand.  

“What’s in the bag?” shouted The ‘Tern from his newly formed straight-as-an-arrow line.

“Breakfast!” replied EZ.

At first the Intern assumed EZ had a noble plan to die on the Airfield’s well kept municipal toilettes, because inside that sack was a cache of Taco Bell breakfast items totaling at least 8,000 calories.

But as the Intern huffed the bag’s aromas, EZ explained that after his boondoggle gig working with Raw Dog, he was flush with cash and decided there was nothing he’d rather do than spread 20 bones of that wealth to his Stickball brothers.

The Intern’s eyes moistened with realization of EZ’s generosity and commitment to the crew. And just as he wiped away a single tear, another stickball stalwart came into his field of vision-  loping his gangly limbs across our Blacktop Beach was none other than PA himself- the young buck who had been on a tear lately- mashing home run taters like he was on KP duty in the Navy circa 1965.

The very same PA who only wears jeggings on the field- presumably to offer knee length support for the massive donger that gives him is stickball prowess, ambled up to the Sack 'o Plenty, and asked - “What’s that?”

The Tern offered the bag to Dr. Big Dick and without one ounce of shame or irony, PA looked up and remarked “Oh I had Taco Bell for dinner last night too.” Then without hesitation he jammed his fist into the bag and pulled out two soft shell egg tacos from the sack. He then poured himself a mimosa, and loaded up his guts with enough industrial-grade egg product to fuel a tugboat.

And that was the moment that sealed his fate.

The fuel that TB provided to The Intern, EZ, JEFF, The Consiglieri, Raw Dog and Rookie Tim- the very same calories that ensured everyone tasted glory with at least one dinger each- seemed to weigh down Dr. Big Dick. So much so that the same sinewy arms and spindly legs that produced at least 7 ding dongs a week, mustered only one Porkchop Betty for the up-and-coming talent.

Chalupa Kryptonite! Shouted the opposing Reds every time PA AKA Dr. Big Dick came to bat. And through the fist game, it seemed that even though his slap-daddy chakras were out of whack, Chalupa Kryptonite’s teammates in JEFF who had just communed with aliens and angels on the Astral Plane the night before, Raw Dog, and The Consiglieri more than picked up the slack, earning the B-boys a game one victory over the anemic Reds who rode the Intern’s prolonged hitting slump like a syphilitic pack mule to a game one loss. So despite an impressive opening show by Rookie Tim who singled and glory bombed in his first two at bats giving the Reds a 2 run opening inning lead, the Reds lost game one- 3-2.

Game two though, saw the Reds find their groove in the later innings. Raw Dog tried his best to float the Blacks with several impressive solo Round Trip Jerrys, and JEFF jacked a mean fence-jumper but with Chalupa Kryptonite stepping on his calorie-saturated dick, and the Reds hoovering up every catchable fly ball, the R-words were able to muscle 4 runs off a slump busting 2 run Intern Flare, impeccable team D, and solid hitting from EZ and Rookie Tim to take game two-  4-3. That win forced a game three.

With their bats hot and juicy from game two's excitement, the Reds poured it on in the rubber match.  The Intern homered twice, EZ homered, Tim homered, and every time the Blacks struck back, including a Dom Bomb the Reds answered in kind, opening up a 5 run lead and adding to it through the rest of the game.

Reds won the day. Chalupa Kryptonite is real.

G1: B’s: 3, R’s: 2
G2: R’s: 4, B’s: 3
G3: B’s: 4, R’s: 12

HRs: Raw Dog: 3, Intern: 3, EZ: 1, Rookie Tim: 2, The Deal: 1, JEFF: 1, Chalupa Kryptonite: 1

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