The Intern • November 16th, 2018
LOS ANGELES – Armageddon loomed Saturday.
While acres of the most expensive real estate on the planet charred and the creme de la Hollywood creme were forced by mother nature to scramble to their Chateau Marmont massage tables and Beverly Hills Hilton room service for survival, the degenerates of YFSLA pulled up their deep buried instinct and reverted to pursuing what they know best- the grand glory sniff that is Stickball- the only pure vocation in a world of swirling chaos and decline.
Faced with cataclysmic stressors, the YFSLA brethren instead scuttled like a swarm of apocalyptic cockroaches to our safe zone of Blacktop Beach.
Those brave fools who took the field Saturday were rewarded quickly for their efforts.
Both the Blacks, consisting of Raw Dog, The Intern, Eazy Up and the late arriving Pilgrim P, and the Reds- The Noreaster, Jeff AKA SWAT and The Lothario- struck oil quickly with each side knocking in two first inning runs apiece.
With the bats hot and saucy from the first inning, The Intern tallied his second deep fried tater of the season in the second, giving the Blacks a quick 4-2 lead that would stand strong against a barrage of solid slugging from Jeff and The Noreaster.
Adding a spice of sexual predation to the morning’s heady recipe, Newman, the bulldog charge of The Intern, found the excitement of stickball glory too much to contain. After every contact made between stick and ball, the mad hound lunged for the slugger responsible and offered a congratulatory leg-humping more intense than that of the fires burning northward.
But Jeff refused to be #metooed the face of this Weinstein-esque antagonism. He earned himself an alternate nickname in the middle innings when on a wild pitch he abandoned traditional technique and lunged for the wayward pitch with a single forehand swat that sent the fuzzy bastard right into the depths of centerfield.
And try as they might, the Blacks could not manufacture more runs in the face of the Lothario’s practiced hands which snagged most every squirrely looper tagged to his vicinity.
The game loped along until the 8th inning when the scent of burning filled the air. The stickballers of the YFSLA raised their noses to the sky and looked at each other as a black blanket of smoke descended upon the airfield and ash fell from above
But the YFSLA syndicate refused to call the game on account of apocalypse- and instead finished out the contest before packing up and skeedattling to the safety of LA’s finest dive bars.
B's: 4, R's: 2
Dingers - The Intern 1 (2)