News
JET CITY PLOWBOYS TAKE 'GRAND CANYON' NAP BETWEEN 2021 TILTS – YIELDING PEAK PERFORMANCES FOR THE REFRESHED BEN-GAY GLISTENING SENIORS
Seadderall • August 12th, 2021
JET CITY – Fledgling keto diets, metamucil colon-cleanses, surveying of ample retirement homes and travels to the grandkids were too much to contend with for the weekly regular tilt in the early Jet City summer. After nearly a month between games the Plowboy dipshits dusted off the cobwebs and rubbed the knees with Tiger-Balm to find the JCA in her perfect short summer form (Dontonio Bibi beaming from ear to ear -- his view via a sniper rifle scope perched atop the Sunnydale...just awaiting one more complaint about Ze...ROSE CITY OPENING DAY, ACCIDENTAL TRANSCENDENTAL
Slapstick • May 2nd, 2021
ROSE CITY – Season opener at the Slabyard. It was the kind of day that makes you want to call your mom and apologize, motes of magic twirled beyond divinity and self. Screw the Cracker Jacks and peanuts, I’ll take the moment infinity struck forever: about 11:55 a.m. PST. That was when the siren call of, “Can we get this fuckin’ game started already?” rang across the black top. It was shouted by a person, but they were merely a vessel, the conduit for stickball reality. Closer to Michelangelo when he...
REEBOK SWITCH FLAWLESS AT THE SALAD BAR FIGHT AS THE LATEST NAMED ROOKIE EMERGES
Southern Diamond • March 5th, 2021
NEW ORLEANS – During the alacrity of the early inning transition last Saturday someone asked the score. Diamond yelled something like “4-2, good guys.” It didn’t take long for Kitty Cap to correct him with a “Fuck that. We ain’t the good guys. This is a bar fight.” “A salad bar fight,” laughed Surgeon. Silence. Smirks. The Hearts swiftly loosened the arugula from their ponytail holders and never looked back. Here are a couple more thoughts from an intrepid Saturday in the...SOME DAZE ARE DIAMONDS: NO LADLING OF GRAVY EVER ENOUGH FOR BROOKLYN’S GREEDY BIMBOS IN TEN-GAME GAUNTLET FUCKATHON
Jeffrey Bomber • September 19th, 2020
BROOKLYN – “I love the smell of tennis balls in the morning,” said Wasabi Harmless, huffing the new car smell out of a freshly cracked Penn can and chasing it down with a whiff of the old shnoz salts.
“I love friendship,” I whispered to myself. A sad, nervous habit I picked up during my New England solo quarantine days.
“Shut up,” everyone chimed.
“They have ears like bats,” I whispered, quieter yet.
“Shut up,” they echoed.
Having set our alarms the night before for 4:30 a.m.,...
CASUALTIES STACK ON SLAB AS DIAMONDS RIFF AGAINST HEARTS – The Rose City Ship / BATTLE OF THE SLAMS
Son of Stickball • October 25th, 2020
ROSE CITY SLABYARD — A blooming gale sang a violent song upon the window panes some cold October morning, a biting reminder that although the skies were clear and bright, the memories of summer were quickly fading.
Harried by the Autumnal squall, Rose City’s Misfit Diptshits filed in and settled around a table of an abundant spread. There were urns of spiked cider prepared by Rose City’s eternal Madonna, JOOSE, a simmering pot of gumbo, the Son of Stickball’s humidor filled with stogies and gummi...