Thursday, June 5, 2008

Cry Havoc!

The topsy-turvey has been righted, and our Bostons have claimed their rightful perch atop the rankings of the American League’s Eastern regiment. Swell batting from the likes of Ol’ Aches and Pains Drew have to this point made the socking absence of our Colossus an easier pill to swallow.

Amidst the joyous rout, however, were signs of escalating tensions between the Old Towne Team and the league pretenders from the Flower State. The instigation? A dodgy defense of the second bag on a burgling attempt by our fleet-footed field patroller, Crisp. It seems the over-eager short-stop violated the ball-man’s code of ethics by obstructing Crisp’s “slide” with his lower gam. One jammed digit later, and Crisp was seeing red!

He plotted his payback, and delivered in a later frame with a charging attack that sent a wayward Ray tumbling. Thinking the tactic shabby, the Tampas’ skipper had sharp words for Crisp, who engaged in a jawing-match from the dug-out that featured the kind of blue language rarely heard outside a longshoreman’s tavern. (One can only hope that ladies and children were not privy to the exchange.)

The visiting squad will surely attempt their own rebuke of Crisp’s painful message. There can be only one outcome: A donnybrook!

All eyes will be on the conduct of the Tampas tonight. The merest provocation will surely lead to fisticuffs, turning the diamond on its side and creating not a ball-field, but a boxing ring. Do these Rays not know that “Hoss” Timlin is waiting in the bull-pen for just such a scrap? Advantage: Bostons!

1 comment:

Hurdy Chadwick said...

Fisticuffs! Fisticuffs! Sock 'em in the jaw!

Fisticuffs! Fisticuffs! Punch 'em in the maw!

The Rays! The Rays! They eat their lunch with snails!

The Sox! The Sox! They're tough as penny nails!

Florida is home to pansies and daisies,

The Rooters will punch you 'til your eyes become hazy!

We'll tongue-lash your children and make your wives blush,

And plow through your hurlers like frat boys at rush.

We're as tough at 20 as we are at 60,

And credit our health to Duffy's Pure Malt Whiskey!

Fisticuffs! Fisticuffs! Sock 'em in the jaw!

Fisticuffs! Fisticuffs! Punch 'em in the maw!