In honor of the grand return of the contesting season, Hurdy Chadwick and Stuffy McInnes have invited a few fellow Rooters to share their thoughts on the state of Red Stockings base-ball.Our next guest posting comes from Bricks Kibley, a fellow keyboard-clatterer we've counted as a colleague since we were mere yannigans on the junior scribbling circuit. Bricks is a fine gentleman who is known to enjoy a "jar" and smoked meats while rooting for the local nine. Welcome, Bricks! What say you?
Across our great land, half-forgot sounds perk the ears of teamsters and oxen in half-furrowed fields, robin red-breast on ochre-colored town greens and, in our great metropolises, street urchins and the robber barons at whose spats they stoop. The crack of the ash! The pop of rawhide smacking mitt! The wiseacre patter of our flannel-clad boys of summer-time! Yes, dear reader, America’s pass-time again begins anew!
Fanatical followers — “fans”, as the youth would have it — of Bean-town’s bean-ball Red Stockings begin salting away cod for pick-nick ventures to Lansdowne’s beloved haven of hardball: Fenway Park. Meantime, the despised pin-stripers of New Amsterdam summon their legions to a just-erected edifice, a palatial tribute to excess the like of which hasn’t been seen since Sodom — a stadium fit for the Grand Turk himself!
The rumor-vine murmurs that the hated Yankees re-erected their hardball house to accommodate the cyclopean cranium of Alex “Purple Lips” Rodriguez, the Croesus-like girth of newly inked hurler Carsten “Sandbags” Sabathia and the barbers, chemists surgeons and other medicine “quacks” who attend Sabathia’s brother-in-arms, “Arm Jalopy” Burnett. Surely the Bostonians will play Joshua to this Jericho! Or my name isn’t...
Bricks Kibley
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