As I was enjoying a summer’s eve in our fine burg of Portland, I joined my esteemed colleague Hurdy Chadwick for a cool, restorative ale at a local tavern. Being a thoroughly modern establishment (which welcomed ladies alongside gentlemen for refreshment!), the saloon featured a state-of-the-art wireless broadcasting the exploits of our beloved Red Stockings.
Upon finishing our beverages and departing for a performance by a noted chanteuse, we made note of the contest’s status – 2 “runs” accumulated by the Bostons with few chapters remaining to be played! Huzzah!
After many hours of song, I returned to my home expecting a victory in the Bostons' ledgerbook. Shockingly, my home wireless was still transmitting a contest in progress, which was quickly ended (to the Bostons' detriment) by a four-ply-drive from the upstart Tampas!
Indigestion commenced, ruining an otherwise fine evening.
Once again, our relief hurlers bear the responsibility. I have taken to calling our bull-pen by a new name: The tinderbox.
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