Prepare to duke, New York!

To-night, the Bostons take the field refreshed to face the Goliaths from Gotham, who have regained the top spot in the Eastern League of the Americans after a year of wandering and introspection.

What will this eve's tilt bring to the green environs of the Fens? Will catcalls rain down on admitted opiate fiend Alex "Slaps" Rodriguez? Will Mark "Sacks o' Cash" Teixeira engender similar dissatisfaction from the home crowd of Rooters? Will Melky "Chubby Britches" Cabrera finally find the foot-long frankfurter stand below the center-field bleacher seats?

All questions and more will be answered beginning with the first hurl of the pill this evening. Count me among the Rooters who will be tuned to the wireless to follow the proceedings. And rest assured that in one hand will be a tumbler of Duffy's Pure Malt Whiskey while the other will be set to commence with a dose of moustache twirling should the game get tight.

Go forth, you heroic Red Stockings!

The Monster from the Bronx

There is a menace wandering the streets of the Bronx, with muscles and flesh part human and part science fiction. But rather than petrify and curdle even the strongest of wills, this madman is among the most revered swatsman in all of base-ball.

What gives?

This gives, I tell you.

Indeed, Alexander "Slaps" Rodriguez, it has been reported, is guilty of that cardinal sin of doping one's body with pharmaceutical-grade gibberish. Instead of sticking with the tried-and-true and remedying his maladies with Duffy's and a pinch of salt-cured ham, Slaps took the easy way out, sticking his rump with the types of needles best left to the bums in the Bowery or those caustic and nihilistic song-scribes from Tin Pan Alley.

And who is to blame? Why, good readers, we are to blame. Stuffy and I carry the weight of this. For our periodical is called "Full Circuit Clout," and we are single-handedly contributing to this nation's fundamental fascination with the long-distance swat, the moonshot four-bagger, the sweet sassy molassey. It is I, old friends, that takes responsibility for championing the full circuit clout above other base-ball pursuits such as mitten-wielding, field running and pill tossing. Oh, to take a step back in time and rearrange this disaster!

Alas, not a thing is possible. Slaps is forever tarnished. And truly, am I right to feel the shame of leading him to ruin? Is celebrating the most heroic of all sporting accomplishments -- the full circuit clout -- truly to blame for pushing Slaps toward his fateful decision? Am I not just a pawn in this opera of skullduggery and intrigue?

I am not complicit, dear readers! I neither procured the doping agent nor stuck Slaps in the hindquarters with a druggist's hypodermic. Let his fall from grace be his punishment, and let Full Circuit Clout continue to celebrate all that is good with the sweet four-bag roundtrip from each of the game's most accomplished swatsmen!

A brighter sun, a fresher breeze

There’s nothing quite like greeting the day after a definitive thrashing of the New Yorks. And today’s glorious blue ceiling seems that much bluer, and that much clearer, thanks to the clowning act put on last evening by Alex “Slaps” Rodriguez.

Tho’ richer than Croesus and blessed with preternatural base-ball talents, Slaps has proven no better than a bush-league bumbler when the stakes are highest. To wit: No “hits” gotten in five chances in last night’s contest; twice delivering “grounders” that allowed the Bostons to administer double executions; and yet another humiliating three-strike dismissal by “Dancin’ Johnny” Papelbon for the final out of the game.

Has Slaps’ recent dalliance with a notorious chorus-line dame drained him if the vigor needed to apply bat to sphere? We Rooters certainly hope it is the case. As my local priest, Father Donovan, often tells an antsy parish before they scatter from the pews to attend a Sunday base ball match, “Every time Slaps strikes out, an Angel gets his wings.”