Saturday, July 26, 2014

Update to the Book of Joe's section "Knobbiticus"

Now it came to pass in the third summer of his four-annum covenant, a time called 2000, the righteous Yankee warrior Chuck Knoblauch lost his ability to bring direction to the hurl of balls.
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Sayers of sooth pondered this omen, and prophets offered solutions. But the more that “Knobby” sought to herd his frantic emissions, the more waxen and leprous his tossings became.
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One dusk, Knobby’s errant missile soared so far off course that it nearly slew the mother of Keith Obermann, son of Sevareid, while the matron held a baseline seat. So pocked with guilt was Knobby that the once-great Twin barely could see the outfield through his veil of tears.
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That night, Knobby appeared unto Joe’s chamber and spake:

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“Hear me, o, Joe!

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“My arm mocks God with its treachery.

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“’Tis a curse upon the House of George and a stain of camel dung upon our carpeted pennant path. Lend me thy axe, I beg thee, so that I may chop off the fevered limb and feed it to the suited toads of print and byte!”

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Joe placed his calm hands upon the mini-brute’s troubled appendage and declared:

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“Hear me, o, Knobby!

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“Thy demons reside not within thy wing, but within thy mental mind.”

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And so Knobby flung himself to the floor and spake:

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“If brain it be, then bequeath to me thy trowel, so that I may carve out the infected lobe!

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“If brain it be, then clip me unto thy taser, so that I may singe the wormed matter!

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“If brain it be, then swing thy scythe neckward, so that my thought cabbage shall plummet, and my eyes at last can gaze up at their meat pedestal, freed of madness and deceit.

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“Bolt me to thy bench! Option me to thy Clippers of Columbus! Trade me to the plebes of Kansas City, or to a place where my head can be blissfully shrank!”


For seven days and nights, the jell-haired Yank testified to his sins. Finally, Joe spake:

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“All right, all right, all right, o, Knobby, listenup!

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“Only ye can smite the vermin that breed beneath your pleasingly oiled quaff.

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“Only ye can untempt the lips of self-doubt, which open unto the glistening French tongue of error.

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“But fear not for the House of George, o, Knobby, for thy craven seizures shall not unman us.

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“On the morrow, ye shall find a seat of pad. In thy stead, we shall martial the tuneful Venezuelanite fielder and batsmith, Luis Sojo.

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“For until ye becalms thy derelict oblongata, ye pose threat to all celebrities who occupy seats along the Line of the First Base. And that includes Rudolph Giuliani, son of Koch, heir to Dinkins, and brother of Ailes.

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“To preserve the House of George, which seeks a grander Yankee palace hewn of public gold and bejewed boxes of luxury, we must protect the shining forehead of Rudolph Giuliani, our political ticket of meal!

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“Verily! And in the spring of 2001, thou shalt move to the far field of Left. There, no stones slung by thee shall ever slay a celebrity or king, or those who service them.

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"This I doth decree!”
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And so it came to pass.
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The following spring, Knobby roamed the far field of Left.
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And he ruled the League of Grapefruit.

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And he rained frenzy upon his foes through the showery month of April.

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And then, without cause, his June bat floundered and died.

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And when Knobby’s covenant expired, the House of George exiled him to the crop farms of Kansas City, and his name was never spake again.

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And no Person of Very Importance was ever felled by one of Knobby’s ill-aimed pellets.

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And Rudolph Giuliani, giver of pork, oversaw many celebrations.

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And one day, there shall be a greater and more expensive House of George, born of the public till and ripe with the raised price of tickets, thanks to the wisdom of Joe, the generosity of Rudolph Giuliani and the sacrifice of Knobby, son of Sax.

(Addenda): 

Alas, hear now the amended post-script to Knobby, the unshaven and multi-chinned puncher of wives - exes and current - who hath been chained and shamed for his alleged foul deeds, and who had once been destined for the Twins of Minnesota's Fame Hall, to which he rightfully had belonged.
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But Knobby hath appeared unto booking shots of mug, snarly and not kempt, raising questions of his mental brain-work and morality clock, and casting doubt upon all heroic soldiers who must move in life from the glowing adoration of Yankeedom to the deathly humdrum of Humdrumdom. 
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For therein lies great pain and torment.
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Be not forever enchanted by those who win the pennants in their youth, yet who cannot find peace within their own crumbling houses, for it is the greatest greatness of Joe that he hath found stability in love, the kind that was denied to the tragic man called Knobby.

7 comments:

John M said...

Genius. Pure and simple.

I bow in thine general direction.

Mikegyro said...

Amen

Local Bargain Jerk said...

I would fain unsee the image of a flap-mouthed Knoblauch the night he chose goatishly to argue a call during the Series of American League Champions in the year of 1998. The onion-eyed doofus brought forth his ill-fated arguments while the ball continued to rolleth on the pitch and was thus decreed by the black-shirted oracles to be "in play".

The memory of watching Sir Knobby the Clotpole blow pink bubbles while the alert warriors from the shores of the Lake of Erie pranced merrily around the paths of base will stir me to fits of pain and rage for which there is no earthly relief. My throat is still hobbled and ragged as a result of the fury I unleashed in the direction of the set of television in my chambers.

This mental gaffe committed by the poltroonish Knobby revealed to our pinstriped kingdom how dense and ego-driven this rump-fed popinjay really was. It was shortly after this incident that ye olde case of the yippes did blossom on the beef-witted Knobby's brain like the rawest of cankers.

If thou dost not not believe me, thou could looketh it up: http://www.nydailynews.com/sports/baseball/yankees/chuck-knoblauch-wrong-turn-blunder-tribe-series-tie-article-1.299381

This vassal doth submit that it is his humble opinion that all the pain and torment that has since befallen Sir Knobby was born on that sorry and vexatious day.

Anonymous said...

excellent LBJ. Perhaps with John M. confined to writing meaningless comments El Duque could hire you.

KD said...

Let's all take a guess when Knobby will finally receive an old timers' day invitation. I'll say 2018, if the Yanks can locate the highway overpass under which he resides. Somewhere in Texas, I hear.

KD said...

Anonymouse, if you had a pair of balls, and actually took on an identity, duque would love to have you post. you're just a big puss who'd rather hurl snark at people like John who dare to share themselves with us. Mustang has you pegged.

Anonymous said...

There are mtiple anonymi. And yet the six or seven of us all agree on one thing: John M is bad. Bad. Bad.

But I guess I couldn't imagine that a guy with a pic of Youkilis in a Yankees hat would have the intellect to grasp this.