Friday, August 9, 2019

Somewhere Deep Beneath Tampa

August 9th, 2019—I think.

By my calculations—scratching marks on the wall—it has now been 1 year, 9 months, and 19 days since the world ended.  Since that day when all the alarms first sounded around the Yanks' Permanent Rehab Complex, and the trainers and massage boys came running over to rush me into the End of the World Emergency Bunker beneath the field.

Who even knew the Yankees HAD an End of the World Emergency Bunker?  These guys think of everything.  They said it was an idea of old George's, right after he first got squirrely. Thank God it was there.

I'll never forget that day.  It started off as a day like any other day in rehab.  Picked up at the hotel by the physical therapists, who lifted me into the chair and wheeled me to the limo.  Then the usual, exhausting grind of whirlpool baths, massages, cooling health drinks, special Emeril Rehab meals, and saunas.  Followed by a relaxing dip in the pool, rubdown, and manual erotic stimulation, with some warm milk and a nap before bedtime.

Our trainer-in-chief was just calculating how many decades it might be until I was ready for "baseball activities," when the started to wail.  The next thing I knew, I was in a small, cell-like room deep beneath Legends Field, with single cot, a chair, an X-box, and a television.

Hey, I'm not complaining.  It feels like heaven, compared to what's going on...OUT THERE.

They never did tell me just what it was that happened.  Some combination of nuclear exchange, biological warfare, zombie apocalypse, alien invasion, the End of Days, and The Shining.  

The accounts of those who serve as my beloved guards and helpers are never very coherent.  Often, while trying to explain it, they burst into hysterical giggles as people do, I know, when trying to talk about witnessing something so awful it has burned a permanent hole in their brains.

I have an idea of it, at least.  The TV doesn't pick up much, but every now and then some staticky, wavering images on the news come through.

...that insane blonde woman, whoever she is, riding around on a giant, mutated, flying lizard that spews fire on helpless, screaming people...Marianne Williamson running for president—my God, think of how many people must have died before THAT could happen!

In any case, my helpers keep me safe and secure.  They bring me whatever food they can scavenge, and tell me that I must never, ever open the door, lest I be exposed to the penis-shrinking radiation, giant centipedes, and invisible strains of Super Ebola just outside.

Whenever I ask them about my beloved teammates they just shake their heads and look very sad.

But...maybe, just maybe, there is at least one fellow survivor from the Yankees' Permanent Rehab Complex.

The other day, I heard a faint tapping coming through the concrete walls of my cell.  A tapping that sounded like so many dots and dashes, so much so that I could only surmise that it must be Morse Code.

I listened for a little while longer.  Then, clearing my throat, I shouted at the top of my lungs:  "DUDE!  Like everybody else born after 1960 I don't know fucking Morse code, a'right?"

After that, the tapping stopped.  Which was good, so I could get some sleep.  But then I swore I could hear a dim voice, as if from very far away or coming through a series of concrete walls, trying to communicate.

I swear, it was trying to tell me a name.  It sounded like, "Gi-an-car-lo!"

Which is weird, since the only dude I know in baseball named THAT is that guy on the Marlins who keeps hurtin' himself swingin' on pitches in the dirt.  Why would the Yankees ever pick up HIM?

But hey, I'm just lucky to be alive.  I know that now, and it's funny, but most of my old injuries seem to have healed up.  I tell myself, Jacoby, you're one lucky dude, hombre, even if you do have to spend your whole life in a tiny room eating hot dogs with rat turds on them and playing this WAY out of date X-box.

Though I have noticed lately that my plantar fasciitis has begun to act up.  Don't know how it happened, just some way I twisted when I was blasting aliens on the box the other day.

If only that whirlpool had made it through the missile strike...




  




26 comments:

Rufus T. Firefly said...

Dr. No has his entire operation clicking on all cylinders I see.

Who has the key to the nuclear device?

Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside said...

Finally, the chance for a cake from behind victory. Gimme that Jays bullpen!

Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside said...

Cake... cake... I was so intent on not writing cum from behind that I ended up writing cake.

Rufus T. Firefly said...

Boone went fucking savage on the ejection.

The umpire sucks. The he takes it out on the wrong guy.


At least he's not an IRS agent.

Rufus T. Firefly said...

There is a Cumming, Georgia. Pretty close to the new Braves park. I had a business friend that couldn't get the dirty movie to work on his hotel TV (with the girlfriend half his age -- I guess he was looking for inspiration). True story, he called the 800 number and they asked what movie he wanted to watch and where was he. They hung up on him after laughing hysterically.

TheWinWarblist said...

Monday cannot get here soon enuff!


Fuck you Hal.

Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside said...

I accept this loss because it fired up Gardner. That’s always a good thing. Can we just make him Captain now? It’ll just be for a few more weeks.

HoraceClarke66 said...

More crap from Happ. What a disaster that guy has proven to be

I have to admit it, I thought signing him was a good idea. Guess not.

HoraceClarke66 said...

The Yanks revert to bizarre-o thinking. Why are you giving Judge a "rest" down the stretch? Because he's hurt? So why don't you put him on the EL?

Oh, right: it would mean calling up Frazier. Can't have that.

HoraceClarke66 said...

So the Nats, huge game, huge series with the Mets—up 6-3 in the 9th, they bring in Sean Doolittle, who the Mets have slugged all year.

And...they leave him out there to give up 6 hits and 4 runs. Really: 6 of 8 guys get hits, and Mgr. Dave Martinez leaves him out there to take it.

Why? Because the rest of the bullpen has died?

Whole lot of bad managing out there...

13bit said...

You can't always score ten runs to overcome bad pitching. This is especially true in the playoffs, just as Duque and a few others have been saying lately.

Unknown said...

Tell me y’all saw the Cashman / Cops / stolen vehicle story!!

Anonymous said...

HOSS, IT WAS AN INSTANT REPLAY OF WHEN THE METS PLAYED THE NATS A MONTH AND A HALF AGO!

THEY LEFT DOOLITTLE IN AS HE GAVE UP HIT AFTER HIT ON STRAIGHT 93 MPH FASTBALLS,ONE AFTER ANOTHER.

IT WAS INSANE!

BOTH TIMES! MET BATTERS TEED OFF, KNOWING WHAT IS COMING, WITHOUT EVEN GETTING 1 OUT!

I WAS YELLING, "PUT IN FUCKING FERNANDO RODNEY!"....HE WOULD AT LEAST GET ONE OUT!

THE COCKSUCKING METS ARE GONNA MAKE THE PLAYOFFS.

KILL ME NOW.

NO WAIT, I'M GONNA HANG MYSELF INSTEAD.

....AND HOUSTON WON TONIGHT AND WE FINALLY LOST. WE CAN'T LOSE OUT ON HOME FIELD.

I GOTTA FIND A BIG OAK.

Oasisdave said...

The Crap Hapless wonder strikes again. Hopefully the good Session from Severino is a sign of things to come from him because I sure don't see this starting staff getting by Houston and the the stinkin Doyers. Yeah you guessed it, I absolutely hate the Dodgers. Maybe even more than Boston

HoraceClarke66 said...

Oasisdave, that was a theological crisis for me last year. Red Sox or Dodgers? The two teams I hate most in the world!

I had to finally root for the Sox, much as I hate them. I just could not abide a team that left New York...particularly when it was plenty profitable. I'm sorry, but 61 years ago? Too soon!

HoraceClarke66 said...

And it's even worse, ALL-CAPS.

The Mets really do have a better chance to win the World Series than we do.

Oh, I'm not saying they will, because...Mets. Chances are they'll screw up something, and they don't have much bullpen, either.

But look at it: de Grom, Syndegaard, Wheeler, with Lugo in the bullpen. That gives hem a puncher's chance in any and every short series.

Sap, Crap, CC, and the Kraut? That gives us a chance against absolutely nobody save for the Minnesota Twins. (And for that matter, our bullpen ain't all that great, either.)

This isn't meant as an offering to the JuJu gods, or sour grapes. I really like this Yankees team. But it just cannot win, barring some wild bout of flu, or...well, or nothing. Ain't no conjunction of good luck that's going to take out Boston (I'll believe they're dead when I see a stake through the heart), Cleveland, Tampa Bay, Houston, and the Dodgers—whichever combination we end up playing.

Just no way. Not going to happen.

It's like Brian Cashman is this brilliant aeronautic engineer, and every year he builds an incredible airplane which has a great engine, and fantastic seats, lots of aisle room, an incredible cockpit, etc. And no wings.

And then, 4-5 months in, he can't understand why it won't fly.

JM said...

Nice piece o' work, Hoss. Although I think it's probably closer to the truth about Ells and John Carlo than most people think.

Sanchez expected back today. Say goodbye to great offense and defense from the catcher's slot.

Higgy, we hardly knew ye.

ranger_lp said...

Another Happless performance. Great job Larry! #FYL #LarryManBoobs

ranger_lp said...

@HC...you have plantar fasciitis too? Just like Ells. Just stop baseball activities and wearing high heels and you'll be fine. I'll send you the bill later.

Rufus T. Firefly said...

Regarding who to root for in the carmines/trolley Dodgers (fun fact: there's no fucking trolleys in Chavez ravine): just like in '86, I root for embarrassing plays and career ending injuries. 86 was enjoyable even though the muts won - just because the racist townie asshole sux fans thought they had it signed sealed and delivered.

HoraceClarke66 said...

ranger, true story: I WAS diagnosed with plantar fasciitis, which previously I had thought was the name of General Franco's party in Spain. (Rim shot!)

The doctor "prescribed" a pair of "egg cups" to wear in my shoes and sneakers (Yes, they're sneakers. "For sneaking!" as Grandpa Simpson used to say.).

Miraculously, I was able to continue running and biking.

True, I do not run at anything resembling the pace Jacoby Ellsbury does (did). On the other hand, he is 30 years younger and not dragging around my extra 30 pounds of blubber. So there.

HoraceClarke66 said...

Thanks, JM. And yes, it sure is depressing.

Should've dealt Sancho for Realmuto when we had the chance. Beside the fact that he's a much better all-around player, we could then have asked each other, "What news from the Realmuto?"

HoraceClarke66 said...

Rufus, Sox rank no. 28 on my list of who to root for.

No. 29: Giants (at least they didn't make a fortune by leaving)

No. 30: Dodgers.

No. 27 is a tie between the Texas teams, Houston and Texas.

Rufus T. Firefly said...

Hoss,

You mean there are FIVE teams you dislike more than the Muts?!?

I hope that's the alcohol talkin'.

HoraceClarke66 said...

Eh, not a real big Mets hater.

One, they're a New York team, and two, they're never really a threat to us.

Some of my best friends are New York Mets fans. Really. You meet them one-on-one, and they're very decent.

In fact, I would even call the Mets my third favorite team, after the Yankees and Not the Boston Red Sox.