Bad pitching in April, no stick in May. The implosion has just begun
The Yankess have not won a World Series since Missus Clinton became their Senator.
Stray-Rod living the old baseball addage, “Everything goes on the road”.
Alas, “what goes on in Toronto” no longer “stays in Toronto”. A-Rod will be leaving New York at year’s end.
But it sound like A-Rod is rolling up the total bases!!!
The 14½ -games-behind Yankees get the front page and the back page cover stories! The 1st place Mets win their 5th in a row, in an amazing come-from-behind 12th inning victory and they get a little back page blurb.
Death to the imperialistic Yankees! All peace and blessings be upon the Mets!
Whoa...she’s got bigger guns than he has...
A-rods play has nothing to do with it. he leads the league in many categories. He’s still a maggot, and should take lessons from Jeter, who knows how to play and win ona and off the field with class.
GO SOX! The magic number is now 100.
All of Monmouth County should be crying. I swear, half the population seems comprised of folks from Staten Island driving Escalades with Yankee covers over their spare tire.
A flashback, written in the days before the 2000 Subway Series. Unfortunately, Hillary never showed up at Yankee Stadium for the series, or this would have definitely come true:
Hillary at Yankee Stadium!! Game Two of Subway Series!!
A throng of New York baseball fans inches towards the blue turnstiles outside of Yankee Stadium. A "Let’s Go Mets" chant builds slowly, but is quickly drowned out by a much louder "Yankees! Yankees!" chant. The crowd is getting restless, as it is only twenty minutes before Game Two of the Subway Series. Suddenly a police bull horn can be heard, "Move aside! Move aside!" A half dozen mounted police arrive first and cut a path through the crowd. Then eight police motorcycles barrel through the opening, followed by a pair of black limos with tinted windows. The doors to the first limo open, and eight beefy men in suits step out and push the crowd back further, clearing a path to the glass doors of the Yankee offices. The doors to the second limo open next, and four additional men in suits emerge. Forming a phalanx, they surround the two hunched-over figures, a man and a woman, as they emerge from the car. The squat woman is wrapped in a full length hooded cape, with only her meaty ankles exposed, flopping over the sides of her shoes. The man, gangly and frail, pulls his hood tighter as the group passes quickly into the stadium and out of sight.
"Who was that?" a young boy of about nine asks one of the remaining stoic, suited men. The boy is answered with a silent back hand hard across the face. As his enraged father steps forward, the other men in suits pull their guns and aim at him. A few dozen New York baseball fans reach for their own guns, but quickly think better of it. The return of the festive mood drowns out the boy’s bloody-mouthed sobbing.
Inside the stadium, the bundled up man and woman stand silently on an elevator, as the doors slowly close. Out of sight now, they remove their head coverings. Hillary Clinton immediately erupts angrily at a quivering Chuck Schumer.
"You stupid worm! There was horse shit less than six feet from where I stepped! I told you I wanted the sidewalks scrubbed before I stepped on them!"
"They were scrubbed, Hillary! I made sure they were scrubbed! The horses though... they don’t know how to act! They just go when they feel like... I spoke to"
His words are interrupted as she slaps him hard in the mouth. Chastened, he mutters quietly, "You’re right... no excuses... it won’t happen again..."
With a clank and a hum, the doors to the elevator open again. A burly, nervous, excited George Steinbrenner holds out his hand.
"Hillary! Welcome! Welcome to my ballpark! It’s great to see you! Who’s the geek?"
"Schumer. Keep it down please George! I don’t want to attract attention. I’m just going to quietly catch a few innings, then go."
"United States Senator from New York - Charles Schumer," mutters Chuck, whose outstretched hand is ignored by George. Undaunted, he trails eagerly behind Hillary and Steinbrenner as they move quickly through the Yankee offices’ main glass doors, then into George’s office. George invites them to sit, as he takes his place at his grand desk. The view of Yankee Stadium, filled to capacity with rowdy fans, fills the long glass wall behind him.
"It’s going to be a great night Hillary! Not like last night - that friggin’ Lieter musta doctored the ball! I heard what he wrote on that baseball he gave Lazio. "Kick Hillary’s ass!" Who does he think he is?! That boy’s got no respect for his elders!"
Hillary grimaces at the age reference. "Who’s pitching for us tonight, George? Is it that Testaverde fellow, or is he still hurt?"
"The Rocket! The Rocket! Roger’s gonna mow ‘em down, or I’m gonna kick his ass right back to Boston! I hope he knocks Piazza’s block off, again. That bastard killed us last night!"
"Oh yeah. Go Rocker!" Hillary cheers.
"Hey, you there! Sleestack! Can I get you a beer or anything?" bellows George, finally noticing Chuck.
"Umm. No thank you. The name is Charles Schumer, United Sta"
"Hillary! How ‘bouts I show you to your seat! Sometime right in the first inning, we’re gonna put your name up all humongous on the scoreboard! Zoom in on ya in your seat for the centerfield scoreboard screen. The crowd’s gonna love it!"
"NO! Absolutely not! George, I’m a little worried about the crowd reaction. I really only like to appear before an audience of fawning sycophants. You know, I don’t want any booing to go out on national television."
"Nonsense! You’re America’s Sweetheart, Hillary. My Yankee fans are gonna give you a great big New York welcome."
"NO! George, I do NOT want any pictures of me on the scoreboard! I’m here so the network cameras can catch a glimpse of me. I don’t want to have to keep answering questions about why I didn’t come to the biggest event in New York City sports history, but I cannot allow myself to be booed. It’s not befitting of somebody of my regal stature."
"Why in the world would my fans boo you?"
"I don’t know George... maybe that carpetbagger issue..."
"Insane! I came here from Cleveland, and every New Yorker worships the ground I walk on for goodness sake!"
"No pictures on the scoreboard, George!"
"Oh, alright. Whatever you say, Hillary. C’mon let’s get to our seats!"
"You could put my picture up if you’d like," mumbles Chuck hopefully, "I’m already a United Sta"
George and Hillary are already gone, through the glass door, and down the few steps that lead to Steinbrenner’s press level private box.
"You’re seat is right up front Hillary."
"Actually George the back row here is fine."
"Suit yourself. Hey Ichabod! Why don’t you sit next to the First Lady and keep her company. I gotta do some business. Be back in a minute!"
George slams Chuck on the back, and walks off. Schumer slinks into his seat next to Hillary, but looks longingly at the front row, where his face will get more camera time.
"Hillary, are you sure you don’t want to move up to the front row? We’ll see the game better up there."
"Shut your whiny mouth, you sack of crap, and go get me a Diet Coke."
"Diet Coke! Right."
Schumer scurries off, practically running towards the concession stand. Hillary stands up, and removes her hooded cape, revealing a very, very worn black pantsuit. She sits back down, and lifts a program from the seat next to her. Slinking into her seat, she lifts the program and shields her face, pretending to read.
Elsewhere, Bob Sheppard, the legendary Voice of Yankee Stadium, is seated in front of a small table with his microphone and game notes in front of him. The stadium buzzes below. Suddenly, his door flies open and George bursts into the room.
"Bob, listen old boy, I already spoke to the camera guys. Right after the first batter, we’re going to show the First Lady up on the scoreboard. She’s sitting in my box, and she’s a little shy. I want you to do a big "Please join us in welcoming First Lady, Hillary Rodham Clinton, to George Steinbrenner’s Yankee Stadium!" or whatever. Play it up big, old boy! We’re gonna get this place rocking!"
And in flash, George is out the door and off again. Bob Sheppard rolls his eyes in disgust.
"Fat ass."
Hillary is still hiding behind her program as Schumer returns with her soda. Sidling into the seat next to her, he hands her the cup. George returns just as everybody stands up for the singing of the national anthem. Hillary takes a sip of her soda then tosses it in Schumer’s face.
"DIET! I said DIET COKE you moron. Not because I’m heavy, I just like the taste!! GO! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! I better have a diet Coke in my hand in two minutes, you shaky freak!"
"Move it Spindly!" barks Steinbrenner, smacking Schumer in the head as he scurries by. Then George looks down at the man singing the national anthem and starts spinning his hands in the "speed it up" motion. "C’mon Merrill, we’ve got a ball game to play! Jeez, you’d think we were paying him by the minute!"
Finally the song ends, and the crowd roars in approval as the Yankees take the field.
"That weird guy you brought is a mess, Hillary. Where the hell did you find him?"
"He’s an idiot, but he’s loyal as a leech, George."
"Let’s go Clemens!! I’ve got a million dollar bonus for you if you strike out the side," yells Steinbrenner, who then reduces his voice to a barely audible whisper, "Just kidding."
With a loud crack of the bat, the crowd goes suddenly quiet. George buries his face in his hands as leadoff hitter Timo Perez rounds second and heads for third.
"Son of a bitch! You’re a bum Clemens! That guy couldn’t get out of the minor leagues in Japan, and you give him a first pitch triple! Back to Beantown, baby!"
Slowly a low rumbling boo begins rising from the crowd. Hillary looks out and is horrified to see her face filling the giant outfield screen. The boos now fill the stadium.
"Yankee fans!" the public address system blasts, "Please join us in welcoming to Yankee Stadium, the First Lady, Hillary Rodham Clinton!"
Beneath the deafening boos, a chant is growing. Quickly the crowd picks up on it and it spreads through the stadium.
"GO HOME BITCH! GO HOME BITCH! GO HOME BITCH!"
"I told you I didn’t want to be on the screen!"
"What the hell do they think they’re doing?! I’ll put a stop to this!"
Steinbrenner jumps up and runs down the hall, just as Schumer returns.
"Here’s your soda Hillary. It’s definitely diet, I watched them pour it. Who’s bitch?"
Hillary smacks the soda out of his hands and up into his face.
"It’s me you idiot! No! It’s not me! But that’s what the low class scum thinks! I am NOT a bitch!"
Hillary’s raging tirade is being shown close-up on the giant centerfield screen. Realizing this, she turns and gives the finger to the cameraman. The crowd erupts in fury, thinking she has just disrespected all of them. Then a loud, angry voice booms from the speakers.
"Get out of my way Bob! You out there! Shut the hell up! All of you! SHUT THE HELL UP! You will not embarrass me like this in my own ballpark!"
The impossibly loud booing triples in volume. In the stands above Steinbrenner’s press box, an enormous fat guy takes off his shirt and begins fashioning a contraption. He wraps his shirt sleeves through the cup holding holes on his cardboard food tray. Placing a full beer on the tray, he uses the centerfield screen to aim, then swings the beer down and in. The launched beer washes out Hillary, flattening her hair and causing her pancake makeup to float down her face in chunks. Steinbrenner’s tirade continues.
"You bastards!! I can fire fans too!! I’ll hire the Phillies fans! Most of them are looking for a new team to root for! Everybody get out! GET OUT OF MY STADIUM!! THIS GAME IS OVER!! We win, by the way!!"
A half dozen additional fans have found ways to fling cups of beer and mustard covered hot dogs into Steinbrenner’s box from the seats above. Hillary turns on the silent secret service agents behind her.
"Shoot them! Shoot them now!! I shall not accept this! I am HILLARY DAMN IT!!!"
Obediently, the secret service agents move to the front of the box and begin firing randomly into the stands above them. The gunfire sets off stampedes throughout the stadium, as Hillary turns and runs for the elevator. Schumer trails obediently behind her. Once inside the elevator, Hillary begins wringing out her beer-soaked cape. The sounds of an enormous riot and repetitive gunfire can be heard muffled through the elevator walls. Schumer wipes beer and mustard off of his face. He searches for the bright side.
"You know Hillary, you really looked great up there on that big screen, I mean before the beer hit you. All in all, I don’t think that went as bad as you expected."
Hillary turns on Schumer and knees him in the groin. He drops to the ground just as Hillary brings her knee up into his face. He drops flat on the elevator floor, spitting out a tooth and whimpering through his bloody nose. She looks down at him in disgust and mutters:
"Clymer."
THE END
Oh Behave!
"Are you sure that was a sheila he was with?"