A-Rod's Latest Venture

Last Week, NPRs Comedy/News/Quiz show "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" offered this final question: "Now that he's banned from baseball for a year, what will Alex Rodriguez do next?" While I am by no means a PJ O'Rourke, Luke Burbank or Faith Sailey, this is my answer:

Twi-Night

Volume 1 of "The Magical Game Saga" by Alex Rodriguez 

author of Out of The Ballpark

***

The following galley excerpt reflects the tone of Alex's authorial voice as he goes where pretty much every celebrity goes during their down time these days--into the highly lucrative world of fantasy/paranomal romance/adventure

***

Jessica's chest heaved as she beheld the gleaming, muscular chestnut bodies of the mighty stallions standing before her. Because, chicks dig horses...d'uh.

But these were no normal horses, they were stronger, more powerful and more exquisite than any horse breed Jessica had seen before. And atop each beautiful equine frame was the rippling muscles of a finely defined torso, with human arms and a human face. Because, chicks dig dudes more than horses...double d'uh.

Anyway, Jessica Cameron's eyes beheld these centaurs as they played the greatest, sexiest game ever: Baseball. And they played it, majestically, marvelously, with a grace and flair that had never been seen by human eyes before. And her eyes landed on one centaur in particular, that incredibly handsome boy next door, Alex. The one whose very presence in the hallways made the girls swoon, and Cameron Kate in particular go all weak in the knees.

He turned and saw her. Kate's heart skipped a beat. She turned to run back through the forest, terrified that they would charge her, threaten her, banish her from their beautiful presence forever. But as she ran through the stand of trees she heard the swift clatter of hooves behind her. Without daring to look back, she plunged ahead, until a scattering of leaves on the forest floor made her stop short to see that Alex had out run her...because he had the legs and strength of a horse...so he was like, super fast and stuff.

"You shouldn't have come," Alex said.

"I'm sorry," Kate Torrie muttered, "I just wanted--"

"It's okay, I'm glad you did," Alex told her, "we need your help."

"What?" She asked, her eyes glowing up at him, revering his muscles and beauty like the man-horse-god he truly was.

"Our way of life is threatened, Torrie Fill-in-blank-with-Current-Girlfriends-Name-Here. We Centaurs are a noble race. All we want to do is show humanity the full limits of their potential. We survive and thrive on a special delicacy of the forests, known as the Gummi Bears."

"Gummi Bears?"

"Bouncing here and there, and everywhere. Yes. They are the Gummi Bears. But the wicked troll king of our forest, named Se-lug, has banned all mystical creatures from eating Gummies, even though we totally didn't eat them, but if we did they only helped us reach our best, and who is he to judge anyway, he made millions of dollars off us before, but I don't care, I'm totally above it all, so, whatever you know."

"Totally," she said.

They were in love.

***Twi-Night will--God willing-never be available ever***

Why Liriano Must be Traded NOW!

There's still a lot of debate over whether or not the Minnesota Twins should trade Francisco Liriano. Sure he's the best pitcher on the staff of a team that's rather desperate for starting pitching, but he's also a free-agent-to-be with a demanding agent who will probably be looking for a sizable pay day (one that we likely can't afford).

Yet, there are plenty of people who would like Frankie Franchise to stick around now that he's figured out how to be consistently dangerous on the hill (Monday's Windy City debacle not withstanding). After all, with a little gum to chew, Liriano's been nigh to un-hittable. But that gum chewing is actually the biggest reason to trade the Cisco Kid.

You might well ask: why does chewing gum mean we have to trade him? The answer, like the answers to all of life's important questions is in a children's book. In this case Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl:

Please believe us when we say

That chewing gum will never pay;

This sticky habit's bound to send

The chewer to a sticky end.

Did any of you ever know

A pitcher called Liriano?...

He chewed while bathing in the tub,

He chewed while dancing at the club,

He chewed in church and on the bus;

It really was quite ludicrous!...

But then one day, he had to put the gum away

(Because the umps hated the delay)

And suddenly, Liriano just could not pitch,

He missed the zone by two feet and an inch

The fastball slowed down, the slider didn't move

As hard as he tried, he couldn't find a groove.

His fans, upset, began to boo

And Liriano just did not have a clue.

So he served up long bombs on his way to a loss

His golden arm turned to nothing but dross

He had to retire, run off and hide,

No teammates or fans would stand by his side

Yes, never was there a tale of more woe

Than this of Francisco Liriano.

It's repulsive, revolting and wrong; chewing and chewing all. day. long
The wa-ay that a co-ow does!

I was as surprised as anyone to find that a 20th century British author wrote an allusion to a 21st century Dominican pitcher, but such is the power of literary imagination. Just be glad we heard it now rather than after he finished his "tale of woe".

Weaving a spell

I have come to a conclusion. All the pain. All the suffering. All the terrible horrible no good very bad things that happen to us because of the New York Yankees are a result of fear, or as my co-blogger's mother put it recently: "some kind of magic spell"

I teach literature, so I know that the only really powerful spell is story telling, so I am left to assume that what happened was this:

The starting pitchers (and the sometimes starting pitchers) gathered together for a slumber party at the Metrodome. There was Scott Baker and Glen Perkins, and Cakeburn, and Killthrow and The Cisco Kid and the Master Librarian and Anthony Swarzak. And they played and braided each other's hair and ate popcorn and read teen idol magazines and laughed, laughed, laughed some more.

Then, before it was time for Uncle Gardy the Garden Gnome to tuck them into bed, the mean older brother came back. The brother who smelled of smoking and Southern Comfort/Fanta and evil. KYLE LOSHE.

LOSHE: "Wuzzup, suck 'tards!"

BAKER: "Kyle, you're not supposed to be here! This is our party and our fun-time!"

OTHERS: "Yeah!!"

LOSHE: [picking at the paint on the door jamb, trying to look unconcerned] "Sure, fine, whatever...I just thought I'd see y'all one last time before the Yankpires destroyed you."

OTHERS: "Yankpires?"

PERKINS: "What are they?"

LOSHE: "Yankpires? Oh, nothin'...just the most EVIL THING IN THE WORLD!!!"

OTHERS: "Gasp!"

LOSHE: "Yankpires are Yankee Vampires. They run faster than anyone else, they jump higher than anyone else, they hit the ball harder than anyone else."

DICKEY: "Wait, I'm sorry, who says that?"

LOSHE: "I READ IT IN A BOOK, TARDFACE!! Anyway. Their line-up used to have a man who would eat only hot dogs, pigeon heads and drink root beer mixed with human blood and he would turn that into home runs?"

OTHERS: "GASP!"

DICKEY: "Used to--how long ago?"

LOSHE: "80 years ago NUMBNUTS! BUT HIS GHOST IS STILL THERE!!"

DICKEY: "Vampires can become ghosts? That's not consistent with Stoker's original text, Van Helsing says--"

LOSHE: [PUNCH] "SAME THING'LL HAPPEN TO YOU IF YOU INTERRUPT ME AGAIN! Anyway, The Yankpires don't feel pain, the Yankpires will eat your fastballs for breakfast, your change-ups for lunch and your face for dinner!!"

OTHERS: "whimper"

LOSHE: "It's a shame y'all have to die so bad and everything...it's a shame nobody understands Yankpires like I do. They're misunderstood and I just wish I could lie in a meadow with them, just staring into eachothers eyes as their bodies sparkle in the sunlight..."

DICKEY: "Shouldn't they die in sunli--"

LOSHE: [PUNCH] "SHUT UP!!!!! Anyway...if y'all know what's good for ya, you won't even put up a fight. You'll just run away...like the stupid little NUMBSUCKFACES you are, later...uh....uh...you...uh....THINGS!!!!"

[Loshe leaves but, all the other pitchers look panicked, they murmur scary somethings to eachother]

BAKER: "I hear if a Yankpire spikes you, you become one of them!"

LIRIANO: "I hear if a Yankpire hits a home run off of you burst into a thousand pieces."

SLOWEY: "I hear that if the Yankpires beat you, they take your powers!"

CAKEBURN: "I hear that the only cake that can defeat a Yankpire is a Garlic Forest Cake in the shape of a cross!"

SWARZAK: "SWARZAK!!!"

PERKINS: "I don't feel so good..." [Perkins vomits, then faints]

Just then Gardy came in to say goodnight

GARDY: "Okay boys, time to say good night I--[he surveys the scene]--my goodness! What have you boys been up to?"

BAKER: "Kyle came in--"

LIRIANO: "Even though we told him not to--"

SLOWEY: "And he told us about Yankpires--"

CAKEBURN: "And how dangerous they are--"

DICKEY: "And then Glen vomited and fainted and--"

SWARZAK: "SWARZAK!"

GARDY: "Shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh....calm down boys. Okay, first, Kyle is a tool. Second, Yankpires are real [whimper of fear] but if you are strong of mind and body and if you channel your energies towards cooler things than vampires, things will be okay..."

DICKEY: "Cooler things like what?"

GARDY: "You know...anything that's even semi-decently written: Louis L'amour novels, Superhero comics, supervillain comics, Donald Duck cartoons, stuff about Ninjas and Pirates and Zombies and Werewolves...stuff like that."

DICKEY: "And Victorian Drawing Room FARCES!?!"

GARDY: "Uh...yeah...sure..."

DICKEY: "YYYAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY! G'night!!"

GARDY: "Goodnight boys, good night."

And Gardy left--but he forgot the most important thing about Slumber Parties--after the parent leaves, you must remain chattering for at least three hours. This combination of poor sleep, fear, and vomiting has lead to our defeats. We only hope that we can overcome the evil spell of the Yankpires today...and maybe that we can punch Kyle Loshe in the face.

Happy Birthday America!

There were some not so good things that happened yesterday. Early in the morning we lost in the 16th inning. Our knuckleball expert/uber-nerd extraordinaire RA Dickey took the loss. Our resident pitcher/superhero Kevin "Killthrow" Slowey went on the DL. And we had seats near a guy who claimed that he had to "get in their heads" by screaming out the names of Tigers players, which did nothing more than give us a headache and inspire Magglio Ordonez to hit a 3-run home run.

But still, it was the 4th of July, it was the chance to celebrate America, and no matter how bad things were, there was no better way to celebrate America than to remember the words of one of our greatest founding fathers.

"It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shows, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more."

Those are the words of John Adams. Diplomat. Patriot. Powdered Wig Enthusiast. And the inspiration for the annual brilliance of Little Nicky Punto. As it was last year, so it is this year, and so, while he is not as well known as the home-run hitting big name founding fathers (Morneau=George Washington, Cuddyer=Thomas Jefferson), Nick "John Adams" Punto--you are our hero.

Before we go...

Try to keep a light on during the night, at least until 10 PM so it looks like it's occupied.

Take out the trash tomorrow, and then don't worry about it again.

Feel free to read the newspaper, just be sure to put it in the recycling when you're done.

Oh, and if you hear what sounds like moaning and groaning coming from the basement--that's just the zombie we keep in the basement--Throw him a squirrel, he'll be fine.

ALSO! We have these two brief notes about our beloved Twins:

1) We won last night, which was great, but owing to my work at the steakhouse I couldn't see much. What I could see is the Cisco Kid struggling. And then I could see RA Dickey rocking the house. This seems to be the standard operating procedure for Liriano's starts. Which has all seemed coincidental until I realized his name is: fRAncisco...and don't get me started on the even more obvious last name, where the dotted I looks like a period between Dickey's initials.

All of this begs the question: Is RA Dickey hiding inside a Francisco Liriano suit? Or is this just the best potential Western Drama in the history of ever? Picture it, it could be either Cisco's Librarian, or Dickey & the Kid. Studio executives, I await your call.

2) Luis Ayala wants a trade, to which we here at Peanuts from Heaven say: "Meh." Sorry Luis, I mean, we'd be sad if you didn't give up a run every single time you pitch, or if you had any kind of personality that had invented a character. So...MEH.

We hit the 'road around noon, and we may even get to hear Hall of Famer/Mr. Belvedere Cast Memember Bob Ueker call the game tonight--see you soon!!

And don't forget the mail.

Bow before the Master Librarian

So we lost yesterday. And that was not cool. But...such is life...

Far more impressive was what my parents saw in the 9th, when RA Dickey stepped up to cruise through a suddenly potent Astros line-up. Particularly Ivan "Pudge" Rodriguez, he of the hall-of-fame statistics, and all-time record-holder for baseball games caught.

Reported Bruce Alan MacKenzie: Rodriguez started shaking his head before he even stepped into the box. Could be heard to tell Mauer: "I can't hit that." Stood dumbly as a fastball swooped by him, and then flailed miserably at two knuckleballs that resembled nothing so much as obese moths. And so it was that arguably the greatest catcher of his generation was rendered utterly inept by the fearsome force that is the Master Librarian.

Quoth the Master Librarian: "Happy father's day Bruce Alan!!!!!"

Dies Irae

So...confession: neither Stinky nor Scruffy actually saw the awesomeness of last night's game (even though we are watching today's game). The truth is, we were busy. Stinky had to sing Mozart's Requiem, and Scruffy had to appreciate the brilliance of Mozart's Requiem.

But clearly, we were not the only ones who were appreciating the brilliance of old Wulfy Wulfgang, as is witnessed by the pre-game locker room banter in the visitor's clubhouse.

[Twins clubhouse. R.A. Dickey is sitting on the bench with his headphones on and a look of steely determination in his eyes.]

Cre-D (walking by): Hey man...whatcha listening to?

Dickey:  Just some music, to get pumped up.

Cre-D: Oh sweet.  Metallica?  Young Buck?  Satan rock?

Dickey: No, man.  Mozart's requiem.

Cre-D:.......oh.  That's, um.....oh.  OK.

Dickey: Just listen.  You'll understand.

Cre-D: [puts on headphones.  after a few seconds, his eyes widen and burn with the fury of a thousand suns]  BAD-ASS!!!!

Dickey:  I told you!

Cre-D:  BAHH!!!   DAY OF WRATH!!! DAY OF DESTRUTION!  I WILL DESTROY BLAAAGHHRAHGHGHHGHH!!!!

Dickey:  Here's what I'm saying - nobody appreciates the bad-assitude of classical music the way they should.  *sigh*

And so the Master-Librarian's i-pod was passed from Cre-D, to Justin, to Denard, to Delmon and on to Little Nicky Punto inspiring greatness amongst them all. Us Cellular Field dissolved in ashes. And throughout the White Sox dugout there was great trembling as the Twins descended to judge all things closely.

For truly, the Twins and Mozart shall be awesome and awesomer for ever and ever.

Amen.

A new addition....

[ It is a dark and stormy night. The Twins Superfriends are hiding out in their cave, awating the beginning of spring training and their next shot at world domination and defeating their enemies, the infamous Yankpires, while watching "Flavor of Love" on VH1]

DELMON YOUNG, MASTER OF SUPRACTION: Flava-flaaaaaaaaaaaav!!! Man that guy is so sweet. Dude can you pass me a beer.
DREAD PIRATE NATHAN: Yar. (tosses beer)
CUDDYER, MASYER OF SUPRACTION: Man maybe you shouldn't drink so much during the offseason. Your supraction skills are getting a little soft, and do you really want to get benched for....this guy?
(gestures to GO-GO GOMEZ who is building a nest of shredded newspapers in the corner)
GOMEZ: Sleepytime!
CUDDYER: No man... hibernation time is over. We have to play baseball now.
GOMEZ: (tear forms in eye) But.... I'm sleeeeeeepy......
YOUNG, MoS: Yeah. I see what you mean. (pause) But... I like beer.
CAKEBURN: And I like trashy reality television. What's on next?
JESSE CRAIN, ZE UBERMENSCH: G's to Gents marathon! That show is so awesome, mainly because it subverts Christian morality to allow for all sorts of sneaky plots and schemes, allowing the man who is truly great to come out on top. I love that shit!
CAKEBURN: I like cake.
ALL: We know.
CUDDYER: So, what do you guys wanna do tomorrow night?
YOUNG: I dunno. Maybe drink some more and watch a movie with Will Ferrell or Seth Rogen, and then TP the Pohlads house?
ZE UBERMENSCH: Dude we did that last weekend....
YOUNG: Oh yeah...
CUDDYER: Beer pong?
CAKEBURN: Cake pong?
ZE UBERMENSCH: What the...? That doesn't even make sense.
GOMEZ: CAKE!!!!!!!!!! CAKIE CAKE CAKE CAKE!!!!
ZE UBERMENSCH: Welp that woke him up. But seriously guys. Look at our lives. We're superheroes, yet we sit around watching trashy reality TV and drinking and talking about cake. We have no culture. No.... je ne sais quoi.
YOUNG: Dude. NOT true. You just said something in French - that's totally cultured. And reality television tells the epic story of man's quest for perfection. And look at DP Nathan - he's a pirate! That's very refined.
DP NATHAN: RAAAAAAAAGGHHHHHH!!!!!! YARRRRRR JOE NATHAN RAAAAAAAARAG;FLKAJGHH!!!!
YOUNG: OK I see your point.
ZE UBERMENSCH: I mean, I'm the only one who even stops to ponder the greater questions in life. We need someone... classy. Someone with intelligence who can complement our lack of literary and cultural knowledge.

[R.A. Dickey appears in a puff of smoke]

DICKEY: Why, hello there.



CUDDYER: Dude. Who are you?
DICKEY: An excellent question, and one that requires the utmost consideration. Who am I? Who in fact are you? Who are we all? Would you like a fine cuban cigar and a glass of scotch?
ZE UBERMENSCH: Seriously though. Who are you.
DICKEY: My name is R.A. Dickey. I am a rather accomplished knuckleballer but I also have a degree in English literature. I alone can assist you in transforming your uncouth ways. I also have impeccable grammar.
YOUNG: Dude... cool.
CAKEBURN: Do you like cake?
DICKEY: Indubitably.
CAKEBURN: He's in.
CUDDYER: But wait.... how do you fit into our legion of superheros? What does being smart and having an english degree have to do with helping us defeat the Yankpires?
DICKEY: Ah but you don't understand. My combination of witty banter and killer knuckleball allows me to transform into.... THE MASTER LIBRARIAN!!!

ALL: Whoah.

DP NATHAN: Yar.

And so it was that THE MASTER LIBRARIAN joined the ranks of the Twins Superfriends, to fight alongside them and to help them defeat the Evil Yankpires.

[ Giving credit where credit is due, this post was like all great things in life, a true team effort. Smelly sent me the photoshops while I was working. Mad props]