Tuesday, June 06, 2006
A sad and gory scene it was.
Beckett had stepped into the gladiator's ring expecting to have to face another human, equally matched in softness and might. Imagine then, if you will, his sheer horror upon viewing his true opponent.
For his opponent was massive in stature, with a long aristocratic nose, and feet shod in steel. He was broad in the chest and powerful in the legs. He had shaggy brown hair and a gleam in his eye... a gleam that promised DEATH.
For this was no man entering the ring, oh no.
It was A MOOSE.
A HORRIFYING MOOSE OF DESTRUCTION AND ALSO HORROR.
Beckett looked down at the weapons he had chosen. His baseball and glove seemed so puny and helpless before this ravening vegetarian beast. Trembling with fear he raised his eyes slowly to see the weapons of his enemy. And it was with good reason that he trembled. For THE MOOSE had no mere glove and ball. He had instead a FIERY BALL OF MAGMA, and a huge cruel glove, made from the TANNED HIDES OF HIS ENEMIES.
Frantic, with tears starting in his eyes, Beckett turned to the edges of the gladiator's ring, where the spectators were arrayed. He caught the eye of his mentor, the great old warrior, Schilling. Schilling merely bent his head, acknowledging the impossibility of the situation. It was unheard of, throwing A MOOSE from the depths of hell into the ring with a mere mortal, and yet here it had been done. There was no help for the kid.
"I'll help you, amigo!" cried a brave voice. Beckett looked around, suddenly brighter with optimism, to see David Ortiz charging into the ring, swinging a bat and making for THE MOOSE with riteous anger on his face, apalled at the unfairness of it all.
"Bitch, please. 0-for-3," THE MOOSE said, and with one kick of his steely hooves, Ortiz was sent flying right back out of the ring.
The spectators jeered, and Beckett felt sick. He hefted his glove and ball and turned 'round to face his destiny. He squared his shoulders and readied his eminently hittable fastball. He was going to go out like a MAN, dammit. He raised his chin proudly.
Looking for just such an opening, THE MOOSE took that opportunity to impale Beckett on his horrible hell-antlers. Lifting his monstrous head he separated Beckett's from its body, and raised the blood-stained bust high into the air of the gladiator's ring.
That is exactly how it happened, and don't let any NESN reruns tell you otherwise.
Labels: baseball, Josh Beckett, loss, Mike Mussina, MLB, Red Sox, storytime, terrible, Yankees