PJAMMED!

April 7th, 2010. Southbound 5 Freeway. "Back Up!" the baller cried. The man was angry and he squeezed the steering wheel with his gray hands. Jammed! Number 55, fatter this year, had just smashed his first windshield of the 2 day old offensive. There he was- not yet thirty years old, and he was already into his 4th or 5th year as Battery Captain- lavishing in the spoils of premeditated weight gain, the soils of girl smell, and the popularity of winning it all when it counted. Here I was- stuck behind every other dirty car back in cursed Traffic Town. I wanted to paint a big, dirty letter "P" on the front of every cursed car in front of me, and cut it to fifty-million pieces of metal scrap with a shining, P-killing, transcontinental motor sword!

     When I first picked up the transmission of today's battle in Steel City, the gifted young buck private, No.22, had just lost both of his throwing arms for the day after the front-line batters took matters to task. The accident report shows that the boy sharpshooter couldn't shoot straight, and then the manliest of the Bucs' took one swing at him and more than 20,000 screaming black P-shirts stood up to catch his cannonball trophy in unison. The young gun struggled for control of the battlefield all afternoon, and displayed the obligatory lack of a champion's willingness and ability to kill...for sport.

     So there I was- cars were closing in on me from all corners of the earth, and the static of statistics s-s-s-issing out of my portable, brand name, wireless device was pushing me to the point of bashing my brains out with the souvenir LA Darger mini-bat that I kept under the seat. On the battlefield near the 3 rivers nearly 2,500 miles to the east of me, Darger's army was finally showing a charge of heart! After the initial assault by the weighty Battery Captain, Numbers 27 and 16 led successive, successful advances to level the score. Unfortunately, the traveling team failed to advance any farther- leaving multiple game-winning runners in no-man's land, abandoned like burning, wrecked cars. If only I could abandon mine!

     In the end, a trajectory error in the 10th exchange by Number 33, the mid-baseman,  led to the downfall of the Dargers today- allowing the second wave a second chance. Thunderclouds are predicted for the high-noon skirmish set for the tomorrow. L is for "Never leave a man behind!"

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