An excerpt from my upcoming novel: “A sports love affair*”
(*Please note that names have been changed to protect the identities
of those involved, but they will be revealed at the end anyway)
Bristol was in awe. Her dream man had just performed a feat
so massive, so majestic, that everyone who witnessed it just had to be impressed. Who wouldn’t want a
man that could display enormous power and manliness, yet do it so effortlessly
and with a smile on his face?
Bass was nonchalant. It was part of the job. Hit the ball
hard or go home, his dad always said. Words that he took to his heart, along
with “If ya ain’t first, you’re last” from his favorite movie Talladega Nights.
It was like a mantra for him. “Ain’t first, you’re last, ain’t first, you’re
last, ain’t first, you’re last,” he would mutter in his mind in the batting
circle, as he waited for his turn to show the world that Mark Bass was worth
every penny of the $144 million contract extension he just signed in March.
Bristol was so excited every time Bass went to the plate. “He’s
going to smack a long one – just like I like it,” she always said, giggling
like an idiot valley girl. The kind of girl that you could easily pick up at a
bar by wearing one of those stupid shirts that read “Chicks dig the long ball,”
especially if your muscles were large and prominently filled out said shirt. A
bimbo, if you will.
Bass stepped up to the plate in the first inning. He was
facing Jason Vargas, a lefty who looked like he probably snorted a lot of
cocaine, but in reality was a super nice guy who just looks like a cocaine
addict. None of that mattered to Bass. He just wanted to pound a ball over the fence right now. He had been receiving an
excessive number of texts from some dumb blonde he know, Bristol, who was
always begging for him to “smack a long ball and then grab her hair.” Disturbing,
but hey, this was America. Even so, it made him hungry to punish pitches in the
strike zone. He brushed those disturbing thoughts out of his mind, squared up,
and belted a massive home run over the fence at Kauffman Stadium. “That felt
good,” was his first thought, quickly followed by “Oh sh*t, now Bristol is
gonna blow up my phone.”
“Oh my gawd oh my gawd oh my gawd!!!!” shouted Bristol in
such rapid succession that it came out sounding like “Omgawomgawomgaw!” which
made no sense and quite frankly, everyone around her was used to, being the
bimbo she was. I mean, she was wearing high heels to a baseball game for crissakes. “That must have been 900 feet!” she
shouted, totally oblivious to normal human limits. She immediately took to
twitter to profess her profound love for bass, including massive exaggeration of
how far the home run actually flew…
As you can probably guess, my novel is about ESPN’s love for
Mike Trout (Bristol of course referring to the city of ESPN’s headquarters),
especially exhibited by the excessive tweets they sent regarding his home run
last night, and the ridiculous estimates of how far it went. THE ANGELS LOST
YOU IDIOTS. The love for Trout (who is an excellent player by the way - that
was his 18th home run this season), is painfully obvious and
distracted from an otherwise decent game by the Royals. Despite Jason Vargas
imploding and allowing 6 runs, the Royals looked sharp. Omar Infante belted a
Grand Slam (the first of his career). Everyone on the team (except for Mike
Moustakas of course) had a run or RBI. Alcides Escobar got hit by a pitch and
then promptly stole second base (maybe that’s how they do it where he is from in
Venezuela?). And perhaps more importantly, after Jason Vargas exited the game,
Michael Mariot, Kelvin Herrera, Wade Davis and Greg Holland DID NOT ALLOW A
SINGLE HIT TO MIKE TROUT OR ANY OTHER ANGELS PLAYERS FOR 5 INNINGS. Where are
the ESPN highlights of Trout being baffled by the Royals’ shut-down relievers?
Who cares how far Trout’s home run travelled since he could not will his team
to victory over the “hapless” Royals?
I want so bad for the Royals to sweep those buttheads back
to LA and gain some ground on the AL wild card race (the Royals are 1.5 games
back right now). In addition, Detroit lost to the Astros after a walk-off home
run in Houston, providing further evidence that Justin Verlander is no longer
the dominating pitcher he once was. In my opinion, this probably has something
to do with him dating Kate Upton. Please continue dating her. She could easily
fill the role of Bristol above when my novel is made into a movie.
I am excited to watch
Ace Ventura this afternoon. I doubt Mark Bass can smack a home run off him.
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