Editor's Note: It should be noted that the writer of this story has less interest in professional baseball than most Americans have in world football, known as soccer to Americans, whereas football, from the American perspective, is often confused for football (or soccer) from the European perspective. This kind of confusion has undoubtedly led to border skirmishes and to multiple failures to ratify treaties.
America is trying to clear up this confusion by having games hosted in London so that the Brits can tell what Americans mean by football, and so they can also tell that American football is almost as boring as world football, but that's another story . . .
The writer does, however, have a deep interest in interpersonal conflict, especially the kind that leads to seemingly gratuitous violence. With these caveats, details about the players will be scant, unlike the huge wads of sunflower-packed spittle that spew from their lips on an almost comically scheduled basis.
The editor also wishes to apologize for the length of this editor's note.
Now for the story, which has nothing to do with football, that other football, or soccer.
An ugly event accompanied a homerun hit by one of the players (details not noted) for the Houston Astros (or perhaps the Los Angeles Dodgers--the writer was on his fifth beer at the time).
A female fan for the opposing team caught the homerun ball (notable in itself since she was holding a Coors Light in one hand and a double-XXXX-Large tray of nachos in the other) and prepared to toss the ball back onto the field, as is the tradition--though she could have made a tidy little profit had she posted it on eBay, but that's another story . . .
Her celebration, which consisted of jiggling around in her tight t-shirt and making the most of her 5 seconds of fame, was marred when a fellow fan snatched the ball from her hands and tossed it back onto the field, depriving her of the spite-based glory.
"How rude," commented an elderly woman from behind homeplate.
"Whatever happened to manners?"
The elderly woman then chucked a wad of Kentucky's Finest snuff, which landed on the bare feet of several nearby children. Two of the children began crying. The third licked the snuff from her toe and promptly spewed it on another fan's feet, and that fan, being the squeamish sort, lost a half-eaten hotdog on another fan, and so on into a regurgitation-ridden game of Dominoes. Security and medics were summoned from several neighboring communities.
Resisting arrest, the elderly woman kicked several security guards in the groin and later went on to sue the stadium, the local community, and both baseball teams. She made a tidy little profit, but that's another story . . .
Getting back to the homerun ball--manners also had little to do with what followed next.
The woman who had previously caught the homerun ball turned to her husband, a mild-mannered accountant, and said, "Whatchgonnadoabout'thethug?" Nervously shaking, he turned to the troublemaker, and, as he was about to insult him, upchucked his chicken pot pie into the crotch of his pants, which caused the troublemaker to lose his three-bean salad and chili sandwich into the shirt of the fan one row ahead of him. The fan one row of him released his dark beer and Bangers and mash into the next fan, and, following tradition, the process continued in an orderly fashion for the better part of three innings. Some folks compared it to a synchronized wave seen at games where bored fans get up, raise their arms, and then sit down again, possibly adjusting their bloomers in the process.
Bottom line: About 80% of the stadium was now slopped in biological hazards, namely spew and spew-related materials. The game had to be postponed. In BREAKING NEWS, CNN led the cable networks with its story BIOLOGICAL WARFARE BREAKS OUT AT WORLD SERIES.
After fans were carried out on stretchers or airlifted from second base, several commercial cleaning crews invaded the stadium with HAZMAT suits and buckets of Lysol. It was nothing short of a sickening display.
Consummate baseball fan and columnist, George Will, demurred, "This is the kind of display which tears at the moral fiber of all that is American in all its glory as a rightfully proud center-right nation. The juxtaposition of a great American sport with low American manners is enough to cause psychological regurgitation. I may never write another baseball book. What's more, I've never eaten a nacho, and as assuredly as the sun will rise tomorrow, I never will." (Linguists would spend years arguing about the syntactical resonance of those sentences--and make pretty good money in the process. But that's another story . . .)
As the writer of this story, who's also working on his bachelor's degree in social psychology, points out, "Bad behavior leads to waves of more bad behavior. Good behavior, unfortunately, does little more than trickle. It's the difference between a gloppy, rancid flow of snuff and the light dribble of drool during a gentle sleep."
There's a lesson in that for us all.
Another Editor's Note: Though this story was inspired by a note left scratched on a beer can by LeRoy Ephers, he refuses to take credit for it in his ongoing boycott of The Spoof for its exploitation of writers. See his story that pretty much explains it all. To date, he's lost interest in planning a march but would be willing to participate if anyone else would like to take over the planning duties. A few cases of beer would sweeten the deal, Ephers admitted.