"No, you suck!"
"Well, you're dead!"
"Oh, yeah? Well, you're fat. And dead. But, lemme ask ya."
"Who's that guy behind us?"
"I don't know. But, he's dead, too."
It wasn’t surprising that the Yankees went one-two-three in their end of the ninth, losing a game which seemed a lock.
As we trudged towards the exit, we were surrounded by fans who swore they’d love to get their hands on the crazy kid with the Red Sox cap. After seeing their eyes, I was glad Donny wasn’t with us.
|"Wait! Wait! I lost a contact!"|
“Look! There he is!”
The crowd froze. Dozens of people turned around to catch a glimpse of the Yankee Killer. I jumped up and down, hoping to spot Donny.
Just then, he burst through the crowd. Several hands reached out to grab him, but they couldn’t latch onto his sweat-soaked arms.
Without breaking stride, he bolted past us through the exit. Followed by a chorus of jeers, he disappeared into the humid Bronx night.
“Guess he’ll meet us at the car,” Mr. Spagnoula commented.
|Dude? Who knows?|
Weirder than batshit? Definitely.
As we shuffled onto the street where we had parked, I began to feel a little better. After all, it wasn’t as if the Yankees were going to the World Series that year, anyway (SPORTING AL’S NOTE: They didn’t. You’re welcome. You can save those Google searches for something important. Like whether Lady Gaga is a dude). Plus, it gave me a chance to tell how my idiot friend managed to run around Yankee Stadium with a batting practice ball in his jeans.
“I thought I parked here.”
Mr. Spagnoula stood, puzzled, in the middle of the street.
Hoping he was just a little confused by too many hot dogs, I searched for the little red beetle.
But, while the panel truck was gone, the van with the plywood windows was still there. Mr. Spagnoula’s car should have been right behind it.
“I know this is where I left it.”
Spags scuffed the street with his dried ketchup toe, “You think it was towed?”
Mr. Spagnoula ran his hand over his sunburned head. “I think so, but-”
“Mighta been stolen,” came a voice from behind us.
Donny slowly crossed the street. For the first time that day, he actually looked tired.
“Jeez, Donny,” I said, “I’d ask where you’ve been, but I already know.”
“Yeah,” he grinned, “that was wild, huh?”
“You made them lose the game, moron!” Spags jumped in.
“No way!” he protested. “The Stankees just gave up a gopher ball. Not like my ball. It’s safe and-hey!”
Donny frantically checked his pockets. “Oh, man!”
“What?” I asked.
“I lost the ball.”
“Last time I remember having it was when I got that pretzel. I reached into my pocket to get money and-aw, crap!”
Spags began laughing.
Donny spun on his heel. “I’m going back.”
I quickly grabbed hold of his tee shirt. “Oh, no you don’t. You’ve had enough for one day.”
Defeated, he stopped. His shoulders slumped and his head dropped toward the ground. “Hey, what’s that?”
“That.” He pointed at a slightly glowing piece of something lying in the gutter.
|No kidding. Hitler loved these cars.|
Mr. Spagnoula stepped up. He knelt down and scooped up his little plastic Jesus. Taped to its outstretched arms was a white card which said: “Empire City 24 Hour Towing.”
“Well,” he laughed, “how ‘bout this for a miracle? Guess it was towed, after all.”
Sacrilegiously stuffing Jesus into his pocket, he said, “Let’s go get the car back, boys.”
As he watched his father head back to the stadium, Spags asked, “But, why’d they leave just the statue behind, Dad?”
Without turning, Mr. Spagnoula said, “Must be Jewish.”
Then he started singing,
“I don’t care if it rains and freezes
long as I got my plastic Jesus
riding on the dashboard of my car.
I can go a hundred miles an hour
long as I got the almighty power
glued up there by my pair of fuzzy dice.”
NOTE: You wouldn't believe how many different verses there are for this goofy-ass song. I Googled it. Along with pictures of Lady Gaga.
“I love baseball. Don’t you, fellas?”
As I watched the eternal optimist step over a lump of...something...I had to admit this about Mr. Spagnoula:
He was the cat’s ass.
|Yes, but in a good way|
Next: Halloween posts. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. But, definitely not on November 1st. Because that would be silly.