Bobby Crusher, Baseball Hero

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

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Submitted: January 02, 2018

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Submitted: January 02, 2018



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Bobby Crusher, Baseball Hero

By Warren Piece



Chapter One:


There were 2 outs in the bottom of the 9th and Bobby Crusher’s team had the bases loaded. The crowd was abuzz with hope their team would win the tied-up contest. Everyone was on pins and needles; everyone except Bobby Crusher. He strode to the plate with the certainty of getting the winning hit firmly lodged in his brain. Not only would he get a hit, not just a lowly single, he would blast a grand slam! As he took his practice swings he felt the same old supreme confidence in his own amazing talents. Here came the first pitch.


“Stee-rike 1!” screamed the umpire.


No problem, he thought to himself. Here came the 2nd pitch.


“Stee-rike 2!” yelled the ump.


“Not to worry, people, I guarantee I’ll hit a grand slam!” he said out loud. Here

came the pitch, his pitch. The ball seemed to be moving in slow motion as he watched it come. Launch all missiles!, he thought to himself as he started his bat forward. His bat met the ball, and he drove it; sending it arcing high into the hazy twilight. The home crowd erupted in jubilant hysteria as they watched the punished baseball sail into the bleachers and win the game. The opposing team’s pitcher hurled his mitt away in dejected rage, as Bobby circled the bases and crossed home plate. He was immediately mobbed by his grateful teammates, and cheered by delirious fans. After returning the players high-fives and doffing his cap to the fans, he walked to the dug-out and started to gather his stuff, but the roar of the fans only intensified. He waited a couple of minutes and triumphantly bounded out of the dug-out, doffing his hat once again and waving it to the screaming fans. It was an incredible tribute for his late-game heroics, but he deserved it. He had, like he knew he would, come through in a pressure situation.


Chapter Two:



The players had told him they would like to take him out to celebrate with one beer, their treat. Even though there was another game tomorrow, Bobby had agreed. After all, what could one single beer hurt?



They took him to a bar near the ballpark, and ordered everyone a beer.


“Here’s to Bobby, the hero of the day!” said 1st baseman Moose Jaw, and everyone hoisted their beer and replied in unison,


“To Bobby!” and hoisted their beer, draining it.


“Well Bobby, we’d better get back. After all, nobody wants to get hammered. We’ve got a game tomorrow,” said Moose Jaw.


Everyone headed for the exit, everyone but Bobby that is. “Naw, you guys go on. I think I’ll hang out awhile and play some darts. Don’t you guys worry about me though; I’ll switch to club soda”


Moose Jaw replied, “Well okay I guess, but make sure you switch. Remember the game tomorrow.”


To that, Bobby answered, “Sure, it wouldn’t do to have a hangover.”


The rest of the players left and Bobby said a silent thank you. He immediately ordered himself another beer. He had won the game and he felt like celebrating. He quickly drained it, and as he ordered himself another, he bought everyone in the place a round. After all, he’d soon be renegotiating his salary and he could afford it; and besides, what good was celebrating alone?



Chapter Three:



Oh, my head!, Bobby Crusher complained. I guess I overdid last night, he thought to himself. He was lying next to a naked lady, whom he didn’t remember meeting.


“Wake up, time to hit the bricks!” he said to the woman, who he assumed was a prostitute. “Here’s $200.00, and thanks.” The lady looked at him like he was crazy and replied,


“Bite me! I’m not some cheap hooker. You asked me to marry you, jerk-weed.”

Bobby cringed and said he was sorry, but did she have to yell so loudly?


The naked girl yelled, “Blow off, you arrogant bastard,” got up, threw on her clothes and huffed indignantly to the door. As she was leaving she screamed,


“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, loser-stick!”


Bobby was glad she was gone, taking her loud, shrill voice with her. Man! He felt no guilt whatsoever. She was probably just a gold digger, who hung out at bars frequented by pro athletes, and tried to screw (literally!) them out of their savings. He happened to glance at the clock beside his bed, and damn, it was 2.30pm, and the game was scheduled to start at 3.00pm. He got up, head pounding, and washed up as quickly as he could. It was a good thing he was staying at a hotel across the street from the stadium.



He was out the door and running to the stadium. Boy did his head ever hurt, but before he could do anything about it, he got to the stadium and the team was filing past him on their way to the dugout. Before he knew it he was out in centerfield, desperately shielding his eyes from the painful glare of the sun. Damn, was it ever bright!



Somehow he made it to the last inning without having to do much. Once again the score was tied with 2 outs when it was his turn to bat. Oh man, his head was throbbing mightily as he strode to the plate. It was a good thing he was so talented, because he would end this game right now, by hitting a home run. He had such a bad hangover it’s doubtful he could take a longer game.



Chapter Four:



Bobby went to pull his belt up before had walked up to the plate, but he realized that in his haste to get to the stadium he had forgotten it. Oh well, after he hit his home run, he could just jog slowly around the bases; he shouldn’t need a lot of support to keep his pants in place. He took some vicious practice cuts and waited for the 1st pitch. Here it came, looking like a speeding bullet to Bobby’s bloodshot eyes. “Damn!” he said to himself as the umpire screamed,


“Stee-rike 1!”


No problem, he thought, but with a little doubt now, which was something new to Bobby Crusher. Here came the next pitch, and he practically screwed himself into the ground as he drew nothing but air.


“Stee-rike 2!” rang in Bobby’s ears.

“Damn it!” he cursed. He was really in a panic now, as he waited for the next pitch. There was none of his usual bravado, as he was really scared he’d strike out. His eyes struggled to see the ball as he swung as hard as he could and barely made contact with it. Damn, run!, echoed in his alcohol-fogged mind. He took off running, balls out, towards 1st base. Suddenly about ½ ways to the bag, “balls out!” became a reality as his pants fell down because of forgetting his belt, and he saw to his horror that he wasn’t wearing underwear! As the shocked crowd stared in wonder at what they were seeing, and as he ripped his fallen pants back up, suddenly he felt sick to his stomach.


“Oh n--blahh!” he croaked between huge geysers of vomit, that sprayed from his mouth and splashed to the ground. Bobby was mortified. Here he was, with his spud waving in the breeze and puke running in rivers down his shirt, in front of a sold-out crowd that was used to seeing him succeed. He stumbled blindly to the dugout and down the tunnel. He was so embarrassed! He reached his locker and started peeling off his stinking uniform. What a mess! He sure needed a cup of coffee and some food. At the thought of food his stomach tightened and here he went again.





The End




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