Between episodes of an irreverent short story, I’ve decided today to write about sports in this space, rationalizing it on the basis that what will be written forthwith is fictitious and exaggerated.
“Live from Grand Canyon Arena in Teaneck, New Jersey, it’s the finals of the Rust Belt Conference Men’s Basketball Tournament, matching the Fighting Guide Dogs of the University of Alaska-Ookwacha against the Strikers of the Union Institute of Collective Bargaining. UAO went through the conference schedule undefeated, but the Guide Dogs’ campus is five thousand miles away, and the fourth-seeded Strikers bused in from their Paramus campus.”
Notre Dame won the Atlantic Coast Conference. West Virginia is in the Big Less Than Twelve. Maryland and Rutgers are in the Big More Than Ten. It’s not that exaggerated.
“So, some final remarks from the Corn Growers Love Ethanol 400 at Heritage Foundation Speed Colosseum, where Gary ‘Cold Cuts’ Mumbleton outdueled John ‘Not His Real Name’ Smith by seven seconds, and thirty-one other cars were on the lead lap.”
“That’s right, Elliott, they was racing tooth-and-cavity back there in the pack, and let’s give a call to Jolene Addison-Jolene for being one of the twenty-one drivers who opted for the wave-around with eight laps to go, and worked her way through that twenty-two car pileup behind the leaders on the final lap to come home with a well-deserved seventh-place finish even though she didn’t have none of them four fresh Goodstone Racing Beagles.
“Right you, are, Luke, and precious little of that Cornfed Racing Fuel.”
“Finally, for some final remarks, two-time Heritage Foundation Speedway race champion Ikey Dale Fillmore. What say, I.D.?”
“That’s right, Elliott. The little girl’s just about got the hang of it, and I’s proud of her. Up front, well, kabunkit, kabunkit, Gary Mumbleton’s got the field covered, but I think if Big John had managed to get out of the pits just a scosh quicker on that last debris-caution pit stop, and if he’d’ve got that track position, it could’ve all been different.”
“On account of, he had that fresh Goodstone Racing Beagle rubber, I.D.”
“All right, guys, for I.D. Fillmore, and Luke Nucular, and self-made millionaire Carlos Debonaire with our studio host Roy Donahue and Marilyn Van Doren, Mamie Hayworth, and Rita Monroe down in the pits, I’m Elliott Sandersen, and we’ll see you next week from Texas Business Tax Refund Speedway in Mineral Wells for the Texas Tea/Black Gold 500, where Milburn Drysdale is the defending champion.”
A few weeks ago, a singer botched the national anthem before a NASCAR race. It was Obama’s fault because the singer was so demoralized about what America has become that he couldn’t do the “Star Spangled Banner” sober.
“Clayton Armageddon, the Crushers’ power-hitting third sacker, came off the bench exhausted from nine holes of golf and captivated a spring-training audience of 7,727, by clouting a grand slam off Joey Wiggles, the Vampires’ 17-year-old phenom, at HeyThereHiThereHoThere Park in Yuma.
“The Vampires won, seventeen to nine, as three Class-A minor leaguers combined for eleven hits, seven runs and nine runs batted in.
“It was the Vampires’ first spring victory in a day game.”
Sorry. I was in a goofy mood. Too much television. That’s one of many reasons I should spend more time reading, and you should, too: http://www.amazon.com/Monte-Dutton/e/B005H3B144/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1416767492&sr=8-1