Final Game At San Manuel Stadium Last Season

I have a few game summaries that I never posted her from the 66er playoff run last year. This was the last home game against the San Jose Giants:

Huge crowd tonight – last game here at San Manuel no matter what. Even the lawn is full. I am so pumped that I brought my cleats in case The Skipper needs me.

I smell tires burning. Or perhaps it human flesh. I believe The Faithful is making a sacrifice.

This isn’t your idyllic minor league crowd – these animals are smelling blood. They realize what is at stake, a Cal League Championship, which will undoubtedly return this dying city to splendor.  Rapid urban decay will be replaced by prosperity, and the Welfare Warlords who run this town will be driven into the desert. Even the little kids are carrying side arms tonight.

No hits after one inning for either team.  I really hope The Faithful didn’t half ass their sacrifice, or I am going to grab the kid working the deep fryer and light him on fire once it gets completely dark , and people will be able to see the flames from the grease fire for miles.

Throat Punch brought a bottle of rum into the park, so I am drinking brown booze for dinner. I wonder if she has any cocaine. If Mrs. Bads and I were younger, we would be doing rails off Throat Punch’s ass .

Why is she called Throat Punch? Long story, one that time does not permit to tell now.

Crowd is tense. San Jose has runners on first and second, with one out. The kid in front of me looks like he is going to knife his aunt, which would leave a stain on the concrete. Boom! The 66ers catcher throws behind the runner on first to pick him off, then a can of corn to end the inning. The kid visibly relaxes, and the aunt is spared …. for now.

The charge trumpet sounds, and someone shouts, “Custer died! Sound The Horn!” These are my people. Fuck the exurbs; this is my home.

Throat Punch just made snide remark about my socialist tendencies because I am bitching about Corporate America taking over the Beer Batter Promotion. That’s the second time today someone has made that type of remark.  I need to work on my image.

This game is going too fast. The Deep Fryer Kid is in the waning minutes of his life unless the 66ers start a rally.

Woody Woodpecker is on the Big Screen. People are booing for reasons unknown. I hope they throw trash on the field, and I like Woody Woodpecker.

Andy Workman, I am going to find the tire store you will be working at next year, and shit on your counter.Sherman Johnson gets a hit, meaning the Deep Fryer Kid has a few more minutes let in his life.

The 66er’s bullpen have chewed sucker sticks in the holes of their caps – some sort of fucked up Alvaro Espinoza type rally cap. They look ridiculous. However, it works, they are geniuses.

The city of San Bernardino appears to have assigned a shitload of firefighters to this game (or these guys just got tired of watching porn). It’s a good thing because things are going to hell really quick. Twenty-minute wait for beer, which is just UNACCEPTABLE. People are going to riot, plus the 66ers are down 1-0 now, meaning the Deep Fryer Kid is back on borrowed time.

A really hot young Latina just spilled nachos on her enormous breasts and is now making her boyfriend lick up the mess. Now that is a Rally Monkey. Just like that, the 66ers have runners on first and second. Sound that motherfucking horn and spill some more cheese! 1-1. Hat tip to the lads in the bullpen.

Bases loaded for Andy Workman. He yanks a homer two feet foul, then K’s. Sherman Williams, Assbite. Familiarize yourself with Feces Brown because I am coming for you.

Sound the Horn! The backup catcher walks, chasing San Jose’s starting pitcher from the game. Deep Fryer Kid is saved… for now

Fifth Inning Flyby – will the beer gardens survive?

The Strikeout Batter whiffs, so someone is getting Red Robin instead of everyone else getting cheap beer.

Sound the Horn! Andy Workman with the two run jack. Yes, that Andy Workman might have just become the Ed Sprague of the California League.

Seventh inning stretch. The crowd is happy drunk with a 4-1 lead. Things can still go bad in the eighth though.

Sound the Horn! 5-1. And now it is a laugher as all tension drains away in the stands. 8-1. 9-1, who cares? No one has to die tonight. The Deep Fryer Kid might live long enough to lose his virginity once the acne clears up.

Cake or Pie! Where has this promo been all year? A kid gets to pick what desert he is going to smash in his parent’s face. You unveil this in the last half inning of the season?

Now we are celebrating. The Faithful are hugging each other. Nacho Tits is kissing her girlfriend as her boyfriend rubs her ass. I high five Andy Workman and wonder if I should drive to San Jose in the morning, or catch a ride with the front office because I AM LOVED. Then I remember there is football on Sunday, and all the boozers from the fantasy leagues will be over. I might need Deep Fryer kid at my place on Sunday.

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