The All-Star break has left some Red Sox fans with an insatiable THIRST for baseball. But you may not know that many players feel your pain as well. While some are content to fill their break with brewskis and “According to Jim,” there are others whose lust for the game never sleeps. In this very special episode of “The Adventures of Ellsbury ‘n’ Elf,” we shall see that lust… unleashed!
Our episode begins in the darkened bedroom of an opulent townhouse in the heart of Boston.
I think the Viagra’s kicking in, hon.
I can’t.
eh?
I… I can’t.
What do you mean, you can’t? I’ve got a signed pre-nup that says in return for a life of leisure, tea parties and robot butlers, you’ll be putting out at least once a week.
Not with Dennis Eckersley in the room.
Huh?
Sorry. You guys can go ahead and slap hams. Me and DO are just gonna do a little play-by-play.
Buenos Noches, amigos. Also, hi.
Are you kidding me?
Mister Henry, we’ve been almost five days without a Red Sox game. The downtime’s just killin’ us. We need something to fill the void.
I feel naked without headphones and will often strap two hamburger buns to either side of my head when there are no actual headphones available. So that’s just some insight as to how my week has gone.
Anyway, we figgered a little “side” broadcast would be good for us all. Keep us sharp.
Well this is unacceptable. You’re not broadcasting this. It’s a private moment.
Please don’t be concerned about how your horrible, withered, old man ass will look on camera. We’re only webcasting. To “Christo’s Pizza” in West Roxbury.
::knock at the door::
Who the–? It’s three in the morning.
Sorry to bother you so late at night, Mr. Henry, but we’ve got a problem.
Let’s cut to the chase. We’re here for the keys. To the Park.
The Park?
Fenway Park, grandpa. I got a baseball jones that can’t be measured by any man, woman or Wayans brother. My wife’s about to drop a kid and my life will soon become an endless maelstrom of diapers and plush toys and “Ed Asner Sings the Alphabet.” I haven’t got any time to be sitting around doing nuthin’, so let’s play some goddam baseball.
Who’s playing? Have you even got a team?
Well, we got me and Dustin. Oh and Mark Bellhorn, who just happened to be at the 7-11 in full uniform.
I’ve got some time on my hands.
And Paul Stanley from KISS.
I can assure you that despite my rock star lifestyle, I am proudly PED-free, and have even brought along two room temperature jugs of my own urine for your full analysis.
EBAY THOSE F@#KERS. ALSO, I’M HERE, AS I WANT IN ON THIS NIGHTTIME BASEBALL EXTRAVAGANZA. FEEL FREE TO TEST ME FOR PEDS AS WELL BUT AIN’T NOTHIN’ IN MY BODY EXCEPT THREE METRIC TONS OF COCAINE. WHICH IS A JOKE, BECAUSE ALLS I EAT IS TWIZZLERS.
Man, this would work out great, because Don and I just happen to have our headphones and are dying to call a game.
Well thank god I found this pair of headphones in the “free headphones” bin at Papa Ginos, because I certainly didn’t steal them from the NESN studios.
Fine. You can have the keys. Just promise me you’ll get out of here.
Serious? Shit yeah! It’s on, droogies.
THIS IS A MAJOR VICTORY FOR THE LITTLE MAN AND BY LITTLE MAN I DON’T MEAN PAUL SIMON I MEAN US.
::Door closes::
::flips open his cell phone:: Theo. Are all those security measures still up and running at the Park? The lava pits and gun turrets and army of Bob Montgomery clones poised to eliminate anything and anyone entering the premises?
Yessir. We’ve been on high alert since the Ghost of Rod Beck was sighted inside the Fenway Frank holding tank.
Excellent. That is all.
And so, Red Sox baseball was back, if for only one night. And the Henrys finally found that peace that only the silly rich can find. Now let’s check back in on the newlyweds, some time later that night.
Baby, I’ve got to tell you, that was really, really amazing. Especially those finishing moves.
She left about an hour ago, boss. But thanks.
