Dedication #3: Britney Spears Jeter
[Another in the ongoing Victory Coalition/Spirit of America Begging for Money for a Good Cause Series] This whole "I'll post what you ask me to" thing works out well, as my mind is so bogged down with thoughts about closing costs, packing and turning the garage of the new house into a home theater that I can't think of anything to write about. Besides begging you for money. So, dedication post number three goes out to Mr. Begging to Differ.
Greetings, Hi, Michele. I just donated $100 to the SoA on behalf of the Victory Coalition. For the blog post you'll be writing, I would like one about how the Yankees are going to blow it against the Red Sox in the playoffs because Jeter refuses to move to third base. Of course, if you think that having a player at shortstop with less range than Britney will actually help them beat the Sox, you can write that too.First, I'd like to say thank you for the donation. Thank you. Now, I don't remember saying that I was going to write fiction, but what the hell.
IT was a dark and stormy night. George Steinbrenner paced back and forth in his office, practically wearing out the carpet. Just last year, he had twelve underpaid seamstresses hand embroider a portrait of Roger Clemens sucking Andy Pettite's dick onto the carpet. It had only taken a few months for Steinbrenner's incessant pacing to wear down the formerly beautiful colors and art. Just two days away from the 2004 playoffs against the Sox, and the shading on the Clemens's uniform had turned flat and ugly, much like his fastball last year. Steinbrenner had not been this fraught with anxiety since the day Billy Martin came over to borrow a few cups of vodka, wished him a Merry Christmas, and drove off. Real problems were at hand. Jeter would not move to third base, despite offers from Steinbrenner ranging from sex with the Rockette of his choice to a starring role in the next Britney Spears video. George had been "friendly" with Britney ever since that Punk'd episode where she agreed to sleep with A-Rod if he scored a "touchdown" for her. Silly girl. George felt sorry for her and ended up beating the shit out of Ashton in retaliation for his making a fool out of an otherwise beautiful and intelligent woman. Britney was so thankful, she ended up taking a job with the Yankees, processing parking validation tickets for the Yanks' travel manager, George Costanza. Anyhow, no amount of cajoling could convince Jeter to make the move to third. Steinbrenner knew that the move had to happen if the Yanks were to mercilessly send the Sox packing once again this fall. As he paced that stormy evening, he heard a shy knock at the door. He mumbled for the person to enter. The door opened slowly, the light from the hallway shining across the carpet, illuminating Pettite's petty little dick. George stared at the doorway, expecting A-Rod to be standing there complaining that his contract specifically called for a red Hummer, not a blue one and Steinbrenner was ready to show him what hummer wasreally was about. But it wasn't Alex. It was Britney. Standing there in the dim light, the shadows playing upon her face and bosom, Britney appeared an angel on this hellish evening. George welcomed her, his arms oustretched. Come to daddy, he whispered. Britney snuggled in his arms. What's the matter, Georgie Peorgie? Oh, I don't know what to do, Britney. Derek just won't play third base, no matter how much I plead. I even offered him a Rockette for the evening. Oh. Maybe you should think outside the box, George. Outside the box? Oh.....you mean? Yes, offer him a night with Mike Piazza. They both giggle at their little inside joke and continue nuzzling. You know, Georgie, I played softball in high school. In fact, I played third base. Awww, my little sports girl. How cu.....oh...third base?!? Yes, and I was very, very good. An hour later, a meeting had been convened, papers drawn up, signatures made and shots of the best tequila money could buy were drunk off of Mariah Carey's chest. The night of the first playoff game came. Jeter, pouting and petulant, stamped his feet and flung his hat around in the dugout. He had been replaced by a girl! And not just any girl, but professional porn star Britney Spears! Britney took her place at third base for the start of the game. All eyes were on her and her fetching uniform. The bottom of the Yankee logo curved so sweetly over her right breast, it was hard to keep your eyes off of it. Still, the baseball purists and Yankee fans who were not sucked in by the thought of Britney's breasts heaving up and down as she lunged for a line drive were dubious. Britney was tested early in the game. Nomar, batting second, smacked the ball right toward her. The crowd held their collective breath and fixed their eyes upon her ass as she stretched her arm out, keeping her foot on the bag. The hard, fast ball zoomed right into the pocket of her glove, as if it belonged there. The fans let out a sigh. From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore. "Go Britney! Go Britney!" shouted someone on the stand, and it's likely they'd have swarmed her had not Jeter raised his hand. Yes, Derek "stepped up to the plate" as it were, came out to the field, nodded towards the crowd and announced his retirement effective immediately. It was obvious Britney was both a less selfish player and a better draw. Jeter realized that people long ago tired of his New York smile and charming personality. They wanted sass. They wanted boobs. They wanted someone who would play third base so A-Rod could get his way. And now, they had it all. So Derek packed his bags and headed where all disgraced, petulant, whiny Yankees go to retire - Houston. They Yankees went on to win the series in a sweep, Britney was named MVP and A-Rod hit twenty two home runs in four games. However, the Hollywood ending just didn't happen, as the Yanks lost the World Series to... the Astros.