Sequoia Lizard

[The following is a guest post from my spovely louse, Anne.] “I drank too much coffee last night”, she complained bitterly. Since sleep did not come swiftly, I spent the time thinking about Swifties. Supposedly, they were invented by Tom Swift of Gulliver’s Travel fame. (check Wikipedia, she added parenthetically.) It’s been a Hard Day’s Night, she said with beetled brow, but here comes the sun. “St. Louis is the Gateway to the West”, she said archly. Kansas City demurred royally, adding, “It’s chiefly the gateway from the East.”

Then there were the (worldly) series of baseball puns. Carl and Jay may enjoy these, but only relatively. As the game starts, by the dawn’s early light, a Key ritual is when the ump sweeps the plate. The catcher plainly overheard the ump say, “My, how homely you are with all this dust.” Firstly, there was a dribbler down the line. “Safe!” the ump said fairly, while the first baseman glared at him foully. Secondly, the replay cameras minutely examined the 4-3 double play. Thirdly, there was a stand-up triple. Shortly, after that a pop-up fly was caught. After three innings, the pitcher started to throw balls. (What was he throwing before, she strikingly pondered?) The catcher came out, the infield came in, the ump came in, and fourthly, the manager came out. “Candlesticks are always nice”, the manager added presently. Bullishly, he penned a note, and took the pitcher out. “Go forth and pitch no more” he growled in relief as the pitcher slumped d-ejectedly. While this was going on out on the mound, the home crowd grew restless. “Who’s on first?” Abbot said comically. “What?” Costello replied straight away. I don’t know, but I think the interlude played famously. At the bottom of the fifth, Jack Daniels was out. In the sixth, Robert Redford hit a home run, naturally. In the seventh inning the left fielder gamely caught everything sent his way and liberally hit the ball past his opponents. In the penultimate inning however the center fielder was moderately inactive, as the batters shunned his position. “There is no crying in baseball!” we wailed bi-partisanly. The brazen hussies, Ichiro’s Bleacheros, cheerily said “and rightly so” as the walk-off home run soared into bleachers beyond first base. The Seattle fans, briskly fueled by all that coffee, walked home as well. (Or busily waited for the bus.)

Okay, I’m done. Except for one bike swiftie, before we ride our bikes swiftly into the park. “Your tire is flat” he said unairingly. [Congratulations, to the Mariners for being on the winning end of a no-hitter.] 😉