JIM AT THE BALL GAME

The more Jim tried to figure it out, the less sense it made. It reminded him of that ball game he went to at Fenway back in the 70's. He had a bit of a cough syrup problem back then, and he kept ordering beers and spiking them with these huge shots of Romilar. By like the fourth inning or so, he was so addled and adrift from any sense of mooring. He said the field looked like a big hunk of green rubber. He remembered this guy in front of him - this fat guy - I mean REALLY fat, with his two fat kids. For some reason Jim disliked him, and as he became uglier with cough syrup, his dislike became a combination of hate and loathing and distaste, a lethal and toxic mixture under any circumstances, but throw in a quart or so of Romilar into this brew, and hell, you've got a witches' mess on your paws. Some serious bad craziness. Anyway, Jim has had enough of fatso, and he was gonna puke on general principles anyway, so he spews all over lard-asses' back and neck. I was with Jim, and I saw it, and it wasn't no insignificant spittle - it was a gusher-fountain of beer and syrup and hot dogs and the pizza we ate before the game. So belly-boy gets real pissed - can you blame him? - and causes a big commotion, which draws the attention of security, who drag Jim out to this office. They don't allow me to go in. Anyway, according to Jim, these guys are real pissed, lose their cool, and go ballistic. They start whacking Jim about the kidneys with night-sticks. They don't give a shit that he's still puking. He pukes til he dry-heaves, and then they kick him out of the park, and naturally I go with him, even though I wasn't kicked out too. I'm kinda pissed because it was a great game. Both pitchers were working on no-hitters. Jim has these huge welts on his lower flanks and starts peeing blood. I say we should go to the ER, but Jim says, no, I'll be OK. He convinces me to drive him to the Rite-Aid down the block and buy a few bottles of Romilar. We go back to Jim's apartment, he drains them, and proceeds to pass out. By this point, I am sick as shit of Jim and go home and catch the end of the game on TV. It is still a scoreless no-hitter, goes into extra innings, and the Yankees pitcher gives up a walk-off home run.