So, there's this dude crawling through the desert...
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James R
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Good story. I started reading it at work, on break, then finished when I got home.
The last line however.
Yeah, the story itself was quite good.
The last line definitely brought forth an audible groan from me though.
Not even just because of the bad joke, I actually enjoy bad jokes, but more so for the reason that I was actually anticipating the stories end and the outcome of humanity.
BrianB
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OldBenKenobi
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Has the trappings of an excellent story.
So all you "tl,dr" magpies ought to take at least the time it took you to post how you're not going to read it, ..to read it. Who knows; you might find life beyond instant gratification.
Read, boys. Read. Its' good for you.
I'd read it if it were formatted properly. Not gonna strain my eyes on a wall of text for no reason.
Mule Train
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I read the whole thing and I liked it. This is an oldie.
http://fedoradudescommentary.blogspot.com/2012/10/the-beer-that-made-mel-famey-walk-us.html
Back in the 1920s – sometimes called the Roaring Twenties – it was illegal to produce, sell or consume alcoholic beverages. However, booze was everywhere and secret bars called “speakeasies” abounded, everyone knew it and crooked politicians gladly took payoffs to look the other way. So, access to alcohol was not hard even though it was illegal.
During the 1923 World Series, a young pitcher by the name of Mel Famey was attracting attention for a whole season of throwing unhittable fastballs one after the other for nine consecutive innings game after game. The guy was amazing and unstoppable! Every game he pitched was scoreless for the other team and his pitching in the Series was no exception.
The series was tied evenly at 2 games each (back then the series was only 5 games) and, to the opposing team’s chagrin, he was scheduled to pitch the final game. Knowing this the opposing team sent a delegation of several of their players to visit Famey late in the afternoon. “Look, Mel,” they told him, “we all know that you’re probably going to pitch another no hitter tomorrow. So we came to take you out and start celebrating your victory now. Come on and have dinner with us.” Mel Famey figured, “What the heck? Why not?” and left with them. Before dinner they all had a few beers. During dinner they had a few more beers, after which they were all pretty well snockered and decided to just give in and paint the town. They hooted and howled and drank beer after beer as they went from speakeasy to speakeasy until well after sunup when Famey returned home and passed out on his bed.
The last game was later that afternoon (there were no such thing as night games back then) and come gametime, ace pitcher Mel Famey was not at the ballpark. So, to avoid forfeiting the game, the manager had to put a different pitcher in his lineup. It did not go well. The opposing team got a quick 4 – 0 lead and all the while the manager could barely watch the game as he kept craning and looking hoping desperately to see Mel Famey come into the stadium or dugout. But to no avail. So he replaced the pitcher currently on the mound and this new guy tied the game up at 4 – 4. But just after he did he was hit in the leg with a line drive ball and had to be pulled from the game. But, as he was being carried off the field, a very hungover, unshaven, bleary-eyed Mel Famey staggered into the dugout in his rumpled uniform and flopped down on the wooden bench. The manager shouted, “Famey! We’re tied up and the go-ahead run is at first base. Get out there on the mound, boy, and do your stuff!” So Mel Famey staggered out to the mound to the cheers, whistles and “hurrahs” of the home crowd which was on their feet at seeing his arrival.
In his very devastated condition, his first pitch was a very slow and hittable ball and the batter popped a perfect single putting a runner aboard first base. Considering he’d had no time to throw any warm-up balls in the bullpen or on the field, the manager wasn’t concerned. But then Famey walked the next batter with 4 straight “balls” which put runners at first and second. Then, after getting him to full count, he walked the next batter which loaded the bases. Taking a chance on his ace fireball thrower, the manager kept Famey in the game. Famey threw a screaming fastball for “strike” one on the next batter. Then a high and outside one for “ball” one. Then he really burned one past the batter for the second strike and the manager thought, “This is it, kid. One more strike and we’ve won the series.” But, this one was “ball” two. Famey tried to just nick the corner of the plate for the 3rd strike but got it just a little low for “ball” 3 and the manager could then be heard mumbling “Come on, kid, come on! Just one more down the middle like you always do and we’ve got it made! Come on, kid!”
By now, the catcher was flashing signs between his legs so fast a skilled interpreter at sign language couldn’t have kept up with him. “Give him a knuckleball,” came the sign. Famey shook his pounding head, “No.” “Alright, then how about a breaking ball,” the catcher signed. Famey again shook his head “No.” “OK, a slider then,” the catcher signed. Famey emphatically shook his head “NO!” at that one. Finally, the exasperated catcher flashed the sign for a curve ball and Famey finally nodded “Yes” to that one. He did his wind-up, cocked his arm back and let fly with a beautiful curve ball that came rocking towards the strike zone. On it’s way there the catcher’s heart began pounding as the realization started coming to him that this was it, the pitch from Famey that even in his poor condition was going to finish the game. The catcher would later swear he could see the laces on the ball as it turned over and over because in such a moment, the ball almost seemed to travel in slow motion as it approached home plate. “Here it comes,” thought the catcher as he braced to catch the ball that much to his excitement was drifting just inside where it would be tough to hit it. Then it drifted more inside. Then even more inside. And finally the batter lept back from the plate to avoid being hit by the now very inside pitch and the catcher could hear the umpire scream “BALL FOUR TAKE YOUR BASE” as the curve ball buried itself into his catcher’s mitt. As the batter picked himself up outta the dust, a grin was slowly spreading across his face as the impact of the umpire’s words sunk in. He had been “walked” with the bases loaded and the winning run of that year’s World Series was trotting in from 3rd to win the game. An exhausted, disgusted and dejected Mel Famey walked from the mound straight into the showers.
A few hours after the game’s dramatic ending, the last 2 batters Mel Famey had “walked” were heading out to their team bus. On their way, they passed by Mel Famey’s car still parked in the stadium parking lot. As they passed it, they peered into the windows and saw the back seat just covered in empty beer cans from Famey’s partying the night before. One player turned to the other and said, “There’s the beer that made Mel Famey Walk Us.” (Get it? “The beer that made Milwaukee Famous”?)
http://fedoradudescommentary.blogspot.com/2012/10/the-beer-that-made-mel-famey-walk-us.html
Back in the 1920s – sometimes called the Roaring Twenties – it was illegal to produce, sell or consume alcoholic beverages. However, booze was everywhere and secret bars called “speakeasies” abounded, everyone knew it and crooked politicians gladly took payoffs to look the other way. So, access to alcohol was not hard even though it was illegal.
During the 1923 World Series, a young pitcher by the name of Mel Famey was attracting attention for a whole season of throwing unhittable fastballs one after the other for nine consecutive innings game after game. The guy was amazing and unstoppable! Every game he pitched was scoreless for the other team and his pitching in the Series was no exception.
The series was tied evenly at 2 games each (back then the series was only 5 games) and, to the opposing team’s chagrin, he was scheduled to pitch the final game. Knowing this the opposing team sent a delegation of several of their players to visit Famey late in the afternoon. “Look, Mel,” they told him, “we all know that you’re probably going to pitch another no hitter tomorrow. So we came to take you out and start celebrating your victory now. Come on and have dinner with us.” Mel Famey figured, “What the heck? Why not?” and left with them. Before dinner they all had a few beers. During dinner they had a few more beers, after which they were all pretty well snockered and decided to just give in and paint the town. They hooted and howled and drank beer after beer as they went from speakeasy to speakeasy until well after sunup when Famey returned home and passed out on his bed.
The last game was later that afternoon (there were no such thing as night games back then) and come gametime, ace pitcher Mel Famey was not at the ballpark. So, to avoid forfeiting the game, the manager had to put a different pitcher in his lineup. It did not go well. The opposing team got a quick 4 – 0 lead and all the while the manager could barely watch the game as he kept craning and looking hoping desperately to see Mel Famey come into the stadium or dugout. But to no avail. So he replaced the pitcher currently on the mound and this new guy tied the game up at 4 – 4. But just after he did he was hit in the leg with a line drive ball and had to be pulled from the game. But, as he was being carried off the field, a very hungover, unshaven, bleary-eyed Mel Famey staggered into the dugout in his rumpled uniform and flopped down on the wooden bench. The manager shouted, “Famey! We’re tied up and the go-ahead run is at first base. Get out there on the mound, boy, and do your stuff!” So Mel Famey staggered out to the mound to the cheers, whistles and “hurrahs” of the home crowd which was on their feet at seeing his arrival.
In his very devastated condition, his first pitch was a very slow and hittable ball and the batter popped a perfect single putting a runner aboard first base. Considering he’d had no time to throw any warm-up balls in the bullpen or on the field, the manager wasn’t concerned. But then Famey walked the next batter with 4 straight “balls” which put runners at first and second. Then, after getting him to full count, he walked the next batter which loaded the bases. Taking a chance on his ace fireball thrower, the manager kept Famey in the game. Famey threw a screaming fastball for “strike” one on the next batter. Then a high and outside one for “ball” one. Then he really burned one past the batter for the second strike and the manager thought, “This is it, kid. One more strike and we’ve won the series.” But, this one was “ball” two. Famey tried to just nick the corner of the plate for the 3rd strike but got it just a little low for “ball” 3 and the manager could then be heard mumbling “Come on, kid, come on! Just one more down the middle like you always do and we’ve got it made! Come on, kid!”
By now, the catcher was flashing signs between his legs so fast a skilled interpreter at sign language couldn’t have kept up with him. “Give him a knuckleball,” came the sign. Famey shook his pounding head, “No.” “Alright, then how about a breaking ball,” the catcher signed. Famey again shook his head “No.” “OK, a slider then,” the catcher signed. Famey emphatically shook his head “NO!” at that one. Finally, the exasperated catcher flashed the sign for a curve ball and Famey finally nodded “Yes” to that one. He did his wind-up, cocked his arm back and let fly with a beautiful curve ball that came rocking towards the strike zone. On it’s way there the catcher’s heart began pounding as the realization started coming to him that this was it, the pitch from Famey that even in his poor condition was going to finish the game. The catcher would later swear he could see the laces on the ball as it turned over and over because in such a moment, the ball almost seemed to travel in slow motion as it approached home plate. “Here it comes,” thought the catcher as he braced to catch the ball that much to his excitement was drifting just inside where it would be tough to hit it. Then it drifted more inside. Then even more inside. And finally the batter lept back from the plate to avoid being hit by the now very inside pitch and the catcher could hear the umpire scream “BALL FOUR TAKE YOUR BASE” as the curve ball buried itself into his catcher’s mitt. As the batter picked himself up outta the dust, a grin was slowly spreading across his face as the impact of the umpire’s words sunk in. He had been “walked” with the bases loaded and the winning run of that year’s World Series was trotting in from 3rd to win the game. An exhausted, disgusted and dejected Mel Famey walked from the mound straight into the showers.
A few hours after the game’s dramatic ending, the last 2 batters Mel Famey had “walked” were heading out to their team bus. On their way, they passed by Mel Famey’s car still parked in the stadium parking lot. As they passed it, they peered into the windows and saw the back seat just covered in empty beer cans from Famey’s partying the night before. One player turned to the other and said, “There’s the beer that made Mel Famey Walk Us.” (Get it? “The beer that made Milwaukee Famous”?)
kevinpaul
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Why is everyone doing a whole page? The old 25 words did kick up dust. Go to the Essay Forum with real feelings and correct spelling and double spacing. Indentation is nice. I am in to paragraph form as much as the next guy. Who is the next guy?
Beaver Creek
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Bobby Mahogany
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I hope there was nudity at some point of the story.
Nice girls'.
Nice girls'.
Northwinds
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LOL
The story is a gem, can't say I wrote it and the way it posted is how this board is setup to accept it
There is a moral in that story, the punchline just brings you out of your deep thought of the mystery of life embedded in the story
I think
The story is a gem, can't say I wrote it and the way it posted is how this board is setup to accept it
There is a moral in that story, the punchline just brings you out of your deep thought of the mystery of life embedded in the story
I think
