The New York Yankees have won 74 of their first 99 games. By October, they could have the greatest record in the history of major league baseball.
“Guess what,” said Timmy, “I got an A on my math test. That makes 12 A’s in a row!”
“That’s wonderful, Timmy,” said Mrs. Anderson. “I’m so proud of you.”
As the first of the two suns was setting over Mondas, the outlaw planet, Colonel Quay’s men happily pitched their tents beneath the shadows of a lone Ogoomo tree. Five days on patrol, with no sight of a single muto-eel or nitro-beast. As the soldiers raised the volleyball nets, the eyes of each radiated the same question: At long last, could this be home?
One of the trial subjects of Viagra, the anti-impotence drug, was none other than former senator and presidential candidate Bob Dole. “It’s a great drug,” quipped his wife, Elizabeth.
Yet despite the team’s success, not every Yankee fan is overflowing with enthusiasm. “The record don’t mean nothing if they don’t get to the World Series,” spoke Dave C. of Massapequa on a call-in radio show. “I’m scared they’ll get overconfident. If the Indians throw a hot pitcher at them in the post-season, well, that ends y’er great season right there.”
“Ward, I’m worried about Timmy,” said Mrs. Anderson.
“Oh?” said Mr. Anderson, putting aside his pipe and newspaper. “Is he getting poor marks at school?”
“No, just the opposite. Maybe I’m just an old fuss-budget, (* cue laugh track *) but I’m concerned that school is coming too easy for Timmy. He needs to learn how to deal with failure, as well as success.”
Because the colonel never joined in their revelry, few of the men thought it odd to see him alone, silhouetted against the darkening sky.
“Pretty quiet up there, colonel?” called up Lieutenant Juno.
“Too quiet,” replied Colonel Quay, the smoke from his cigar bobbing in tacit agreement.
“Don’t get me wrong—these past few weeks have been wonderful. But sweetheart, you’re 75 years old. You can’t keep pumping away every night like a teenager or a fireman or Secretariat. One of these times something in your heart is going to go ping, and you’ll go keeling over in mid-thrust. That’s just not the big exit a great man should have!”
Despite the prevalence of such sentiments, they baffle most baseball professionals.
“What do you want the Yankees to do—lose?” asked radio announcer John Sterling. “Are you going to lose sleep every night because the team is winning too many games? Let the future take care of itself, and enjoy the present. If you can’t do that, maybe you should try some other form of entertainment, like science fiction.”
“I don’t think we need to look for problems that aren’t there,” said Mr. Anderson between puffs of the pipe and glances at the newspaper that, mysteriously, had reappeared in mouth and hand. “Timmy’s got a good head on his shoulders. I think he’s doing just….say, what’s this bottle?”
“Oh that?” said Mrs. Anderson, blushing slightly. “It’s a new drug called Viagra. I thought you’d like to give it a try.”
Suddenly, an acid bolt fell just behind the major’s jeep, followed by another that took out some of the tents.
“INCOMING!” yelled the sentry, just as a huge muto-eel—the largest the men had ever seen—swallowed the sentry in one gulp.
“Damn it, it’s a trap!” screamed the colonel. “Sergeant Williams, launch a sphere-grenade.”
“Yes sir,” said Sergeant Bernie Williams. “Hey Hideki, toss me that thing, will ya?”
After the message was translated by an interpreter, Hideki hurled the sphere-grenade at Sergeant Bernie. With a powerful swing of his launch bat, the sergeant sent the weapon 450 feet into the heart of the muto-eel swarm, where it exploded into a fiery ball.
“Wow, a grand slam!” said Timmy, who was watching at home on black and white television.
“Just look at the mess we’re in now! We need strong leadership, old-fashioned leadership, the kind that I can provide,” said Bob Dole, the Yankee manager.
“I thought I was the Yankee manager,” said Joe Torre, who was the Yankee manager.
“You will be in the past,” said Bob Dole, giving his wife Elizabeth a sideways glance and a subtle, secret smile.
“As will we all,” replied Timmy knowingly, “as will we all.”