Note: names have been left out to avoid embarrassment.
You guys know who you are.
It was your average night at the bar. Chatter and background music filled the air as the fresh scents of draft beer flowed through the dimly lit watering hole. It was late in the evening, after midnight when an ordinary evening in an ordinary bar turned into a classic moment to be remembered.
After a good amount of draft beers and three shots of liquor, a young baseball player was sitting on his stool. This particular baseball player was qiuet-minded and usually he kept to himself. He never had too much to say, but most of the time, there wasn’t much to say. Slightly hunched and mulling over his next drink selection, he noticed two young ladies who had just arrived. Maybe at a dance club in the heart of
“Whoa, check out these two at the bar,” the buzzing baseballer said to one of his older teammates.
“Well well well, what do we have here? This may be my lucky night. Not only did we win our game, but I’m gettin’ a number tonight.”
This older teammate, he had been around the block, he knew how to work the situation. With a stumbly wingman by his side, the two dirty, smelly ball players worked out a quick and decisive game plan to woo the two lookers at the bar.
“Ok, let me do the talking dude, because it looks like you’re not in prime shape to work your words,” the older teammate told the buzzed one.
“You know what?” he mumbled to his older counterpart, “you watch me work, I’ll show you how it’s done my friend.”
“Ok skip, whatever you say,” the elder of two chuckled as they both approached the young ladies who were waiting for their drinks. He didn’t feel fighting over whose game plan would be used. After a short meander over to the bar, the two teammates realized these two ladies were not run of the mill at all. They both seemed to be in college, and in seriously good shape, if you get my drift. The two bunnies were certainly dressed for a night out on the town with their short skirts and matching halter tops seemingly magnetizing all eyes towards them.
Our two baseball lads on the other hand, they weren’t quite dressed to go out on the town for a night. Fresh off a victory earlier in the evening they thought they smelled fresh, but in reality their aroma was similar to that of a gym bag. Unbeknownst to the two ballplayers, they approached the lovely ladies with one goal in mind: To score.
“Hi” the two stumble-bums said simultaneously to the girls. If the aromas of the two pairs were any more polar opposite, they would have been from different planets. The girls smelled fresh and sexy, like you’d find in a perfume ad in a Cosmo magazine. It seems at this point, the girls started to become weary, even before sentences were uttered. You could tell by way their smiles disappeared faster than a speeding locomotive.
“Yea, hi, can we help you?” one of the two cutie pies said quietly to the younger of the two ball players.
“I’m sure you can” he said with a laugh as he leaned over to inspect a little bit closer.
Names were exchanged, but after that, the sailing got rough. It seems as though these two women may not have been looking for a few guys quite like these two.
“So,” the buzzed baseball player half-mumbled to one of the fine ladies, “where are you from?”
“Um, I’m from around here. I live in the city” she replied, not seeming too interested.
At the same time this “conversation” was occurring, the older of the two ball players was trying to think of a way to salvage what was left of this debacle. He pulled the young shortstop away for a quick moment, told him a few words of encouragement and returned him to salvage what was left of the wreckage.
“So where you from?” he said again, not remembering that he had just uttered these same words no more than thirty seconds ago.
“I told you, I’m from Boston.” Nearly rolling her eyes into the back of her head, she fidgeted, looked at her friend and was quiet and stoic.
The older ballplayer, using his wisdom and knowledge to try and salvage the desperate situation, turned to the girls and made a futile attempt at a one-liner. They were not interested. Like two full fish looking at hooks with dried on worms crusted around, they were not interested at all.
The younger ball player, trying once again to whirl his magical words together, asked the young dame where she was from. No response. That’s never good. Anything is better than nothing.
Times were getting tough for the two guys, and their opportunity had just escaped out the front door. Walking like they just committed a crime, the two had grabbed their purses, paid their tab and left the bar quicker than you could say “shut down.”
In obvious anguish and half drunk, the younger of the two said “what just happened?”
“You screwed it up bad, that’s what just happened. We had a chance at those women,” the older ballplayer said to the younger one. “You should have just let me do the talking.”
“Wait,” the drunken one said. “Where were they from again?”
“Nevermind,” he sighed to him in disgust.
A beer or two later, they were talking again, still on the topic of the two fine young women who had evaded their Bond-like allure.
“It’s too bad we couldn’t pick those two up, it would have been a great end to this night” the young ballplayer said.
“Yea, it would have. But you know what? We won tonight, just not here. We’re 9-5, on a roll and I’m happy with that. Not satisfied, but happy.” You could tell that the older ballplayer was still a bit bothered by the whole situation that had transpired, but he looked at the bar one last time, and told his teammate “hey, at least we got the team, you know?”
“Yea,” the other replied. “I just wish I could remember where that girl was from.”
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