Hi. I'm Deli Bacon. I'm not shitting ya, that's my name. You can call me bac, though, all my friends do. Get it? Call me back, return my call, you know. Anyway I work at the Deli at the Big Publix in the centre of town. And that's why they call me Deli. Could be worse. People mighta caledl me Ham Hocks or Pig's Feet or Blood Pudding or... well, you get the idea. So I'm happy to go with Deli.
I'm gonna tell you a little story and you can save your comments 'till the end. Like that great orator Kanye would say "Imma let you finish but.."
The story is about opportunity lost and how one of two brothers dealt with it.
In Balognaville, Kentucky were born to Hammy and his wife Peppi Salami twin sons. Their birth brought considerable joy to their parents and as youngsters they were doted upon. As soon as they could walk Hammy had the boys, Kyle "Basa" Salami and Frank "Furter" Salami, out in the front yard throwing a ball. Not a pigskin mind you. But a cowhide to teach the boys how to catch and hit a baseball. Over the years these two grew to become excellent ball players. Playing competitively as kids, in high school, and on a baseball scholarship at college, Kyle and Frank eventually found themselves playing AAA ball, a step away from the big leagues.
Every year Balognaville held what was known as the Deli-ball. Now that's not a dance at Publix. No, that's when Kyle's team, the Balognaville Coldcuts, played Frank's team the Balognaville Bratwursts at Schnieder's (Canadian pun) field. And every year the community went as crazy as a gyro, over the match involving the cross-town rivals.
Now Frank was a pitcher. And an exceptional one at that. Across the plate, Kyle was his team's top hitter, known to blow up pitchers on the mound faster than you can slice a piece of Cajun-flavoured turkey. Mmm, mmm.
Of course it was inevitable that Kyle would face Frank. And over the course of the game he went up against him several times. Every time Kyle would hit Frank's pitch outta the ballpark (subtle pun alert).
Frank was usually the more positive-minded of the two. He didn't let things get him down. He learned his lessons and positively moved on. But today Frank was so unnerved he started singing to himself. Early in the game he sang Put Me In Coach, that John Fogerty ditty but around the seventh inning-stretch his singing had reached a fevered pitch (no pun intended) where he was singing aloud Take Me Out Of The Ball Game, but he changed up the lyrics a bit, of course, to suit his situation. Too bad he didn't change up his pitches.
The umpire, Mayer, Oscar Mayer, was a bit of a brat. But Frank knew he had nothing to do with the trouncing his team received at the hands of his brother. He had to admit to himself, as he continued to hum at the end of the game, that he was a victim of his own undoing.
As they marched off the field. Kyle turned to his brother and said "Sanguine, Frank?"
His brother looked to the sky, thought for a moment and whispered "Are you kidding? Sang lost."
The prompt this week was sanguine from the folks at Studio30+, which I'm not sure they'll be after they read this.
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