The Lilliputian’s Daily Telegraph

It takes a lot to Laugh, It takes a Train to Cry.

Editor-In Good Grief: Adam “Narcoleptic in the Field” Mead

Ennead showed up to the chilled fields of Central Park with 8 players to wield. We were hoping for greatness, to run the bases in weightlessness. But our little Lilliputian arms and legs were no match for The Phillips Group. To them we must’ve seemed like nervous ants, running around with us in our pants. A ball would fall over there, then over here, even Old MacDonald couldn’t’

make a rhyme out of us. We were truly something to behold, ,our ropes launched into the air, holding tightly to keep our nemesis from moving through the air. But, they turned our diamond around,  Adam Sheraden did his level best on that there pitcher’s mound. “1, 2, 3 strikes you’re out,” is a term we know too well, I can’t believe how many pennies, and wishes I left down that well. Now if you use that new math the kids like today, I hazard to say, we might win one of these games someday. Move a decimal here, a digit there, hey before you know it, we’re paying this game with talent to share. Now in just 2 games we’ve made our 2 opponents to quite able. If we continue on this path I foresee a future for me cleaning out a Horse Stable. As the 4^th inning came into focus, it was hard to avoid, another slaughter rule, someone please release the swarm of locusts. 11-0 in the end was the score, I know another lose, I am beginning to bore. In a week’s time from today we’ll be heading out again to try and show just what we’ve got, and put it on display. Season Standing 0-2

Epilogue:

As I sat in my apartment home, chatting away, my two cats a purring, pure contentment shown, I heard my phone a buzzing. It was an email from our friend SLAM League commissioner. I wonder, in summer is he much of a fisher? Now the e-mail seemed to paint him as a rather dispirited lad. But they usually win, I’d have thought he’d been rather glad. But, as you see I forgot to pay the UMP Fee, and in this email he framed me as rather a chump. Now at first I took great offense, but that quickly turned to solace. I am sure there was just a mistake and intended no malice. Now as my bald headed dome did descend into sleep, my imagination ran away with me and offered, an image, a treat. The commissioner, at work at Robert A.M. Stern, arguing over what was proper, “what is it to be, a Corinthian column, or something more solemn?”

Editors Note: No Lilliputians were harmed in the assemblage of these words.