Friday, October 23, 2009

The Streak - 51

Evan rose and turned around. His teammates were all eating, drinking, watching DVDs. Some raised their heads and stared back briefly, stone-faced. One head, three rows back, remained lowered yet bobbed rapidly, slightly. Esteban.

"You cocksucker. You hit me with a pea."

Esteban looked up, still laughing.

"At lease I heet my target," he said. "Not like some person I know."

Evan unhesitatingly grabbed his dinner roll and whipped it at Esteban. It glanced off his forehead, hit the bottom of the overhead bins and fell into starting pitcher Rocky Langston's lap. Rocky was a burly, temperamental man who would not likely let this stand, accident or not.

"Who is the cunt who threw a roll?" he shouted, brandishing the object in his fastball grip.

"I am," Evan replied. "Come on, Rocky. Throw a strike for once."

The roll returned to Evan at considerably higher velocity yet he managed to dodge it with a twisting, ducking motion, a reflex honed from years of facing beanballers. Now Kyle stood up with a fistful of gummy cake and icing.

"Who wants dessert?"

Suddenly the entire cabin burst into a riot of flying food, beer foam and profanity. Half the guys were standing up, firing every scrap they could find at anyone who wasn't looking. Others crouched behind their seats and emerged just long enough to launch a choice projectile. Nuts ricocheted like bullets in a firefight. Blackened shrimp were ground into the carpet. A flight attendant scurried to the relative safety of the rear galley, not before getting a forkful of potatoes in her hair.

Jim Bosworth stood up from his seat at the back of the plane and shouted, arms spread imploringly.

"Guys! Guys! Guys! Guys!"

At once he was struck by a chunk of brownie, then a handful of corn. He sat back down and covered his head with an opened copy of Business Week.

The other flight attendant emerged from the front of the plane and waved her hands to no avail. She then disappeared into the cockpit, and soon a stately and stentorian voice broke through the din, a voice that sounded like the voice of God:

"Your attention please, gentlemen. Your attention, please. This is your captain speaking. Please refrain from throwing anything in the cabin. Do not, do not continue to throw anything from your seats."

The boys were chastened, more or less, and save for a stray missile or two the fight was over. They laughed and reminisced about the battle, comparing stains and splatter, and clinked their beers in brotherhood.

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