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From: Frank Downey <fabfour.fan@verizon.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Curse of the Bambino, Part Eight--by Frank Downey (MF Rom, baseball angst <G>)
Date: Fri, 17 Oct 2003 20:10:09 -0400
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Copyright 2003 Frank Downey. All rights reserved. Any use other than 
personal archiving requires the permission of the author. Do not repost.

This story contains adult material. If this is illegal where you reside 
or if you are underage where you reside, begone.

THE CURSE OF THE BAMBINO
CHAPTER EIGHT

THURSDAY, OCTOBER SIXTEENTH/FRIDAY, OCTOBER SEVENTEENTH
GAME SEVEN AND THE AFTERMATH

It might have been the greatest day of my life.

I woke up to find Callie sprawled out on my chest, lightly kissing my 
neck and shoulders. A much better way to wake up than having her crying 
in my arms, that's for sure!

"Well, good morning," I whispered.


"Good morning," she grinned.
"You seem in a much better mood today."

She stopped kissing and snuggled into my chest. "I've done a lot of 
thinking. I suppose this was inevitable. I couldn't hide my feelings for 
you forever. So, I'm almost relieved."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And, you know, we've been friends for a year. I've trusted you, 
far more than I trust most people, for all that time. Nobody can predict 
the future, but you're not an asshole, and I wouldn't expect you to 
suddenly become one just because we're together. So what am I worried 
about? And I do love you, you know."

"I know. I love you, too. And now I am relieved!"

"Good," she said, grinning up at me. "Don't fuck it up!"

"Yes ma'am. When's your first class?"

"Ten."

"Me, too. And it's only seven."

"Hmmmm. I wonder if we can think of anything to occupy a few minutes?" 
she grinned.

"I don't know. You have any ideas?" I leered at her.

"Let me think. Hmmm. How about this?" She was still sprawled on top of 
me. Before I knew it, she had lifted up, grabbed my erection, and 
impaled herself on it! "Is this a good idea?" she grinned.

"The best," I gasped. She raised herself up, leaning on her hands, and 
slid up and down on my dick. I put my hands on her hips to guide her, 
and thrust up at her as she sunk down.

"Oh, God....so good...." she moaned, as she ground her pelvis up against 
mine. I knew she was doing that to rub her clittie against me, but I was 
certainly enjoying all that rocking and rolling!

"You close?" she asked after a bit.

"Getting there."

"Good. Look into my eyes," she demanded. I grinned, and did just that. 
"Your turn to look into my eyes, Mitch. Look at me and cum."

I looked straight at her as I met each of her downstrokes with a thrust 
of my own. She smiled gently at me, then started moaning, her eyes wide 
open, lost in mine. "So close...." she groaned.

"Uh-huh," I agreed.

"Oh, baby, take me with you," she hissed.

I thrust up into her and came, nice and hard, deep within her. Three 
squirts and I saw her eyes cloud over, her mouth dropped open, a deep 
moan escaped, and I felt her pussy clench on my dick. I thrust through 
both of our orgasms.

"Oh, baby, that was fantastic," she hissed, slumping on top of me.
"Never did that before."

"What?"

"Me on top," she grinned. "I definitely like it."

"Good!"

After snuggling a bit, we cleaned up, got dressed, and headed out for 
breakfast, and then class. After our two classes, we met to go walk back 
to the dorms for some lunch. It was just perfect. It was another brisk, 
breezy day, and I felt so damn good walking across campus holding the 
hand of the girl I'd been in love with for a year. I was so happy I 
stopped walking and kissed her.

"What brought that on?" she giggled.

"Just cause I love you."

"You're a PDA kind of person, aren't you?" she asked, her arms around my 
waist as students streamed past us.

"Yup."

"Good. I like that in a guy," she grinned. And then kissed me.

We practically skipped to the dorm. Ate lunch, studied, made out a 
little, ate supper, studied a little more. I was on cloud nine.

-----------------

It might have been the worst night of my life.

Oh, it started out just fine. Game seven. Pedro. Clemens. Yankee 
Stadium. Just the way it should be. And Trot Nixon hit a second-inning 
homer to give the Sox a two-zip lead, just the way it should be. The Sox 
got it up to 4-0 in the fourth, chasing Roger from the game. Just the 
way it should be.

"Do not tell me we're going to lose to the fucking Red Sox," Callie 
moaned. "Jesus." I just grinned at her.

Giambi hit a homer to make it 4-1. Fine, no big deal, he guessed right 
on a changeup. Pedro was still cruising.

In the seventh, Giambi hit another homer. And Pedro got in a little more 
trouble, but got out of it. David Ortiz hit a homer in the top of the 
eighth, though, putting the Sox up 5-2.

No problem, right? Pedro gave us seven strong innings, the Sox bullpen 
has been unhittable all post season, a three run lead is no problem, right?

No, this is the Red Sox. Things are never that easy--not when your 
manager is a brain-dead cretin named Grady Little. Little is a euphemism 
for his IQ, no doubt.

Bringing Pedro--whose pitch count was up there and who struggled through 
the seventh--out for the eight surprised me right there. But I could 
almost understand it. Pedro got Nick Johnson--but then gave up a double 
to Jeter and a run-scoring single to Bernie Williams. It's now 5-3, and 
Pedro is done. That's obvious to anyone with a brain.

As I said, Grady Little has no brain. He came out to the mound. Hideki 
Matsui was due up. Matsui's a lefthanded hitter. Alan Embree, who's 
murder on lefties, was ready in the bullpen.

AND LITTLE LEFT PEDRO IN THE GAME!

Matsui hit a ground-rule double. Second and third, still only one out. 
Jorge Posada, who's hit Pedro well this year, came up to bat. Embree and 
Mike Timlin--who's been perfect all playoffs--were ready in the pen.

AND LITTLE STILL LEFT PEDRO IN THE GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!

Double. Score tied. I swear to God, I almost started crying right then 
and there.

You know it's bad when your Yankee-fan girlfriend looks at you in 
complete disbelief and says, "Why the hell didn't he get Pedro out of 
there? He was obviously gassed. What was he thinking?" I didn't have an 
answer for her. I never will. And Little's subsequent post-game blather 
about `sticking with your ace' doesn't cut it. The bullpen got the Sox 
to game seven. Hell, the pen got them through the Oakland series. Pedro 
averages 98 pitches a start, it's common knowledge that he starts to go 
south after 110--and he threw 123 before Little finally pulled him after 
the Posada hit. My father later told me it was the worst bit of managing 
he'd ever seen in a Red Sox uniform--and he lived through Don Zimmer.

The pen, finally allowed to do their job, got out of the eighth with the 
score tied. But it was inevitable from that point. It took until the 
eleventh, but Little went to the Wakefield well one too many times, and, 
after breezing through the tenth, Wakefield started the eleventh by 
giving up a game-winning moon shot to Aaron Boone. Not Wake's fault. He 
got them two wins to keep them in the series.

Tim told me later that the expression on my face could best be described 
as "shellshocked." Callie obviously noticed it, because she looked at me 
and said, "Damn. I can't even gloat, can I?" I just gave her a weak 
smile. "Shit. You look like you just lost your best friend," she continued.

"It's the way it happened," I said.

"I know. Jesus. At least you have a scapegoat. You want a Grady Little 
picture for your dartboard?" At least she made me laugh a little. "I'm 
not going to pretend that I'm not happy the Yankees won, but I'm sorry 
for you," she said.

"Wow. A Yankees fan with a conscience. I knew I loved you. Are you sure 
you're a Yankees fan?" I joked.

"Yup. And now I can root for them to crush the Marlins with no 
hesitation," she grinned.

"Go Fish!"

"Oh, thanks," she said, swatting me.

Everyone paraded out of the room, giving me condolences. Callie and I 
were left with only my roomie Jack. and Tim.

"Well, at least I get my blowjob," Tim joked.

"No, you don't," Callie told him. "I conceded two days ago."

"Oh, not from Mitch. I made another bet." And he looked right at Jack.
I wasn't totally shocked, but Callie was. "JACK?" she said. Jack just 
looked at her sheepishly. I chuckled, and said, "Come on, let's go to 
your room." We got out of my room and I turned to her and said, "Jack 
confessed to me last year that he was bi-curious. I guess he's about to 
satisfy his curiosity."

"Oh Jesus," she laughed. "Better him than you."

"My sentiments exactly."

We went to her room, and she held me until we fell asleep.

----
We woke up the next morning and cuddled a bit. Then we hit breakfast, 
then class, then lunch. We headed back to her room after lunch. She was 
being very supportive.

So, finally, I said to her, "Cal, if I'm going to be in love with a 
Yankee fan, I'm going to have to get used to gloating at my expense."

She laughed and said, "OK, so the Curse of the Bambino lives."

"Nope. That was the curse of Grady Fucking Little."

"Too true," she agreed. "Look, I saw the look on your face in the eighth 
last night. I can't rub it in. If we had blown Pedro out and won 7-1, 
I'd be dancing around and laughing at you. But, shit, what a way to lose."

"Too true."

We got back to her room, and her phone rang. "Hello? Hi, Mom!" she said.

"Hi, Mom," I yelled.

She giggled, and then said into the phone, "That was Mitch." Her mother 
said something on the other end, then Callie said, "Actually, no, he's 
not my best friend any more. We started going out this week." Her mom 
said something that obviously pleased her, because she grinned and 
giggled. "He cured me," she said.

"Cured you?"

"Of my relationship phobia," she grinned at me. Then she turned back to 
the phone. Her Mom said something, and she said, "I don't know. Honey, 
are we serious?" she grinned.

"Huh?"

"Mom wants to know if our relationship is serious."

I grinned at her. "I'd say so."

"Good!" Her mother said something else to her, and her face fell a 
little bit. "Oh, I don't know if Mitch could take that. You see, he's a 
rabid Red Sox fan. He's not a happy puppy today." She listened a bit, 
and then broke up laughing.

"What?" I asked.

"Mom says that if we ever get married, that'd be a worse mixed marriage 
than a Jew and a Muslim."

"Oh God," I laughed.

"Anyhow, Dad got two tickets for game one of the World Series at the 
Stadium tomorrow night. We could drive down tonight, see the game 
tomorrow night, come back on Sunday." She looked down. "I understand if 
you can't bear going, but I'd like you to."

I thought about it and said, "OK. As long as you can put up with me 
rooting for the Marlins."

"Wouldn't expect any different," she grinned. She turned back to the 
phone and told her Mom we were on our way.

After she hung up, she came over to me and gave me a hug. "Thanks for 
agreeing to go. I know that wasn't easy. And I love you for it."

"Well, I've never met your parents, so that was part of it."

"Good."

"And thanks for not gloating."

"Hey, I do know a little bit about heartbreak. I'm a Jets fan, too."

"GO PATRIOTS!" I laughed.

"Now, why did I know you were going to say that?" she smirked.

I laughed and said, "Hey. Jets-Pats. Maybe there's another bet in there."

"No way," she laughed. "From now on, the only thing I bet on, is us."

"I'll take that wager," I grinned.


--THE END--

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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