JELLY NEEDS PEANUT BUTTER AND BREAD TO MAKE A SANDWICH!!!

Check out Seth's new blog. The torch has been passed. Where it leads only Jelly and his band of misfits know!

www.thebackcourtpress.blogspot.com/

A Brief history of the hottest manager in the MLB:William Nathaniel Showalter III presented by the son of bones

In the fertile year of 1956 on a spry March morning, a baby worked his way out of his mother’s warm and cozy womb and into this cold world. After taking one look at the massive baby, the doctors informed his parents that, scientifically speaking, their baby would be the greatest human being to roam the world since Arthur Granjean, the man who invented the etch-a-sketch. His parents,Mr. and Mrs Showalter were young and passionately in love. They rightfully decided that only name fit for such a mighty infant was William Nathaniel Showalter the 3^rd. It was only at William Nathaniel's 5th birthday party, after a bizarre naked deer hunting excursion, that he earned the moniker "Buck".
  

This wonderful babies journey toward glory started in Florida where his parents resided.Young Nathanial soaked in vitamin D from the sun and copious amounts of protein from his mothers’ seemingly endless supply of breast milk. Buck's father, WNS the 2nd, had just turned down an offer to play fullback (before those dang hippies and their "spread offense" made the position as unnecessary as Katy Perry’s appearance on this weeks College gameday) with the Steelers in the NFL to become a high school teacher. What a decision that was! Secretly, his favorite part of the job was delivering the "birds and the bees" talk to wide-eyed freshmen every year (Mr.Showalter was never instructed by anyone to talk to his students about this, he simply did so out of his love for the human reproductive cycle). While he wasn't spending his time warning his students about rounding the bases on dates, he was encouraging them to round the bases on the diamond, as he was also the high schools baseball and football coach.  
 

When Buck was a child, his father found a near death, malnourished stray mutt on the side of the highway. With a few trips to the vet, a lot of whole milk, and tender love, the Showalters' were able to nurse the dog back to health. They named the dog Adam, because he was always naked and loved apples. Buck loved Adam and taught him how to field baseballs and somehow pitch (he had a nasty spitball, in every sense of the word). Adams favorite position was center field where he would chase down Bucks hits like they were milk bones being flung from a rocket launcher in the sky.(Buck would often soak the ball in his daddy’s bacon grease to make Adam love baseball as much as he did.)
      

 Buck listened to father time’s orders and grew up beautifully. He earned a scholarship to Mississippi State and went on to have an outstanding career there, both on and off the diamond. After years of raucous Beatles themed parties (Buck was always Ringo Starr) and stealing second base, Buck graduated with honors. He then enjoyed a wild seven-year career in the Yankees minor league system playing first base. However, Buck didn't take his fathers birds and bees talk to heart as he and and his saint of a wife (what a lucky dame!) gave the world the gift of William Nathanial Showalter the fourth, as well as a daughter a few years later, finally silencing the vicious rumors of Infertility that had haunted Buck for so long. Both children declined my request for an interview (understandable) as well as my simple request for  a video recording of their father sleeping (where do they get off?!).   

 
As Showalter's playing days came to a finale, and his days as a father had just premiered, he knew he was not ready to walk away from freshly cut grass and open showers just yet. He began a career in coaching baseball and jumped through many hoops and eventually ended up being cast as himself on Seinfeld, and on the side he managed the New York Yankees. George Costanza and Monks Cafe were the main reason Buck resided in the city that never sleeps, but he never stopped yearning for simpler pastures.In 1981, he turned down a lucrative chance to become business partners with Kramer selling left handed scissors (Lefties are people too, jerry!)in favor of moving to the dessert of Arizona to manage the Diamond Backs.For the next 30 years, Buck wore many hats. He managed the Diamondbacks and Rangers, worked in the Cleveland Indians office of Baseball operations, and also worked as the best-looking analyst on ESPN's Baseball Tonight (the shows ratings among the female demographic never recovered after his departure).  


Buck the 3rd found his own malnourished pet when the Baltimore Orioles offered him the job as manager in 2010.The Baltimore Orioles hadn't made the playoffs since 1997.They had been the worst team in the league for some time and there was no end to their dry nightmare in sight.The Orioles had a roster with more holes than a Roger Goodell apology and their clubhouse moral was similar to that of North Korea after the passing of the honorable Kim Jung Il.The orioles had been so terrible, that most residents of Baltimore were more proud of their native food seasoning, Old Bay, than the Orioles they once passionately loved like newlyweds in a Tom and Jerry themed honeymoon suite. Copious amounts of Natty Boh were being scoffed down in a futile attempt to numb the pain of the 15 year playoff draught. Many nights I would wonder around the Baltimore Harbor after enjoying a few too many of these beverages loudly and aggressively asking innocent bystanders things like "WHERE IN THE HELL DID YOU PUT CAL RIPKEN?!, HE HAD SOME GOOD YEARS LEFT! YOU KNOW THAT? HES THE IRON MAN, HE COULD'VE PLAY TILL HES 80, MAYBE 90!" and "SCREW YOU, KEVIN COSTNER!" 
          

Just like his father before him, Buck nursed the team back to health with a steady diet of savvy personnel moves, thorough motivation, and sex appeal. Buck managing baseball is as natural as Chef Boyardee in the kitchen,both pure bread geniuses. After just two full years of rebuilding, Buck performed a Houdini esque magic trick that ended with the Orioles miraculously appearing in the 2012 playoffs! Therapists in Baltimore were loosing customers by the bushel, and crystal meth sales have plummeted since Buck arrived in town. This, our third winning season in a row, made me finally accept the fact that the iron man retired (who am I kidding? SOMEBODY HOLD ME!) and I am now basking in the glow of the Orioles success.Maybe one day, with Bucks help I can stop yelling at strangers and sleeping with a life sized custom ordered Cal Ripken  stuffed replica doll. The funny thing about this story is that the Orioles best player and ball hawking center fielders name is…..Adam. You just can't make ANY of this stuff up.

Son of Bones's Exam Play by Play

I am Bones's younger brother and just finished my sophomore year of college. This morning I asked one of my friends who works in the real world for a play by play of his day at work. He responded by asking for a play by play of my last exam today. I kindly obliged…here it is

-I awaken and put on my lucky exam outfit. The underrated look of birkenstocks,khaki shorts and dress socks really gets slept on these days. Wake up to the revolution, GQ. Put on my springsteen underpants and my bill Lambeer jersey and head for the door.
-The fresh air greets me like a kiss from my mother, I try to kiss back but fail to make things escalate between mother earth and I.

-I depart from my humble abode with an entire roll of hubba bubba bubble tape in my mouth. To my tongues delight it is the “awesome original” flavor. Awesome AND original?! How lucky am I!

-As I contemplate how fortunate I am to have something both awesome and original in my mouth, I am briefly saddened at the thought of leaving my porch momentarily.

-That melancholy state of mind is soon forgotten as I blow my first fertile bubble of the day. With the diameter of a hub cab and the sexiness of a sweaty Marcin Gortat at a latin dance club, this bubble induced a sticky smile.

-After a brisk jog to class, I arrive to the generous life science building moderately damp thanks to this beautiful 90 degree weather we are having.

-An older man graciously holds the door for me (the years have been kind to him as he sports a full head of salt and pepper locks that would make a just for men model fear for his job). He sports a backpack and I kindly thank him with a smile, because Lord knows there is nothing I respect more than a gorgeous middle aged man returning to school to explore his own mind after facing the real world (beautiful) head on.

-As I enter the classroom my eyes are greeted with nervous looking faces of all races and ethnicities ready to put feather to paper and demonstrate their knowledge of the history of the great city of Richmond.

-My bubble filled hustle to class has afforded me several bounties. Foul odor being one and the seat of my choice the other. 

-I score a voluptuous seat in the back row, right where daddy likes it.

- I stare at the clock and review my notes but unfortunately father time continues to be a cruel lover and refuses to play favorites, causing the seconds before my exam to evaporate much like the urine puddles on campus left over from last nights festivities

- As I continue to gander at my notes,a large Caucasian man sits in the seat on my right, sporting a sleevless camo shirt and the demeanor of a fierce wooly mammoth.

- I contemplate attempting to engage him in conversation but think better of it assuming he is of the vast majority of humans and members of the animal kingdom who do not want a key to the gate of my personal playground.

- As reluctant as I am to give up my precious personal space, I feel safe and protected by this truly great man, who reminds me of a rare Davy Crockett, George Costanza hybrid.

- I silently hope to myself that Davy Costanza does not mind the smell of a man who slept in the dumpster behind little Mexico last night.

- As I contemplate what exactly a hybrid of Boone and Costanza would do for pleasure, I’m startled by my neighbors massive finger tapping on my shoulder 

- but I am both happy and relieved to accept the beef jerky my new friend offers me.

 -I put my beloved hubba bubba aside for just a moment and take a bite of the forbidden caramel that is the mammouths jerky.

-It tastes like bacon, albeit bittersweet bacon being that every bite was filled with the thought of the friendship we could have harvested if only this moment had come sooner in the semester.

- I force that bittersweet thought of scantily clad hunting trips and bear back mountain lion riding with my beef jerky buddy out of my head and succumb to father times pressure.

-Moments later a chiseled man in beats by dre headphones sits next to me.

-I can hear his music through the headphones and thoroughly enjoy Tupac Shakur’s 90s street anthem “My Block” , a far cry from the Mozart power ballads that tend to fill my bathroom’s sound waves during my bubble baths.

-I can make out the lyrics exceptionally well and realize he must really be listening on a high volume level

- As I turn to inform my good fellow human of the harmful effects of over indulging in exceptionally high decibel levels, I realize they are in fact knock off headphones, sporting Derek Rose’s face on each ear piece!

-WHAT AN ITEM!!!!

-I slowly sadden at the thought of how good Derek Rose was and am aroused at the memory of him dunking over Lebron James and providing hope for an exciting eastern conference.

- My arousal turns to sadness (as it often does) as I remember watching Rose missing countless free throws at Memphis and a much skinnier and less hatable John Calipari pulling out his hair. I remember receiving detention for watching that kansas-memphis national championship game in 8^th grade because it was past curfew at a strict, hell like, boarding school somewhere in the hills of Virginia.

-Father Time beckons once again as I glance at his hideous face, he reminds me that it is 1:02

-My professor is running a tad late. He must have opted for an additional pre-class cigarette, and I do not blame him! 
-The students in front of me make a hopeful remark about the possibility of the proffesor not showing up at all. Ahh, I love their positive spirit but me and my best friend Davy Costanza are too seasoned, like the prime rib he will undoubtably enjoy tonight, to be so naive!

-Thankful that Marlboro lights have seduced my professor for a short time, once again I take a final gander at my notes as the honorable professor walks in.

-He takes off his coon skin hat and brushes his mustache, ready to give us the spanking we deserve.

-Another thought enters my head: Exams are a lot like spankings.

- When I was little I would always take all my clothes off in the sandbox and run around with a bucket on my head. Now when I was very young, this was somewhat acceptable, but as I continued to do this into high school and college my baby sitters would often spank me to remind me this was not socially acceptable. I digress

-So exams are like spankings with warnings. You know your professor is gonna spank you, but it is up to you to protect yourself. Studying is like wearing padding. So last night, I was foolishly watching laguna beach instead of preparing my padding. Instead of metaphorically putting on an adult diaper and several layers of spongebob themed pajama pants to weaken the exam's blow, I was enthralled with the image of Stephen from Laguna on a skim board deep in thought, accompanied by a serenade from Dashboard Confessional.

-Stephen was no doubt contemplating his tough life which includes (but is not limited to) a beach front mansion, choosing between jay cutlers future wife (Jay gets what he needs, I digress within a digression) and LC, the attractive girl who he screwed over bad enough for her to write a book about it and become the rich spokeswoman for nice girls who get screwed over by guys everywhere.   

- The man with the headphones interrupts my hiatus of thought passing me my exam, and I realize I have day dreamt through the instructions. Classic. 

- The next hour consists of me incoherently babbling into my bluebook about the civil rights movement, why I drink so much milk on MLK day every year, expressing my need for Thurgood Marshall's legal services if I hope to beat the charges I accumulated last night while riding a German shepherd like a horse in the left lain of main street (I guess my tags were expired). 

 -Finally I end by offering my condolences for my many unwelcome in class announcements about Joe Biden’s personal habits, sensual dance moves and frowned upon white house "adventures" throughout the semester.

-I arose, blew one final bubble, offered my professor the exam and paid homage to the great vince Vaughn, as I winked at the seasoned history master and assured him he offered a "great test".