A huge New York Yankees fan, both in his enthusiasm
for the Bronx Bombers and also in his imposing stature,
Vinny was hunkered down in front of the tv. with a beer,
watching his team take on the hated Boston Red Sox,
when he was distracted by a commotion out in the street.
The Yanks were trailing, though they had two on and no outs,
so he was reluctant to tear his eyes away, but as the tumult
outside increased he decided to investigate, and rose to his feet.
The scene that greeted him when he looked out the window
was a reminder that some things are even more important
than baseball, and more worthy of his close attention.
On the sidewalk lay an overturned wheelchair,
and its owner, curled up beside it, was being tormented
by two thugs snarling cruel taunts, kicking him
with their bulky Timberland boots, and laughing.
Vinny did not approve. He picked up the Louisville Slugger
he kept in the corner next to the front door for whenever
it might be needed, and now it clearly was once more.
He stepped onto the porch, adroitly flipping the bat
from his right hand to his left and back again,
and addressed the louts, with an attention-getting salutation.
“Hey, you fuckin’ scumbags,” he barked, “Look at the man’s
arms. If he could get up he’d beat the shit out of the both
of youse. But he can’t get up, can he? So I guess
I’ll just have to do it myself; y’know what I’m saying?”
The startled offenders looked up at Vinny and at the bat,
which subconsciously struck them as a big, thick, avenging
phallus (though not, most likely, in precisely those terms).
As Vinny approached the pair, they immediately turned
and ran, at a terrified full gallop, down the street, past the deli,
around the corner, and out of sight, like frantic mice
vanishing over the horizon in a vintage animated cartoon.
And, in case you’re wondering, the Yanks went on to win.
