n the midst of one of the most embarrassing seasons in baseball history, the lowly Kansas City Royals saved some face this week, defeating the defending champions from Willemstad, Curacao in a stunning upset to claim their first Little League World Series title.

Kansas City took the game 7-6 on first baseman Matt Stairs’ takeout of Curacao catcher Willie Rifaela during a collision at the plate in the bottom of the 11th inning. Rifaela held onto the ball, but Stairs was ruled safe since Rifaela flew off the playing field at the moment of impact.

“Willie gave it a hell of an effort,� praised Curacao manager Vernon Isabella. “Especially considering he was outweighed by nearly 200 pounds in the collision. If he hadn’t come out of his shoes like that when the American hit him, I think we could have held on to win the game.�

Kansas City immediately basked in the sweetness of the victory, a rare experience for Royals players this season.

“In your face, Billy!� screamed Royals reliever Mike MacDougal, shoving a young boy’s cap down over his eyes.

Kansas City catcher John Buck credited his team’s success with the fact that the Curacao pitchers were too young to throw curveballs yet. Largely thanks to the elusive curve, Buck is hitting .220 this season against adult competition.

After finishing off baseball’s longest losing streak in 17 years, Kansas City manager Buddy Bell thought it would be a good idea to boost his team’s confidence by taking a break from their regular schedule to face some less-challenging competition. After making a few calls, Bell was able to enlist the AAA Topeka Ding Dogs to fill in on Kansas City’s recent road trip through Boston and New York.

“Nobody even noticed,� sniffed third baseman Mark Teahen. “I’d take that as an insult if I wasn’t so high off of spanking those little Curacan punks.�

Bell was then able to buy off the North American finalists from Ewa Beach in West Oahu with a case of PSP gaming consoles and a pornographic magazine, allowing the Royals to enter the title game in their stead.

For the first several innings it looked like even this game might not go Kansas City’s way, as 11-year-old Curacao pitcher Cookie DelRay dazzled the Royals hitters with his 67-mile-an-hour fastball and a changeup that failed to register on the radar gun.

“That kid was throwing BBs,� complimented a humbled Angel Berroa. “He also hid the ball really well for someone four feet tall.�

But the Royals stuck to their plan of exploiting their size advantage and the fact that the regulation Little League field is quite a bit smaller than major league standards.

“Come back when you got hair on your balls, little man!� gloated Royals outfielder Ruben Gotay, after drawing a walk and stealing all three bases to score in the sixth inning, thanks to the regulation field’s 60-foot base paths.

“You can’t touch this heat, little bitch!� bragged a proud D.J. Carrasco, after striking out 10-year-old Jurickson Profar of Curacao on a pitch many felt was inside.

After Rifaela was fished out of a nearby tree and carted off the field, the Royals were presented with their Little League World Champions trophy and coupons for sundaes at a local Baskin Robbins.

“I think this really could be the turning point for our season,� announced a wistful Terrence Long, high off the thrill of dominating elementary-school competition.

Kansas City returned to the majors on Monday, losing five of their next seven games.

he world sighed a mournful "Oh" upon hearing of the death of Chief Justice William Rehnquist, who led the U.S. Supreme Court for 19 years and formed the holy conservative trinity of the court. Rehnquist is the second justice to retire from the Supreme Court this year, and never to be outdone, Rehnquist chose the more dramatic exit method of death in office.


The Chief Justice announced his diagnosis of thyroid cancer last year and his refusal to retire from the Supreme Court, angering liberals and conservatives alike by his reluctance to make the playing field more interesting. Never one to quit, Rehnquist had suffered greatly in recent months from radiation for his cancer treatment and a tracheotomy, actually performed by an over-anxious boyscout on a visit to the nation's capitol.

Rehnquist began his tenure on the Court in 1972, when appointed by then-president Richard Nixon, marking Nixon's 29th consecutive mistake. The conservative judge and States' rights supporter was appointed Chief Justice in 1986 by affable cowboy/leader of the free world Ronald Reagan. Among the Chief Justice's more interesting cases were a 2003 ruling that marriage is gay and the 1987 case of Clancy Vs. A Load of Bus Passengers, finalizing once and for all that the smeller is the dealer. Queer eyes everywhere also turned toward the nation's capitol at the Chief Justice's self-designed stylish robe in the President Clinton impeachment hearing.

Only months ago, the doddering Chief Justice, in failing health, vowed to persevere and continue his onslaught on pro-choice groups and anti-death-penalty fanatics for as long as his health permitted. That's over now, natch.

"I see no reason to retire while I am still in full possession of my faculties," said the Chief Justice in July, after having every bone in his body replaced with stronger and more flexible corrugated cardboard. "I look forward to hearing cases in the next session on the vital issues of today, such as whether cats would win in a fight against dogs, who exactly is the new king of pop, and why my car keys always end up in places I never put them." Rehnquist then promptly fell down the steps, necessitating the reattachment of his head to his body by skilled surgeons.

While the world mourned and the other half pretended to mourn the loss of a great legal figure, others got over their grief quick enough to speculate on the future of the Supreme Court. With two justices to replace before the next session, will the Bush administration bow to opposition pressure to select a moderate and keep the balance, or mere slight imbalance the current court has possessed? Or will the president follow the predictable course of going apeshit with his extremist political ideology and appoint some real nutjobs?

White House Press Secretary Ari Fleischer, inventor of Fleischer's brand peanut butter snacks, played the cards close to the vest while dealing from the bottom of the deck.

"It's too soon to talk about such things in the wake of a loss of a truly messianic-like figure," said Fleischer, smirking irrepressibly. "Besides, who says the Chief Justice is retiring? Chief Justice Rehnquist was a remarkable man, who continued to work despite his many ailments and being, like, ten million years old. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if when the new court session starts we just cart the Chief's remains in there and continue his long tradition of doing whatever Scalia and Thomas do."

Nor would we be surprised, but the commune at least hopes the Supreme Court quarters are well-ventilated.

It's the end of an era, good people. Note the lowercase nature of the letters; it's not the end of a proposed Equal Rights Amendment. No, this is even greater, and something Christians would even approve of. My loyal roommate Camembert has gotten married.

No one was more misty-eyed than me, except all the women and the lesser men, when my good friend of many years, and distant relationship through my miserable second marriage, Camembert, married his girlfriend, Girl Elvis. Sometimes I doubted it would ever happen, but on Dec. 3 they were officially announced Mr. and Mrs. Camembert. Actually, I don't know the real names, but you get my gist. You can't rightly go around calling them Girl and Boy Elvis—there's already a Boy Elvis. The original Elvis, friends.

The ceremony was held in Las Vegas, and like any wedding involving an Elvis impersonator, it was officiated by a Col. Tom Parker lookalike, Reverend Slingblade. Camembert described it as "gaudy," but it looked perfectly devoid of god to me. Just Camembert, in the best tuxedo I've ever seen a handicapped man wearing, and Girl Elvis, in the sequined jumpsuit her mother wore at her wedding. Ginger and a Carl Perkins impersonator were the bridesmaids, Lee and I were the best men. But I was by far the better best man. I got to plan the bachelor party and carry the ring. What did you get, Lee? Jack shit, that's what. Let's not kid ourselves.

It was an emotional ceremony. Camembert and Girl Elvis wrote their own vows, but I replaced them at the last minute. She was halfway through hers before she realized it. If you ask me, "I promise you sweet lovin' and all the ass you can work" may not get you bawling, but it's just plain funny. Real audience-pleaser stuff. So I won't be invited to their house for a while, so what? They'll get over it when they remember Rok Finger's always been their best friend.

For the big finale, 12 svelte flamingos were released into the air to symbolize their love, that and I've always wanted to recreate the opening to Miami Vice. Now that it's out on DVD everyone will finally get the reference without me having to remind them of it. Camembert and his new wife took off into the sunset for their honeymoon in Salt Lake City, riding a motorcycle. Sidecar for Camember, natch. I think the new look suits him. He should seriously consider ditching the chair for a permanent sidecar accessory.

All of this has left me feeling a little bit inadequate. Truth be told, I've been thinking about finding someone else to marry—weddings always make me sentimental that way. I haven't told my wife, of course, since I'm also sentimental for keeping my ass intact. If I did marry another woman, it would probably just be for a spare wife. I have had trouble keeping just one, you know, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to have another one socked away for a rainy day.

The biggest way this has effected my life, other than taking up a Saturday I would have used for building the world's largest tandem bicycle, is that I lost my best friend and roommate. I would like to say I've not lost my best friend, but gained a best friend-in-law, but that's total bullshit. He's moving out and she's going with him. So I lost two best friends. But Ginger's happy about it—she's already started talking about getting Lee out on his own so we can start the babymaking.

Which is a little premature, of course, since I already told her I wouldn't start to work on building the world's largest wooden baby until I finished that damned tandem bike. The thing has been a nightmare.

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