Deadspin is a sportsy website and today they had a contest: Can You Write the Dumbest Story Ever about Derek Jeter? (Derek Jeter is a baseball player on the New York Yankees.) This is my submission.
“People always ask me what I do in the offseason. It’s really when I have the most time to hone my craft. Sure, baseball is great, but eventually the body gives out. I need something to do after the Yankees realize my career is over. I’ve always had the looks, and a few years ago I decided I was going to take advantage of them...” Jeter rambled on like this for a while, and I frantically took notes. This was my first big break, an exclusive interview with Derek Jeter. The Captain. One of the greatest Yankees of all time. A surefire hall of famer. I wasn’t going to miss a beat, which is why my attention piqued when Jeter said something I wasn’t expecting: “... and Clooney let me in on the secret. Ocean’s 11? It’s real.” I glanced back through my notes. He couldn’t be talking about George Clooney, could he?
“That was when I decided to take my “hustling” skills to a whole new level. George and Matt have been super helpful. They’re great guys. We started with small cons, always in costume of course. You see, my first love, before baseball, was the stage. I fell in love with her at the age of nine when I was asked to play Juliet in an all male, adult version of Romeo and Juliet...” Jeter rambled on. I couldn’t believe it. If what he’s saying is true, George Clooney is actually a con artist, and the Ocean’s movies are based on true event. And, Derek Jeter may or may not have been sexually assaulted when he was nine. I’m sitting on a gold mine.
“...of course, when Bernie died, it was hard on all of us. That was when George asked me to step in full time. I told him I couldn’t up and retire, the public would know something was up. I didn’t want to be as sloppy as Jordan. So, that was when I decided to start tanking. I thought everyone would understand, I’m getting older, and my skills are eroding. Eventually the Yankees would ask me to retire, and I would go out gracefully. But, here we are, four years later and I’m still playing...” It was almost as if Jeter was talking like I wasn’t in the room. I was writing as fast as I could. This story was going to put my yet to be conceived illegitimate kids through college. That’s right. I’m going to get so much ass from this story, it’s inevitable that I will have at least one, if not a few children out of wedlock, but I will have the financial means to support them. Jeter is tanking on purpose. That alone will get me a book deal. I may have a series on my hand with the Clooney story to boot. But what’s this, Jeter’s stopped talking. He’s looking at me with those dreamboat eyes.
“You got all that kid?” Jeter asked politely.
“Umm... Yes Mr. Jeter.” I replied, keeping my best poker face.
“Now, the Pacquiao fight was my idea, ok. I want that clear in the story. I’ve split off from Clooney and the gang. I’m on my own now. You got that?”
“Yes Mr. Jeter.”
“Please, please, Mr. Jeter is my father’s name. Call me by my first name, Derek, my stage name, Lady Catalina- Mistress of the Night, or by my LARP name, Beldrake The Eternal Dark Lord. Anything but Mr. Jeter. So, do you need me to repeat anything? You got the bit about me and Queen Latifah? Ok, good. Here’s where it gets real.”
With that the lights went out and staring back at me were two glowing red orbs. It couldn’t be. There’s no way. I pinched myself to make sure this was real. The voice that came back from me in the dark was not the voice I had grown accustomed to over the past few hours. It sounded as if it was coming through a children’s toy. It was metallic and lifeless. I realized right then that the biggest obstacle to my inevitable fame from publishing this story was not convincing my editor that it was true, but escaping this interview with my life.
“I was created by a team of scientists. They’ve seen Terminator 2 one too many times, and they wanted to develop a human-like cyborg for when the resistance began. I was the first in a series of prototypes attempting to fine tune the coordination and movement of a human...” Cyborg Jeter rambled on. I couldn’t think about anything but my escape. I had to think fast.
“Is that Mandy Moore?” I screamed and pointed out the window. Jeter’s head spun around 540 degrees as if to make a point and I threw my glass of water at him, temporarily stunning him, and bolted for the door. I made it out and started sprinting for dear life, when I heard an ominous sound. It was the unmistakable sound of plastic cleats on concrete. I looked back to see death chasing me down in the embodied form of Derek Jeter sprinting at top speed, and gaining on me. He was smiling of course. And he was coming up fast. But no matter, I had made it into a crowd. And there was no way Jeter would attempt anything in a crowd. I looked back and Jeter wasn’t looking at me, but at the onlooking fans, who were so distracted by the Captain that they failed to realize he was chasing down a human being. And then I heard the last sound of my professional career. It was the unmistakable twinkle of a Derek Jeter wink. I looked back in enough time to see the crowd of onlookers encouraging Jeter to do whatever he had been miming. With that Jeter front flipped forward at an inhuman rate. His cleats came straight at my head, and the bottom of his shoe clipping the top of my head was the last sight I saw before I blacked out.
I awoke in a hospital bed with a bandage on my head, and thoughts racing through it. Of course Jeter ‘messed up’ the trick. Now I’ve suffered head trauma and nobody would believe me. But, why? Why would he share his story with me? Why would he reveal himself to me? Why would he tell me his LARP name? That’s ridiculous. It must have all been a dream. Derek Jeter isn’t a robot. I must have hit my head some other way. But it all seemed so real. I was trying to work it all out when the doctor came in.
“You OK son? You took quite a fall. Lucky for everyone that you and Jeter are ok.” said the kindly old doctor.
“What? Jeter’s OK? Did he fall?”
“Oh yeah. I heard he’s on the news right now talking about the incident.” The TV flicked on to reveal the shortstop’s very human face.
“...yeah, he’s an old friend of mine. I heard he’s doing fine, I just want to wish him a speedy recovery. I guess it’s kind of embarrassing but I used to be a big time gymnast back in the day. I used to do this trick where one of my friends would run away from me as fast as they can, as if they had some terrible news and wanted to share it with the world, and I was the only one who could stop them, and I would chase them down with the devil at my back, and once I caught up to them, I would do a frontflip over them, and then come to a sliding halt and we would do patty cake and go watch the Fast and the Furious. Well, my friend and I were seeing if I could still do the trick and, well, you know the rest. I guess I shouldn’t have tried the trick. I haven’t done it in a while and I guess I was a bit... rusty?”
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
