Montana Jones and the World Series

Remember when Boston played the Yankees in the 2003 AL Championship?  I do and I'm not even a baseball fan.  In the third game of that series, Roger Clemens

faced Pedro Martinez and Montana Jones decided he needed to watch the game in a bar.  Montana hates the Red Sox - a minority position in Gloucester, Massachussetts.

He drank a full bottle of Grey Goose at his apartment and then he got into his Cadillac and drove down the road.  There isn't anyone in town who doesn't know Montana's car.  For one, it's pink - a long, low smooth pink ride, like a Mary Kay reward car.  He likes driving a pink Caddy because it gets attention.  Besides, no one's fool enough to make fun of Montana Jones.

He scraped the right side on some parked cars out on Middle and he overcorrected on Washington and scraped up the left on the other side of the street.  I must be really drunk, he thought. 

All the way up the highway he swerved from the right to the left.  Cars honked their horns and moved out of the way and he made his way to the bar where he knew there was going to be trouble.  He'd make sure of it.

He ripped into the parking lot still doing over forty.  He took off a rearview mirror and ruined two paint jobs going in and then put the Caddy into a spot too small for it, scraping up one of those little pickups; a Ranger, he thought.  He had to scoot over to the passenger side since he couldn't open his door far enough to squeeze out.

He opened the door to the bar and marched in like the King of the Atlantic Ocean.  Two big screen televisions were showing the game and barely anyone turned to see Montana.  He changed that.

"That dumb Spic can't pitch a bean bag at the carnival," he hollered at the t.v.  Pedro Martinez was on the mound.  Montana was wrong, the very next pitch Martinez beaned Garcia.  The tension on the field matched the anger in the bar as the cook came out screaming.
"Jones, you wrecked my truck you drunk asshole."

"That was your truck?  Who'd have thought it was so big that it'd get in the way of Princess."  Princess was the Pink Cadillac with paint from a half-dozen Gloucester cars scraped along its sides. 

"You son of a . . ." the cook ran at Montana with his arm back for a punch.

Montana jabbed him right in the nose and the cook staggered backwards bleeding.  On the field tempers were flaring and it looked like things could get ugly. 
"You've got to go," Andy, the bartender said to Montana. 

"I think you've got to give it a try," Montana said.  "But pour me a drink first."

"One drink, then you'll leave?"

"Sure.  Vodka, rocks."

Andy poured him the drink while the waitress took the cook to the back to help him stop the bleeding.  His nose was broken.  On the television, a commercial.
Montana sipped his drink.  Everyone knew that the police had been called, but Montana wasn't in a hurry.  Clemens was on the mound when play resumed and Montana outshouted the Boston friendly crowd. "There's a pitcher for you.  Watch him lay down the side."

Montana finished his drink and then got up from the bar and walked toward the door.  He slapped every man sitting along the bar in the back of the head as he staggered along, they all got up.  Clemens tried to bean Manny Ramirez.  "Way to go, Roger," Montana yelled.

And the fight was on.  In the bar and on the field. 

It took six men to get Montana Jones out of that bar.  He left four lying on the floor.  In the parking lot a squad car was waiting.

"I think I need a taxi," Montana said.

"Oh, I'll give you a ride," said the officer.

New York won the game, but Montana says he doesn't remember seeing any of it.

Comments

[a rose is a rose]

are you eventually going to tell us how YOU got these stories? i'm sure that's a story (or two) in itself (if you have already, i apologize and i'll go back and search)

[bex]

I believe Montana Jones was a "friend" of the father of one of Rick's good friends... check out the story of the vase

[a rose is a rose]

i DID read that - i just forgot. merci bex

[Cele]

God I love the details.