Author: William Kitcher

Following the destruction of Earth by Rigelian battlecruisers, it was difficult to find a place to play the seventh game of the World Series between the New York Mets and the Yonkers Yankees.
The Moon was ruled out because the lack of gravity meant that fly balls soared for miles and were difficult to catch, and besides, unattached to Earth, the Moon was hurtling toward the Sun, and no one wanted to take the chance of going into extra innings and getting sunburn.
Venus was too cloudy, Mars too cold, and the four-hundred mph winds on Jupiter were a little too extreme for even the best players.
Io, a satellite of Jupiter, was a good possibility, and the teams started to work out there until the Ionian condors stole all the balls and attempted to hatch them.
An offer came from the Vegans, who were inhabitants of the star system Vega and not creatures who avoided meat and dairy.
The second planet of the Vegan system turned out to be ideal for a little hardball. The weather was a constant seventy-five degrees under a clear orange sky, with a slight breeze going south to north.
A magnificent stadium was built in no time, and was large enough to accommodate all the remaining Earthlings, who docked their starjumpers at the spaceport near the stadium.
The majority of the million Earthlings weren’t baseball fans but enjoyed watching the video screens as the crowd finished entering the stadium.
As the Mets and Yankees took the field for the first inning, the gates at all the stadium entrances clanged shut. The Earthlings wondered what was happening until twenty Rigelian battlecruisers lowered onto the outfield, ramps were extended, and patrols of carnivorous Rigelians trudged into the crowd. They weren’t Vegans of any kind.
There was chaos, and the Mets, not used to being in the Series, hid in the dugout.
The Yankees were made of sterner stuff. They were going for their fortieth World Series title, and tenth in a row, and it looked like they would get it. Ten years previously, the Yankees had revealed they had unlocked supernatural forces and summoned the spirits of Yankee legends into the bodies of their current roster to achieve greatness.
This was not forbidden under the terms of the current CBA, and it was suspected that the Yankees had perfected this legend-soul transference way back in the twentieth century. Otherwise, it was difficult to explain the achievements of Aaron Boone and Bucky Dent.
But this time, the Yankees used their evil powers for good. Out of the dugout, casual as could be, strolled Murderers’ Row. Ruth led the boys, bat in one hand, hot dog in the other. He climbed into the stands, smacking Rigelian head-stalks as he went, their heads making popping/cracking sounds not unlike towering home runs. Gehrig took Rigelians out at what passed for their knees with his usual powerful slight uppercut. Lazzeri, Meusel, Koenig, Combs, and the others did their parts, spraying hits and heads everywhere. It was such a rout that a few of them took breaks, and pinch-hitters entered the fray – DiMaggio, Mantle, and Maris joined in. Whitey beaned a number of aliens. Mariano split a lot of Rigelian fingers. Jeter wasn’t invited. Reggie took three consecutive swings at Rigelian craniums, and launched all three into the Vegan dusk.
The Earthlings were victorious, and the Babe treated everyone to a few beers. After they cleaned the field of Rigelian body parts, they played the game. The Mets won 3-2.