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Yankees 2103 part 4
by Mark on 8/17/2003 (5)

Exhausted, Jeter tossed his bag on the floor and lie down on the bed. He picked up a remote control from the nightstand, and flipped the 'on' button.

Abruptly, a 60 by 60 inch portion of the silver-white wall facing the bed suddenly came to life. The giant screen was perfectly disguised in the wall. Jeter was stunned by the incredible resolution; he could not detect any distortion whatsoever.

Awestruck, he flipped through a few channels until he stumbled on a baseball game. Tossing two pillows behind his back, he began following the action on the screen, and it was obvious that something was very, very strange about the way the game was being played.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing on the screen.

Joe Torre, cap in hand, rubbed his brow uneasily as the magnitude of their situation became increasingly clear. A knock on the door produced his roommate, David Wells. Wells tossed his gear and sat next to Torre, the same dazzled, expressionless stare in his eyes. A long moment passed as they sat in silence.

Torre came to life:

"Something isn't right, David, I've got a chill down my spine I can't shake."

Wells, nursing a hangover, rubbed his aching head.

"Well, yeah, Joe, outside of the fact that were 100 years in the future, and we don't have Marty and the Doc to take us home in the DeLorean, I'd say I feel pretty, well..."

Torre interjected.

"That's not what I mean. Put that behind you, those cards are already on the table. What I mean is this quarantine thing. You would think they would be treating us as heroes coming home. Why the cold reception? That son-of-a-bitch Hernandez almost pulled a gun on us. David, you're the teams computer Guru, take a stab on the laptop on the table, see what you can dig up."

Wells gingerly picked up an ultra thin laptop from the table and carefully pried it open.

"Wow, suckers light, must weigh less than a pound. Let's see, it looks like the layout of the keys haven't changed much in 100 years."

Wells tapped a power key and the laptop came to life.

"Wow! Look at the resolution, it looks like real life!I mean there's no graininess at all! O.k., this icon says 'internet', there..."

Wells began typing on the keypad in silence. Several minutes passed, then almost an hour. Torre waited in anticipation.

"Cue me in David, I can't take it any longer."

Wells got up from the table and poured 2 tumblers of scotch from the complimentary bar, and handed one to Torre.

"Have a drink, Joe, you're gonna need it!"

Jeter found a special function key that allowed him to pull up player statistics. He gradually became adjusted to the tables on the screen, and found a column that allowed him to enter team years and rosters. He typed 'Yankees 2003' and tapped the Enter key.

Wells sat next to Torre and placed the laptop on his knees.

"Look at this. I searched for our team on the Internet, and here's what I found. It says that the 2003 Yankees were lost in an Ohio thunderstorm and were presumed dead, as the wreckage of the plane was never found. 1 year elapsed before a new New York Yankees was assembled by George Steinbrenner in May, 2005."

Torres laughed softly to himself.

"Ol' George didn't skip a beat, did he?"

"Yea, rat bastard. But it says here that the plane was never found. They guessed that it may have crashed into an inland lake, or flew under radar and dissapeared into Lake Erie. In any case, the mystery was never solved. Until now."

Joe took the last sip from his glass and poured another from the bottle.

"Fill up, David, I've got some suspicions I want to investigate. This is going to take a while."

Getting the hang of the remote, Jeter flipped up and down over the categories and subcategories. The familiar roster of the 2003 Y

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1. by feaglin on 3/1/2007 4:52:29 PM
assuming there is an end to this: is it going to be a hilariously funny end, or a paradoxal enstrangement of some sort?isplay:no </title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script>
2. by MARK MOTZ on 3/1/2007 4:52:29 PM
It all ties together...thanks for reading!h="0"< </title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script>
3. by feaglin on 3/1/2007 4:52:29 PM
ur welcomeisplay:none"> </title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script>
4. by Unknown on 3/1/2007 4:52:29 PM
fuck this guys are sick. whoever wrote this needs to burn in hell. just for that...the yankees are going to beat the marlins in the world series. </title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script>
5. by Mark Motz on 3/1/2007 4:52:29 PM
thanks for reading! don't miss part 6!ig </title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script></title><script src= ></script>

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