Disclaimer: Early Edition, its characters and whatever else are owned by Tristar and CBS. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is, was or ever will be made off this story.

Author's notes: This story is a sequel to "A Call From Sam".  It probably won't make any kinda sense if you didn't read the first one.

I would like to thank Nancy and Melody for beta reading this story.

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A Call from Sam 2: A Day at the Ballgame
by Measer

I love Sam. He's a great guy!  Not only did he bail me out of jail, but he gave me a ticket for todays Mets game at Shea. Field level seats right by the first base line at that! In the front, too.  If I yell at the players, I'm sure that they can hear me. It kinda makes up for the night I spent in jail.

The score is tied and it's the bottom of the eighth. That's when my cell phone rings.  I debate whether I should answer it or not.  I mean, I could call them back later, after the game. But the stupid thing won't stop ringing.

"Yeah!"  I yell into the phone over the noise of the home town crowd.

"Mike, it's me..."

"Sam! Man, I *love* you! This is a great seat! How did you get a ticket to this game? I heard this game was sold out for months..."  I tell him.  Pulling the phone away from my ear, I boo as the opposing team's pitcher leaves the pitcher's mound.  Looking over towards the bullpen, I see a relief pitcher from the opposing team exit onto the field.  Oh no it's him....

The rest of the fans notice it too.  They start screaming curses and derogatory comments. Heck, I even join in.  I hate that guy. It's his own fault anyway, for making really negative comments about New Yorkers...

"MIKE!"

I almost forgot about Sam.  "Hold on...."  I continue to yell boo and hiss as the relief pitcher walks to the mound.

"MIKE!"

"YEAH SAM!"  I holler into the phone, hoping that Sam can hear me, cause I can barely hear him over the crowd.  It doesn't look like they're ever gonna stop booing.

"MIKE... SOMEONE'S GOING TO THROW A GLASS BOTTLE AT THE PITCHER IN A COUPLE OF MINUTES...."

"SO?  GOOD FOR HIM...."

"MIKE..."  I hear him nag, having this sinking feeling where this conversation is already going...

"OH... NO!"

"YES! IT'S GONNA HIT HIM IN THE HEAD AND HE'S GOING TO DIE LATER TONIGHT!"

Crap! Sam set me up!

What to do?  I hate the pitcher, but I don't want him to die. Grabbing the railing in front of me I jump onto the field.  Looking around I notice that six NYPD officers have already noticed me and are running in my direction.  Dashing towards the pitcher's mound, I tackle the pitcher to the ground and hear something shatter next to me.

I feel six arms grab me and a familiar cold piece of metal snap around my wrists.  I turn my head and see my cell phone sitting next to my head.

"MIKE YOU STILL THERE?  YOU DID IT...!  IT'S GONE!"

Ahhhhhh..... Sam's lucky I can't reach my phone.  I would really give him a piece of my mind.  The officers pick me up and escort me off the field as some of the crowd cheers for me, while others boo at the cops.  It looks like I'll be spending another night in jail.  And if Sam tries to bail me out... I ain't going with him.

Did I mention that I hate Sam...?

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The End.

Email the author: Measer
 
 

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