So it’s the fall of 31 A.D. and this guy Fitzy was walking home from Jericho. Why was he walking? I’ll tell you why. See, for the four days before this lonely walk, our man Fitzy had been on a bender the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Noah’s post-flood Power Hour. He and his crew had been raging down in J-Rock all weekend; crunching Natty Ice by the case, smoking Marbo Reds by the carton, and getting amped out of their minds for the big soccer match between their beloved Jerusalem Jews and the rival Jericho Samaritans.
Now to say the Jews and the Samaritans didn’t like each other would be like saying the Isrealis and the Palestinians agree to disagree on some things. These guys freaking HATED each other. And not like MaryKate Olson “I hate food” kinda hate. We’re talking Bears – Packers, Conan – Leno, Mel Gibson – minorities kinda hate.
So anyway, Fitzy and company were in enemy-occupied territory and you better believe they weren’t making any friends down there. These guys were an absolute wreck all weekend, but, hey, get busy living or get busy dying, am I right? Our boy Fitzy did more living in those first three days than most of us do in three months, and it’s a good thing he did cause his buzz got choked out as soon as the game started. The Samaritans jumped out to an early lead and things only got worse for the Jews from there. When all was said and done, they were on the wrong end of a 5-1 Babylonian-style beatdown.
Our merry band of Jew backers didn’t fare much better than their heroes on the field. From start to finish they were spit on, shat on, cussed out, and flipped off. Fitzy got called names he hadn’t heard since his stepdad went to jail. His buddy Chuckie swore someone peed on his leg. It was a rough scene, no doubt, which is why it’s understandable that our boy Fitzy was ready to leave at halftime.
But you know who wasn’t ready? Fitzy’s older brother Paulie, that’s who. Paulie said he was a true Jew and anyone who wanted to bail after a little home crowd hostility was no better than those “Athenians” (aka homosexuals) on the Samaritan bench. Fitzy didn’t want to catch any crap from his big bro so he tried to stick it out. But then this real prick from two rows back dumped an entire cup of Dippin’ Dots down his robe, and Fitzy said, “Screw this noise. I’m out.”
So there he was; four hours later and Fitzy could finally see the bright lights of Jerusalem up ahead. Problem was he had to walk through South Jerusalem to get there and South Jerusalem then was no better than South Chicago or South Los Angeles or South Boston are now. You didn’t want to be there unless you were selling drugs, wearing a badge, or both. And wouldn’t you know it, our boy Fitzy didn’t make it fifty yards past the first payday loan stand before he got jumped by a pack of ginger-haired gang bangers.
These punks jacked his wallet, his cell phone, his Wu-Tang keychain, his travel-size bottle of Axe Phoenix, and even his grandpa’s Punic War dog tags which he wore around his neck for good luck. Then the freckle-faced fools set to work on Fitzy with a Louisville Slugger. They beat him to within an inch of his life, and, right when Fitzy was looking like Richard Simmons after twelve rounds with Tyson, one of the gingers said “O’Doyle rules” and they all scampered off in the general direction of Pontius P’s Pawn Shop.
So there was Fitzy: bleeding out in a Buy For Less parking lot. He knew if he didn’t see a doctor soon he’d be bumping knucks with Father Abraham sooner than he’d planned. But then, miracle of miracles, he saw an ox cart coming up the road. And wouldn’t you know it: it was Paulie and the gang heading home from the game! Fitzy was sure his salvation had come, but – get this – the jack-holes kept driving!
The bro bus was barely out of sight when Fitzy looked up and saw another dude trucking up the road. This guy was decked out in Jew gear (jersey, face point, giant foam middle-finger, the whole deal) and Fitzy was sure he’d at least give him a smoke for his journey to the next life. But this clown was so busy checking status updates on his Droid that he didn’t even see Fitzy lying there!
Now Fitzy was fading fast at this point. He knew he was about two seconds from taking a camel caravan to that big Pita Pit in the sky, but then, just before he blacked out, he heard a donkey come up behind him. He looked up at the dude on the donkey, and, even though he was beyond gone at this point, Fitzy could have sworn the dude was wearing a Samaritans hat.
A week later Fitzy woke up in a hospital in Jerusalem. He called his boy Chuckie to come pick him up and went to check out. But the nurse told him, “don’t worry about it. You’re good to go.” Now Fitzy knew there wasn’t no such thing as a free lunch, so he asked who paid for it. And she said, “I don’t know, some guy who plays for The Samaritans.” I swear on my mother’s grave – God rest her soul – it’s true. A mother-truckin Samaritan came through in the clutch for my man Fitzy!
Now that right there is a true bro.