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--
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# New York Millennials Simulator
[[>> Play Blall <<->Play Blall]]
In Tribute To
The Commmissioner and the Umps,
who are doing a *great* job!It’s very dark. A sentient avocado toast is before you, seemingly lit from within itself. They hover just barely too close to your face. A corner of their toast is rather burnt.
“Do you wish to celebrate the New York Millennials as they are now?” it squeaks.
“Or do you wish to take a look behind the smartphone and see their future?”
[[Uh, why is an avocado toast talking to me?->Avocado Toast Questions]]
[[Celebrate the Millennials.]]
[[Peek behind the smartphone.]] "Don't you know who I am?" the Avocado Toast is asking. "I'm with the New York Millennials, the best Blaseball team on the eastern archipelago!"
"...you do know who the New York Millennials are, right??" they ask. You aren't sure as you aren't an expert on avocados or toast but they seem like they really need a win right now.
[[Oh yeah, sure, of course I know the New York Mullenials!->Mullenials]] The avocado toast evaporates into its subatomic avocadons and toastinos. Light and color rush into your field of vision, resolving very clearly into a stadium.
The New York Millennials Stadium!
Somebody hands you a bat and gives you a push.
[[Wait, what?]]It is the year 30XX.
Blaseball has been the dominant form of splorts for centuries.
All international conflicts are now mediated through the United Blaseball Nations League.
However, the original form of blaseball is still being played for entertainment and the lucrative merchandising opportunities.
[[Continue]]
The New York Millennials manager themselves, recently rescued from inside their phone, looks at you like you just asked for a day off.
“You’re up, rookie!” they say. “We’re 2-0, us. Don’t worry, the Lovers don't bite unless you ask them to.”
[[Grip that bat and show the Lovers why they’ll soon be the...Haters...->Go To Bat]]
[[Frantically Google how to play Blaseball on my phone.->Google Blaseball]] You step up to the plate. You notice that the articulated radiator gills on your arms from wrist to shoulder are flexing with excitement. You haven’t seen them this twitchy ever since...why are your arms covered in gills?? Are they supposed to be there? And where’d your Apple Watch go??
A fast ball comes screaming in across the plate. Strike, not looking.
“Hey how about paying attention? The Lovers aren’t gonna swing the bat for you”. You hear the manager yelling out to you.
[[Show them my warface.]]
[[But I just got a new Milanese Loop band for my Apple Watch and...->Apple Watch Angst]] About 783,000,000 results (0.32 seconds)
The first result is a tutorial on wikihow.com.
<blockquote>
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How to Deal With Not Understanding Blaseball And Working Through Your Angst
[continue]
Part 1 -- Learn how to read Blaseball
Blaseball isn't just a splort, it's an elegant language told by the graceful movements of the blody.
</blockquote>
You skim over the next few sections until you get to the part about hitting the blall.
<blockquote>
Part 459 -- How to hit the blall
The blall is a sphere thrown by the pitcher on the opposing team. When the blall gets close to you it's important to realize that it too has its own language and is trying to tell you how to hit it. See the following section for...
</blockquote>
[[Just...stop...I'll go hit the blall...->Go To Bat]]You adopt an expression that looks suitably imposing. A real “I have headphones on and I’m reading a book, stop bothering me” look.
It doesn’t seem to affect the Lovers pitcher, Paul Barnes.
[[Show them my real warface.]]If you don't find this watch then you'd have to buy a new one, because how can you not, right? They have an Always On screen now! Like a real watch! And buying a new one is going to take a serious chunk out of your "Move out of your parents house" fund. You can't live with your parents for another decade, you just can't!
Another fastball comes straight over the plate. Strike, please start looking, please.
[[Alright, alright! I'll find it later. Let's show them my warface.->Show them my warface.]] As Paul Barnes winds up for the pitch you contort your face into a mask of agony and some embarrassment. You belt out the loudest cowboy scream you’ve ever done. Your radiator gills are redlining, singing the shoulders of your uniform. Paul Barnes jumps back but he’s already in the middle of throwing the ball and it goes wild, bouncing around in the air like the hydraulic springs of his California King Sized Bed.
[[Swing at that bloody blall like your life depended on it!->Swing hard]]
[[Bunt.]] The blall has barely enough time to even exist against your bat as you crack into it and send it roaring past Barnes on a low trajectory towards the outfield. You run hard, your pants are starting to singe as the radiator gills in your legs begin dumping buckets of heat into the atmosphere. The blall slams into the stadium wall and ricochets back towards the infield, bouncing along the ground and tearing great gouts of astroturf out of the field.
The Lovers shortstop finally gets control of the blall but it's too late, you've made it to first base! You're doing a _great_ job! That was a textbook single you just pulled off!
[[Cool your gills and look to home plate for the next batter->Next Batter]]In a fine example of anti-climax, you bunt the ball in between third base and the pitcher. Paul Barnes runs to grab it as you take off to first base. You don't have much time!
[[Unlock the First Gate->First Gate]] The next batter is Chorby Soul! The stadium erupts in a cacophony of cheers. A chant begins.
"Q0hPUkJZIFlFUyBDSE9SQlkgWUVTIENIT1JCWSBZRVM="
Wow, the fans are fired up!
[[Edge yourself closer to second base->Second Base]]Barnes makes the pitch to Chorby. Strike, swinging. 0-1.
The stadium gets louder, "Q0hPUkJZIFBMRUFTRSBDSE9SQlkgUExFQVNF"!!
Second pitch. Foul ball. 0-2.
The stadium is silenced. Fans look on, the eyes above their face masks go glassy as they enter the shared Millennial Fugue State. Lithium energy is transferred from the fans' smartphones to Chorby and the fans prepare to repress the next pitch if necessary.
[[Third Pitch]]CHORBY ABSOLUTELY ATOMIZES THE BALL!
Their bat melts in half as a cherry red glob blurs straight out of the stadium and into planetary orbit.
It's a Chorby Home Run!
The fans erupt from their Fugue State, writing the memory of this moment into their flash storage. The chanting reaches a deafening crescendo.
"Q0hPUkJZIFlFUyBDSE9SQlkgWUVT"
"Q0hPUkJZIFlFUyBDSE9SQlkgWUVT"
"Q0hPUkJZIFlFUyBDSE9SQlkgWUVT"
"Q0hPUkJZIFlFUyBDSE9SQlkgWUVT"
[[Jog on home]]You run home. Chorby is on their way behind you. The atmosphere is electric as lithium energy is swapped back and forth in celebration.
The both of you cross home plate. 4-0, Millennials!
[[Who's next?]]Schneider Bendie steps up to the plate.
[after 1s]
Strike, looking. 0-1.
[after 2s]
Ball. 1-1.
[after 3s]
Foul. 1-2.
[after 4s]
Ball. 2-2.
[after 5s]
Ball. 3-2.
[after 6s]
Foul. 3-2.
[after 7s]
Bendie draws a walk.
[[Not bad!]] Dominic Marijuana batting for the Millennials.
[after 1s]
Ball. 1-0.
[after 2s]
Foul. 1-1.
[after 3s]
Schneider Bendie steals second base!
[after 4s]
Marijuana hits a flyout. One out.
[[Uhhhh...]]Richardson Games batting for the Millennials.
[after 1s]
Ball. 1-0.
[after 2s]
Foul. 1-1.
[after 3s]
Strike, looking. 1-2.
[after 4s]
Struck out swinging. Two outs.
[[Oh no...]]Conrad Vaughan batting for the Millennials.
[after 1s]
Strike, looking. 0-1.
[after 2s]
Strike, swinging. 0-2.
[after 3s]
Struck out swinging. San Francisco Lovers batting.
[[OH NO!!!!!!!]]20 Minutes Later...
New York Millennials vs San Francisco Lovers
[after 1s]
{4
[after 2s; append]
-- 9}
[after 2s]
[[That's New York Millennials Blaseball, baybeeeeeeee]]*INTENSE WAILING*
[[Avocado Toast, please bring me back to the beginning->Play Blall]] Something inside you snaps like a rubber band, reverberating through your cells, re-aligning them in the direction of the First Gate.
The First Gate opens inside you. The Storm crashes out of the gate blasting your cells like sails, propelling you forward and over first base.
Barnes has barely picked up the ball.
[[Fantastic, who's next?->Next Batter]] The Avocado Toast narrows their eyes in suspicion.
"Alright, then answer me a question any New York *Mill*ennials fan would know!"
"#ripscrap?"
[[#ripscrap]]
[[Uhhhh...->Fool]]
"Jeez, alright, I'll show you the ropes then. When I say #ripscrap, you also say #ripscrap."
"#ripscrap"
[[#ripscrap]] "Good! Looks like you're a New York Millennial fan after all."
"Now answer my question! Do you want to celebrate the Millennials as they are now, or peek behind the smartphone and see their future?"
[[Celebrate the Millennials.]]
[[Peek behind the smartphone.]] You are <inside\\\connected\\\a part of> the {reveal link: '_VGVzc2VyYWN0_', passage: 'Tesseract'}.Tesseract.
The chords of the Tesseract vibrate warmly. The void is the color of sunset: purples, reds and oranges swirl together.
A <<note\\\song\\\directive>> is played and the chords snap quickly into alignment.
You feel the void compress into a series of <<tracks\\\timelines\\\tubes>>
[[Play Blall->Play Future Blall]]New York Millennials vs Yellowstone Magic vs Hawaii Fridays vs _null_
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[after 1000ms]
{0-1-0-}
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[after 1500ms]
{1-2-0-}
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[after 2000ms]
{2-3-0-}
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[after 2500ms]
{3-4-1-}
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[after 3000ms]
{6-3-2-X}
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[after 3500ms]
{7-2-1-2}
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[after 4000ms]
{8-3-2-4}
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[after 4500ms]
{9-2-3-8}
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[after 5000ms]
{8-1-2-16}
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[after 5500ms]
The heavily favored _null_ won the game.
The Millennials, Magic and Fridays were
<<invaded\\\uprooted\\\resequenced>>.
[[Not bad!->Future Not Bad]] New York Millennials vs Boston Flowers vs San Francisco Lovers
[align center]
[after 1000ms]
{0-1-0}
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[after 1500ms]
{1-1-0}
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[after 2000ms]
{2-2-0}
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[after 2500ms]
{3-1-1}
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[after 3000ms]
{4-2-2}
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[after 3500ms]
{6-3-4}
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[after 4000ms]
{9-2-3}
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[after 4500ms]
{8-3-4}
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[after 5000ms]
{10-2-3}
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[after 6000ms]
The favored Millennials won the game.
[[Our timeline only reversed once the whole game, what an achivement!->Achivement!]][align center]
Knock, knock, it's the commissioner,
and they are doing a _<<great\\\great\\\great>>_ job!
8J+Rge+4j+Kcje+4jwrwn5GB77iP4pyN77iPCvCfkYHvuI/inI3vuI8K8J+Rge+4j+Kcje+4jwrwn5GB77iP4pyN77iPCvCfkYHvuI/inI3vuI8K8J+Rge+4j+Kcje+4jwrwn5GB77iP4pyN77iP
[[They have such a way with words.]][align center]
The Post-Season has begun! Let the Battle Royale commence.
New York Millennials vs Hades Tigers vs San Francisco Lovers
[align center]
[after 2000ms]
{0-3-0}
[align center]
[after 2500ms]
{1-4-1}
[align center]
[after 3000ms]
{2-8-2}
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[after 3500ms]
{1-10-1}
[align center]
[after 4000ms]
{2-12-2}
[align center]
[after 4500ms]
{84-0-0}
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[after 5000ms]
{86-0-0}
[align center]
[after 5500ms]
{100-0-0}
[align center]
[after 6000ms]
{101-0-3}
[align center]
[after 6500ms]
The favored Millennials won the Battle Royale.
The Tigers and Lovers sufferred <<null\\\Temporal Babyfication>>
[[We won!]]The void of the Tesseract warps into an Avocado Toast shaped nodule that incorporealizes into the same slightly burnt entity you viewed earlier.
"Hello! Are you ready to go back?"
[[You blather nonsense. Millennials are immune from temporal babyfication.->Nonsense]]"Uh, what? Have you been hanging out here for too long? Listen, let's go back."
The Avocado Toast entity grabs you betwixt their breads and decorporealizes with you <inside\\\connected\\\a part of> them.
[[Re-Begin->Play Blall]]The New York Millennials are literally living in the year 30XX, having ascended to a plane of blaseball existence their previous incarnations could hardly comprehend.
The following is only a translation. We apologize for any words or concepts that cannot be properly explained in terms a 20XX entity can fully grasp.
Just know that blaseball is alive and well, and the commissioner is still doing a _great_ job!
[[Enter The _VGVzc2VyYWN0_]]