Congratz to all on last week’s 20-18 aerobic masterpiece, a richly textured endeavor of nail-biting competitive excellence that functioned as a transcendent oasis of post-Clintonian reassurance. Indeed, the previous night I had fitfully lain awake at night wondering why the verb "to lie" has such a curious past participle when in a non-transitive mode, and naturally that got me thinking about the whole change-of-administration thing, and I was frightened and anxious, and I yearned for the security of my beloved mitt and the gentle tantric caress of Janet Reno. Perhaps that latter wish was misplaced, or even a sign of basic recreational psychosis. Perhaps. But for the record, I smashed the longest triple of my life last Sunday, and the simple fact is that when I drifted into my own inner fantasy world in the seconds leading up to that hit, it sure wasn’t John Ashcroft’s thick and hairy thighs that supplied my inspirational fuel. ‘Nuff said.
In any case, and as most of you certainly know, New York’s American Museum of Natural History recently dropped Pluto from the list of planets it now features in its esteemed Rose center for Earth and Space. Without even consulting other scientific institutions, these presumptuous Eastern establishment bastards have demoted my favorite childhood orb to one of 300 pointless "icy bodies" in the so-called Kuiper Belt that swirls just beyond Neptune. The supposed logic of this decision is based on the fact that Pluto is "only" 1,400 miles wide, as if size alone were the moral foundation upon which planethood rests (No doubt that if given the power, they’d unilaterally declare Liechtenstein as just another Swiss canon).
Yes, I suppose that technically, the status of some frigid misunderstood rock that’s three billion miles away has little to do with softball. Yet I gotta tell you that when I’m nervously standing there at home plate waiting for that perfect pitch, I’ll sometimes look for a strategic point of reference beyond the gams of any particular Attorney General, and I’ll find it in quiet reflection on the stark beauty of that most distant of cherished neighbors, frozen and tiny, but tested, dependable, and shamelessly underrated. And therefore, there will be a game at San Pablo this Sunday at noon, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning……Ray
1/26/01
Softball: Sun and Drainage
Dear People,
There will be a game at San Pablo this Sunday at noon, assuming the nefarious rain Gods stop toying with us. You will need to check email or voicemail if it rains between now and then.
One slot left/$1 to play….Ray 845-7552