4/10/13
Softball: Reflective Flirtations with the Athletic Soul
Dear People,
In a ceaselessly see-sawing masterwork of intensive psychoaerobic drama, Chris Fure's team respectfully euthanized my own, 17-14. The lead switched sides a stunning seven times, but I'm not about to imply that Anthony's four errors over three innings in two different outfields contributed to our curiously stubborn victorphobia. Still, I would gently suggest that the Antman's glorious technique of ensnaring deep fly balls with an outstretched and high above-the-head glove-which closes in on its orbital prey as if it were the primary stalking claw of a famished saltwater spider crab-may need some further tweakage as it applies to the precise “timing” of the pincer move in question.
Nevertheless, and for the contextual record, I think we all know that Anthony's buttery bobblings were at least partially rooted in the fact that he was as Phenomenologically Distracted as everyone else. Oh sure, P.D. is the most overused excuse in the entire athletic canon, and yet when I think back on what had occurred in the 2nd, I simply can't continue writing as if it never happened. And so: With the score tied at five, two out and runners on 1st and 2nd, Grady smashed a searing line drive to deep center left, and as Alan Miller darted for home, Alan Shabel (no relation) took in the incoming ball at short before instantly hurling a perfectly blazing rocket straight to the plate! It arrived a full half second before good ol' Millcakes, and if the universe had been in sync with its own material essence, that would've been that.
Alas, this was one of those rare games where we had only 19 people, and so for that particular inning, Chris Fure himself was catching for my side. That's not a problem per se, for we as a people have always had a venerable tradition of filling in teams with good-faith catchers from the opposing contingent, and as you can imagine, I happen to believe that no player's faith is gooder than the Furinator's. To be sure, I still believe that with every fiber of my being, and yet for reasons I don't pretend to understand, Shabel's ball slammed straight into the webbing of Chris' trusty mitt, where it stayed tight and snug for .25 seconds-before pointlessly falling to the ground below.
Now look, it would be easy to focus on the fact that this unsightly failure of stickage not only allowed Cakehead to score, but actually resulted in two more runs that inning, or more specifically, the dispositive three-run difference that would seal my team's ultimate fate. Yet that's not my style and I simply refuse to dwell on any of that. Indeed, and as one who once actually took a course in Psychology and the Law, I can assure you that after the match, I looked deep into Chris' conscience-stricken pupils, and what I saw was nothing less than a mens rea which was as clean and pure as virginity itself.
Of course while lawyers may dabble in the muddled science of human intent, they clearly don't know squat about consciousness, much less the inscrutable mind-body problem for athletes and other living things. Still, unless Descartes himself rises from the dead and then casts grave dualistic aspersions his way, I will always assume that Chris is aerobic innocence personified, though, truth be told, I'd still like to map his brain, and map it good. And therefore there will be a game at Codorncies this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning….Raymond
4/12/13
Softball: The Logic of Finance
Dear People.
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, and as of now there are still six slots left. You are therefore welcome to commit any non-community people you know, including friends, neighbors, nutso distant cousins and embittered ex-lovers.
Please bring $4 for the field, which for this week only includes a suggestively exotic basket of bitcoins, derivatives and tulips….Raymond 845-7552
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