Softball: The Ghosts of Disequilibrium
Dear People,
Congratz to all on last week’s admittedly ghastly but still joyous 22-6 Easter Day Massacre. You may be wondering how it is that I can lead my side to a third blow-out defeat in just four games, especially given that these teams are always precisely balanced with the most advanced Athletic Weighting Algorithms. In all candor, I am starting to wonder myself, although I do believe my captainship is basically sound. Still, I fully admit that my recent deer-frozen-in-the-headlights leadership style is not without risk, and that it may be causing a subtle dissemination of insecurity, lack of focus and the unsightly onset of syphilitic dementia within many of my core hitters.
Of course, sometimes the random roll of recreational fate just happens, and there’s really no point in obsessing about it. For example, it’s true that Steve Rossen was "weighted heavily," and yet for some reason he not only failed to get on base, but he made three progressively more costly errors in just ONE inning (Quel accomplisement!). And yet I’m not going to "blame" Steve for some set fraction of my team’s travails. For one thing, these are fairly abstract calculations, and regardless, the poor guy shows up to a game about once every six months! Frankly, it’s never been my scene to pick on people who are essentially rare and honored guests, and I’m not about to start now.
In any case, my team’s real problems were not rooted in Steve’s unexpected ineptitude, unsettling as that was, but rather in some kind of intangible aerobic-curse-thing that left us unable to catch the slightest break. I think particularly of that fateful incident in which we began a cautious two-out rally with two on in the bottom of the 6th, our hearts still filled with viscous aortal hope juice despite the 17-5 deficit. As you’ll recall, Steve Schliff (no relation to Steve the rare and honored guest-Goat) pounded a searing line drive just to the left of second base, almost guaranteeing two RBIs and the renaissance of our athletic dignity. But then suddenly the rocketing orb smashed dead center into the tender marbling of Brohein’s beefy left buttock cheek, stopping his dash to 3rd, crushing the rally, ending the inning, and undoubtedly leaving Broh with the raw erotic markings of a really nasty hickey-bruise.
Yes, my friends, we were cursed and cursed bad that sultry Easter morn, and as the side that was most heavily sprinkled with sundry Hebrews and Pagans, perhaps we had it comin’. Indeed, I don’t pretend to know what metaphysical forces have recently been conspiring to screw my teams, but I do know that when I catch them in paranormal flagrante delicto, I plan to strike them and strike them hard, and I’m not writing this just because I thought it would be really cool to Latinize this last paragraph with authoritative oxymoronic coinages like paranormal flagrante delicto. And therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11AM, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning…..Raymond
4/25/03
Softball: Connoisseur
Dear People,
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11AM, and as of now, there are still four slots left. As always, check email Sunday morning if it rains heavily between now and then.
Please bring $2 for the field, which for this week only includes a complimentary post-game carafe of Merlot dell'Fresno, ’96, served well chilled with just a patina of residual worm taste for robust body and character….Raymond