7/7/10
Softball: A Calamitous Independence Day
Dear People,
First things first: Outside the intermittent hallucinations (generally Kafkaesque in nature), I have fully recovered from Alan Miller’s blistering 8th inning throw directly into my forehead. Now look, in fairness, I was indeed standing behind the bleacher fence, and thus he had every right to assume that I was protected and safe. Unfortunately though, I was apparently leaning into the grillage in question, and thus when the darting orb arrived, it promptly drilled corrugated wrought iron directly into my perfectly innocent hippocampus.
I don’t recall the immediate seconds that followed, but I do remember sitting punch-drunk on the ground as Broh calmly verified that my skull had not actually cleaved in two. It was, in all candor, a transformative moment of pulsating joyous relief, and yes, as I looked up at that cherubic face of pure medical reassurance, I knew that I lived in the greatest aerobic democracy on the face of the earth. Even better, I didn’t throw up.
In any case, in what was perhaps the most dreadful pre-barbecue match in the history of our 13-year innocence, my team eviscerated Alan’s 20-11. Of course the score was almost irrelevant, for the game’s entire zeitgeist was immersed from the get-go in a petulant miasma of bickering, bitterness and amorphous discontent (“the three b’s”). And while I don’t ever like to cast aspersions on those trying to better themselves, I now believe that one possible cause of all this was the spectacle of the New Bridge Foundation’s 120 recovering drug addicts continuously traipsing through our field. This, despite the fact they had reserved only the wooded picnic area beyond the yak-laden tundra, and thus their claims to the entire park were a deluded display of pure organizational chutzpah.
Still, I told their leader that we were a kindly people by both temperament and birth, and that they could play their own softball game once we were finished with ours. With all due respect, I was an idiot. Sure enough, they began to swarm onto left as early as the 7th inning, and in retrospect, it’s a credit to our tolerance for unruly drug-addicted mobs that our post-match barbie co-existed with their game for a full 30 minutes. Soon enough, though, we retreated to the relative peace of the children’s playground 50 yards away, where, after a robust debate, we decisively voted against the tactical use of tear gas. Yeah, we are nothing if not pruditious (my coinage—deal with it), and therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning. . .Ray
7/9/10
Softball: Snarky
Dear People,
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, and as of now, there are still four slots left.
This week’s field fee is just $4, and that includes a complimentary one-year subscription to the UCLA Journal of Snow Polo, Soccer and other Bland Sports…Raymond 845-7552
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