9/30/15
Softball: For whom the Ball Rolls
Dear People,
Jim McGuire's team brutally beat back my own, 14-12, in one of those ironic paragons of taut competitive excellence that reflect the stark juxtaposition of that very excellence with the disturbing world beyond. No, I wouldn't expect you to get this without clarification, but before I explain further, I would like to gently suggest that just because I was the potential tying run whose piss-ant 9th-inning ground-out to 2nd was our last act of failure in a rally killed hard, I happen to think that I was no more of a goat then so many others whose unsightly perversions of the aerobic ideal are simply shrouded in the ubiquitous amnesia of mid-inning irrelevance (Indeed, Jimmy himself inexplicably kicked my own 4th-inning single-turned-triple straight into the forested tundra to the left of 3rd, but I suppose the shame that he'll bear will always be tempered by the fact that his actions didn't “end the game.” Whatever).
The point is that this particular match revealed more than just the usual ineptitude of its individual denizens, for it also showed that our matches are not played out on a protected island, fully unto themselves. Indeed, they are in fact part of the broader stupid world with all her woes and ickiness, and so, as much as we'd like to, we can't simply hide away in the bosom of our own recreational innocence. Yeah, I was initially reminded of all this in the bottom of the 5th, when a wayward hound came traipsing into the shallow infield just behind short. When good ol' mutt-mouth began to assume her dreaded crouch, panicked cries erupted within our ranks, but the kindly owner quickly assured us that it was “just #1.” It wasn't. By the time we suddenly realized that our field had been fecally assaulted with two warm and pungent doggie logs, that bitch and her wily little human had scampered away, and frankly, if it weren't for Bryan Walker's courage in taking up bag-duty, we probably would've cancelled the game right then and there.
There's more: Just two innings later, a mysterious and somewhat sluggish-moving couple that looked to be somewhere between 90 and infinity appeared on the left field horizon. As they gingerly waddled forward on the outside of the 3rd-base line, we found ourselves caught between the basic recreational demands of temporal efficacy---As I studied their gait, I calculated that it would take 36 hours before they reached the safety of the backstop---and the risks of reckless aerobic manslaughter should one of our sluggers' line drives end up lodged in either of their upper gums. There was no 'right answer,' of course, and as the stress of the dilemma triggered hissy-fitting cracks in the communal cohesion of our normally unified folk, it was finally decided that we'd play, but with the caveat that if any batter knocked out either of these venerable human snails, it was both an automatic out and a $20 fine. And so we proceeded---cautious, properly incentivized, and now painfully reminded that our league is not within the insulated bubble that we have tacitly always craved.
The point is that no league is an island in the classic Dunnean sense, but none is more stoic than we are in facing the horrific intrusions with which both nature and humanity ceaselessly slather us anew. And therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning . . . Raymond
10/1/15
Softball: Healthy (Neil Needs U Now!)
Softball:
Dear People,
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, and as of now there are still three slots left.
Please bring $4 for the field, which for this week only includes a bountiful pre-game selection of organic cigars, whiskey and kale . . . Raymond 845-7552
PS: Neil Henry, the moral backbone of this entire community (whenever he shows up, which is, uh, not that often), is looking for another three or four players for his Monday night city league team. They are called The Free Agents, they're destined for greatness, and if you join them, I have no doubt that you'll be feted as a national hero.
SO, if you're in a heroic state of mind and you want to bring clarity of purpose to your otherwise wasted Monday evenings, contact Neil at nhenry@berkeley.edu
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