10/7/15

Softball: A Calvinistic Gloss on How Games Unfold

Dear People,

Michael Davey's posse knocked off my own on the last play of the match, 17-16, in one of those truly uncanny displays of the individual athlete as the irrefutable pivot on which entire rosters both flourish and croak. I don't remember a thing about who did what on the Daveyator's side, for, with all due respect, they just weren't my concern. Yet I do remember that my own peeps shone mightily, as when Brandon unleashed a 5th-inning grand slam to the lush succulents beyond deep center right, or the fact that Anthony 'Antman' Weatheroy went 5 for 5 on some of the finest hitting of his storied career. How these two giants of our craft ended up on the losing contingent baffles me to no end.

Except that it doesn't, because as we all know, singular kinesiological pivotude brutally cuts both ways. Yeah, take Frank, who transformed Jay's genteel can of 1st-inning corn into a ghastly 2-RBI homer by inexplicably 'bumbling' the ball in question straight into the forested tundra by the left field baseline. Those two runs would later cost us the game, of course, and that's something that Frankie will have to ponder, and ponder hard, for the karmic blowback of initial-inning incompetence is rarely so starkly revealed.

And, truth be told, I also think of myself, because my final trip to the plate was my side's last chance at salvation in the top of the 9th, and yet my pitiful two-out pop up with the go-ahead run at 2nd was the third week in a row in which my unparalleled personal fecklessness was the defining failure of a last-chance rally snuffed cold. To be sure, I'm well aware that there are all kinds of whisper campaigns out there suggesting that my weekly self-appointed captainships are becoming a communal disgrace, and in all candor, I have to agree.

Still, we did go into the bottom of the 9th with our heads held high and our hopes zoetic, and with two outs, the Daveyator himself gazing hungrily toward home at 3rd, and Dave Snyder at the plate, one could sense the taut and random cusp of fate in the air. Suddenly, the Snydster softly popped up to 2nd on a 3-1 Bryan Walker sucker-ball, and as that life-affirming orb fell gently toward Lora Krsulich's triumphantly outstretched glove, I felt the transformative relief of 1,000 rescued harp-seals; Yes, we had held on, barely, and the pivotal 10th awaited. Except . . . except it didn't. Instead, and for reasons I don't pretend to understand, our hero appeared to 'close' her mitt shut just before the ball actually arrived, and thus rather than trap it safely to end the inning, she pointlessly bumped it to the ground to end the game.

Now look; Accidents happen, and good people are involved in them as much as anybody, so no, I'm not going to dwell on the irony that Lora is a 3rd-year law student who has undoubtedly taken the standard Boalt seminar in Tort, Causation and the Dilemma of Athletic Negligence. Ultimately, what happened in that final second of play is between her, the Lord and the Professor of that moronic class, but still, I do know that she has nothing to be ashamed of, because like Frank and me before her, we simply cannot be held responsible for the predestined ineptitudes that ultimately destroyed our team. And therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning . . . Raymond


9/8/15

Softball: In Praise of Certain Counterfeits

There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday 11, and as of now it is already full. As always, please let me know ASAP if you committed and need to cancel, and if you still want in, feel free to get on the wait list or contact me later for news of reopened slots.

Please bring $4 for the field, which for this week only includes your choice of either a chilled pre-match carafe of 1993 Bourgogne Rouge (yeah, 1993!), a vintage three-stone emerald cut diamond ring with pavé setting, or another surprise lagniappe in which the retail price can easily vary by 10,000% . . . Raymond 845-7552

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