11/27/13

Softball: Febrile-Affected Musings on This Year's Gobble

Dear People,

Steve Powers' team brutally shut down my own, 10-3, and while Steve Bedrick's suggestive blend of screw, curve and sweaty balls lied at the heart of their defensive domination, the narratively incorrect overlay is that all of my best hitters were clearly schnockered on NyQuil. Regardless, this may explain why Chris “listen up” Fure was so busy screaming to Matt in right about how he needed to back up in that Jim McGuire's 1st inning homer to left darted just over the Furinator's befuddled little head. Five minutes later, Chris “still listen up” Fure was pleading with Anthony to move back from his perfectly reasonable perch in center-right when Powers blasted a second homer to left, and once again, just over our distracted hero's re-befuddled little head. Ironic.

The point is that it's not easy to multi-task, and I mention this because I happen to still be fighting a hideous flu-thing that left me with shivers so violent a couple night's back that it's as if my entire body were aping the Hayward Fault, circa 1868. So sure, I'm drained, the long holiday weekend is fast approaching and truth be told, just a couple hours ago I was thinking I wouldn't even bother to organize a game this week since so many of you would be trekking to distant locales in order to rendezvous with the usual assorted nutjobs that comprise your extended family. Fair enough. But then I started to think about how the roots of softball itself are profoundly steeped in the American tradition of community, reflection and tryptophan-laced poultry, and while I'm obviously not going to quote myself verbatim, this is what I wrote all of you way back on that innocent Thanksgiving 'morn in the Fall of 2000….

Few seem to remember that when Captain Miles Standish and Squanto rose to toast their good fortune on that frosty Plymouth evening in November 1621, both men agreed to a post-dinner match of exhilarating AAA Pilgrim Ball (A curious colonial pastime that most recreational historians now believe was an embryonic version of soccer, although it was actually played with darts). Unfortunately for the Wampanoag, their team lost 10-8, and thus under the pre-game agreement, they and their relatives had to abandon all of New England by 1625. Nevertheless, the honored tradition of combining hearty fowl-based meals with vigorous exercise was firmly established, and I for one see no reason to discontinue it now.

Of course this particular year's Turkey Day is even more way cool since it's also the only time since 1888 that it's overlapped with Hanukkah. Yet just to be clear, the aerobically oblivious lamestream media has missed the real story of “Thanksgivukkah,” which is that 125 years ago tomorrow, the old American League's storied Brookyln Hebrews (technically, 16 Jews and a goy), trounced the Philadelphia Long-Stockings, 19-2, and trust me, in the 1880s, my people had been all about banking and fine woolen garments, not kicking ass. So sure, it would be easy to ignore the deeply misunderstood confluence of greatnesses that Chris “please hit it elsewhere” Fure and Captain Miles Standish and the stupid Hayward Fault and the 1888 Brooklyn Hebrews represent, but I'm simply not gonna' do that. And therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning…Raymond



11/29/13

Softball: Bad Star

Dear People,

I am sooooooo full. But nevertheless, there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, and as of now there are still five slots left.

Please bring $4 for the field, which for this week only includes a painful but necessary post-game debate on whether the sun is “ethically responsible” for destroying Comet ISON before we as a species had a chance to see her in all her 4.5-billion-year streaking glory*….Raymond 845-7552

*PS: Do I grieve? Yes, yes I do. . .

http://www.dw.de/comet-ison-feared-lost-after-grazing-the-sun/a-17260766

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