By Pete B.
Why don't I use this first moment, where everyone is probably still paying attention, to say that I was touched by Tiger Woods today. I watched all of his final 36 holes and he played with discipline and precision and then when sealed the deal he cried for his father. It can't be easy being Tiger, with all of his drive, and I'm sure it's not easy losing your dad at the age of 26. You only get one life Tiger, don't feel obligated to keep winning golf tournaments for us. Just do it if you want to.
Well Tiger didn't show up for Bungleball tonite but just about everyone else did. I felt like a stranger in a strange land and at first the vibe wasn't good. It's never good when Hans doesn't show up. One feels as if a lynch pin has popped from the door hinge and you wonder if it will continue to function or whether it will simply all come apart. Luckily D. Lee showed up and he's the freaking glue too. Many stalwarts did make it as did a big contingent of folks who either pre-date me or were new. When all was said and done we had 20 players.
D. Lee and I choose up teams and pulled off a blockbuster trade and somehow I ended up with both latecomers: Hussar and Deion. The only way I can figure that I that D. Lee is a kind person.
Um. Miss Universe is on. What was I saying? Miss Mexico is so hot I want to cry... whoaaa Mex-i-co.
But Danny had a lot of guys who he felt comfortable going to war with too. Guys like Ambrose and Dinny. Guys like um that guy Matt with the glasses who hits a ton and .5. Guys like Doug. Guys like Dave. Guys like Jose. Guys who you want next to you in a knife fight because you know they'll never give up and they'll never give in. Guys like Ernest, who will pop a hammy, rub a little dirt on it, and leg out an infield single.
Oh wait. Jose was on my team.
What we lacked in guts, we more than made up for in talent. In fact, we has so much talent the first game was a 9-1 reset after two -- two -- innings. How often do you put up a nine-spot in 10 v 10 short field assball? Not often. Dave admitted later that he was the pitcher for the nine-spot. It takes a man to admit that. Dave also roped like six doubles and a couple base smackers to boot. He had a bad day on the "mound" -- there was no mound -- but a good day at the plate. He hit one down the right-field line while I was playing first and I swear I could hear the ball singing "Bolero" on the way past.
The second game was tighter than Miss Paraguay's glutes. At this point I have to wonder out loud: Who's banging Miss Paraguay? Probably some Andean slickster... really this ought to be deleted. I had a 2nd-inning bases-empty CSHR and our opponents -- we again failed to name the teams -- came back with a CSHR off the bat of Matt the Masher who emulates Jim Thome at the plate except he's a righty and Thome is lefty. Then they took a 2-1 lead later with I don't know goddamn what can't remember but you can bet they just raked that goddamn ball all over Southern New York Town until the raking was done.
It turns out that having Chris Hussar on your team is a good thing. Hussar, after a couple innings of 2-1 razor's edge TITENESS, led off with a double and we played a little small ball. Dave had a FC, moving Hussar to third, and then Evan had a sac fly to bring home CH for the tie. After that Leigh pounded a double and we took a couple extra runs off 'em for make it 4-2.
Ultimately their comeback was stifled because, while Hussar bliffed a taylor-made double play and we let a run in, he followed that up two batters later with what was the closest thing to a triple play we'll ever see out there. With the bases loaded he snared a one-hopper, tagged the runner moving off second, tagged 2nd, and then threw just wide of 1st to miss the triple dip. The runner of 3rd was tagged out at home one play later after Deion made a sick diving play at 3rd and a throw home to yours truly and we nailed Adam with a tag out.
I can't even remember what I was thinking I just got so excited thinking about the D we played that inning.
A lot of other stuff happened too. We de-tarped with great alacrity, fearing the disapproval of Hans Bungle. You don't want to be on the wrong side of Hans Bungle and I'll tell you why: It's not easy to get there. You have to work at it. He'll pretty much let anything slide. But when you're there, boy it's a lonely and dark feeling. I sure hope Baby Bungle never ends up there. Or if she does it's only brief. Like Hans will just sit her down and say, "Look, you can do want you want. I know this, but I think perhaps you should have just cleared it with us first before you had a kegger here while we were on the Vineyard for the weekend." And she'll say, "Yeah Dad. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking." And that'll be that. Anyway, I digress...
Also a great deal of beer was brought to the game. Andrew C. brought a twelver, Dinny and Ambrose (not sure which one or maybe both) brought like six cases of Budweiser, and there were many private stashes about. I brought a Foster's oilcan and then um promoted one of Dinny's tall boys. The amount of beer brought was kind of surprising but was really surprised me was the goddamn dugout was cold drunk bone dry by the first reset. Apparently 20 guys with mitts can drink a lot of suds on a Sunday night when the put their minds to it.
Another thing that happened was it was just a really beautiful night weather-wise and there were some clouds floating around and the temp was just so. And the soccer players were tame. Did someone put the fear into them last week?
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
7.16.6: Free Beer Tomorrow
Sitting alone on a bench at 9:13 pm slurping down the rest of your beer is no way to sober up.
That was one of the things I figured out last Sunday night.
Here are some other thoughts and observations from our 16-10 (?) win over the other guys:
1) The season: I think it's been a pretty good season. A lot of regulars have become irregular, which saddens me, it's like they've graduated and moved on, but I am always encouraged by the way excellent new people step in to take their place. Games have been good, beer has flowed, soccer players have been appropriately annoying. I have fun every time.
2) CSHR's: in addition to an IEHR (which, let's face it, still feels sorta good), I hit probably my best CSHR of the season this week. High and far, slightly Kingmanesque. Wazzo blasted a nice garden CS (which he later retrieved) for us as well, and Chris H. achieved what may be the first 2 CSHR day of the season. Hats off to that dude. Great personality, good power to all fields. He does need a little work on his attitude, though -- it's like he has taken the no-hustle baton from Ambrose this year.
Julian went deep for the D.Lee's.
3) Tame Names: once again, no fucking team names. What a lousy year for team names. Maybe it's because we're always trying to get in two games so things are rushed, but whatever the case, this cannot continue. Team names are one of the four reasons I show up every week.
Please come up with some team names and add them to the comments section so we are prepared come Sunday.
4) Pride: here's to D. Lee for showing some at around 8:10 when he refused my offer of a reset with his team down 10-5. Maybe not the right move strategically, but the right move from a heart standpoint. I think maybe we should just play one game every week unless it's a real blowout.
5) My whining: last week's recap was essentially an extended bitch session where I railed on everybody else for beer-mooching, no-tarping, and generally failing to live up to the ideals of the 1960's. I felt kind of bad about it but then I got to the field this week and it was like: tarps done, bases set up, beers on hand for all to enjoy. Looks like the whining worked! Great job everyone. In other wonderful news, D.Lee has recouped his money for the season and from here on out all game fees will go into the kitty. What does this mean? It means, in addition to buying a new ball when we need one, we will have AUTHENTIC COMMUNITY BEERS every week until further notice. Place your vote for whatever 16 ounce domestic can has been kindest to you over the years.
6) The Key: we were saddened when it left us, so let us rejoice now that it has returned. D. Lee has once again PROCURED A KEY TO THE FIELD! Good job dude. No more squeezing through the hole in the fence like a subway rat. Feel free to give D. Lee a low two next time you see him.
7) The Recaps: I think obviously we could have been a little more consistent with the recaps this year, but we've all given it a good effort. Let's face it, I think every one of us has a more complicated life than we did last year or the year before. Considering that, we're doing pretty good. I wish I had time to knock it out of the park every week, but I don't. For instance, this week I was going to write it in the voice of Billy Packer, but who has time for shit like that? What I'd like to see is some new blood stepping up and churning one out every now and then. Everyone is eligible. Variety is good.
8) Dan K., punch and judy hitter though he may be, is perhaps the most underrated player out there. He gets a hit nearly every time and he plays great D. He is also maybe the only reliable thrower we have from week to week. No wasted motion, no rearing back and heaving it twenty feet over the first baseman's head. A key pickup in the early rounds of any draft. He may have been the difference for us. Still...
9) Hussar gets the game ball. Belting two solid CSHR's is a rare feat. It is enough to overcome his baserunning lethargy and defensive mindfarts. Congratulations.
10) Soccer players: after an off week last Sunday when they were all home presumably head-butting one another, they were back this week. But only like eight of 'em. Maybe they are going extinct. We can hope.
11) The turnout: we had 19 guys this week. As much as I am digging the infusion of new humanity, part of me fears that we are going to top the unmanageable number of 20 at some point. I guess we'll worry about that when the time comes.
That was one of the things I figured out last Sunday night.
Here are some other thoughts and observations from our 16-10 (?) win over the other guys:
1) The season: I think it's been a pretty good season. A lot of regulars have become irregular, which saddens me, it's like they've graduated and moved on, but I am always encouraged by the way excellent new people step in to take their place. Games have been good, beer has flowed, soccer players have been appropriately annoying. I have fun every time.
2) CSHR's: in addition to an IEHR (which, let's face it, still feels sorta good), I hit probably my best CSHR of the season this week. High and far, slightly Kingmanesque. Wazzo blasted a nice garden CS (which he later retrieved) for us as well, and Chris H. achieved what may be the first 2 CSHR day of the season. Hats off to that dude. Great personality, good power to all fields. He does need a little work on his attitude, though -- it's like he has taken the no-hustle baton from Ambrose this year.
Julian went deep for the D.Lee's.
3) Tame Names: once again, no fucking team names. What a lousy year for team names. Maybe it's because we're always trying to get in two games so things are rushed, but whatever the case, this cannot continue. Team names are one of the four reasons I show up every week.
Please come up with some team names and add them to the comments section so we are prepared come Sunday.
4) Pride: here's to D. Lee for showing some at around 8:10 when he refused my offer of a reset with his team down 10-5. Maybe not the right move strategically, but the right move from a heart standpoint. I think maybe we should just play one game every week unless it's a real blowout.
5) My whining: last week's recap was essentially an extended bitch session where I railed on everybody else for beer-mooching, no-tarping, and generally failing to live up to the ideals of the 1960's. I felt kind of bad about it but then I got to the field this week and it was like: tarps done, bases set up, beers on hand for all to enjoy. Looks like the whining worked! Great job everyone. In other wonderful news, D.Lee has recouped his money for the season and from here on out all game fees will go into the kitty. What does this mean? It means, in addition to buying a new ball when we need one, we will have AUTHENTIC COMMUNITY BEERS every week until further notice. Place your vote for whatever 16 ounce domestic can has been kindest to you over the years.
6) The Key: we were saddened when it left us, so let us rejoice now that it has returned. D. Lee has once again PROCURED A KEY TO THE FIELD! Good job dude. No more squeezing through the hole in the fence like a subway rat. Feel free to give D. Lee a low two next time you see him.
7) The Recaps: I think obviously we could have been a little more consistent with the recaps this year, but we've all given it a good effort. Let's face it, I think every one of us has a more complicated life than we did last year or the year before. Considering that, we're doing pretty good. I wish I had time to knock it out of the park every week, but I don't. For instance, this week I was going to write it in the voice of Billy Packer, but who has time for shit like that? What I'd like to see is some new blood stepping up and churning one out every now and then. Everyone is eligible. Variety is good.
8) Dan K., punch and judy hitter though he may be, is perhaps the most underrated player out there. He gets a hit nearly every time and he plays great D. He is also maybe the only reliable thrower we have from week to week. No wasted motion, no rearing back and heaving it twenty feet over the first baseman's head. A key pickup in the early rounds of any draft. He may have been the difference for us. Still...
9) Hussar gets the game ball. Belting two solid CSHR's is a rare feat. It is enough to overcome his baserunning lethargy and defensive mindfarts. Congratulations.
10) Soccer players: after an off week last Sunday when they were all home presumably head-butting one another, they were back this week. But only like eight of 'em. Maybe they are going extinct. We can hope.
11) The turnout: we had 19 guys this week. As much as I am digging the infusion of new humanity, part of me fears that we are going to top the unmanageable number of 20 at some point. I guess we'll worry about that when the time comes.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
7.9.6: Tarp Up, Bitches
For today's softball recap I will intersperse my next-day, sober recollections of Sunday's action (in regular text) with my italicized in-game drunken thoughts, as they occured to me live on the field. The result will hopefully be an entertaining, if obviously incomplete, description of what happened on the diamond Sunday night.
6:50 pm:
Joe Monkeyweb, Ambrose and I show up at the field. Some goofy Europeans, clearly swept up in W. Cup fever, kick a soccer ball around pointlessly in right field. Kissel sits alone in the dugout. We all agree that we can't kick 'em off just yet because the permit doesn't take effect until 7. But their presence annoys us.
I hate soccer players. Even when they have big Swedish girlfriends jumping around and jiggling delightfully.
6:58pm:
Our crew has begun to arrive. We are at 12 guys right now and it's time to administer the boot. Kissel Sr. attempts to do the dirty work, telling the soccer dudes it's time to go, wrap it up, etc. They respond by moving the soccer goal into centerfield. He readministers the boot, assuring them that indeed we will need the entire field, and they leave slowly but peacefully. DLee and I retire to the decompression tank for the draft. I open a beer. Joe and Ambrose smoke cigars.
We pick teams. Justin is there, the big equalizer. DLee picks him like he always does. Everyone else mills around uselessly, not bothering to de-tarp the field or get the bases set up. I go and dig out the dirt that has filled in the base-hole at second so we can plant the base there. Leigh does the same thing at third. Our fingers are dirty and sore and for the wrong reasons.
I wonder why most of the people who show up refuse to help unless begged. Do they think I want to grab the bases and set them up? Do they forget that it must be done? Do they think that I am being paid by the league to handle such inglorious tasks? Or are they just feigning ignorance so they don't have to get their hands dirty? This inevitably costs us five minutes of playing time. I am a grouchy motherfucker.
7:10pm:
We start the game and we have a wonderfully mushy ball tonight. Assier than Le Petomane's easy chair. CSHR's, IEHR's and ACSHR's are all gonna be scarce. That's OK because we are no longer keeping stats. There is also some new blood out here tonight. Kissel Sr. has brought a couple of dudes. One of them is wearing a Red Sox jersey and blue jeans. That's not good in any way that I can think of.
This beer is delicious. I don't want to go to work tomorrow. Or the next day.
7:30pm:
We've got a good one going here, back and forth. We have a huge musclebound guy named Jose who has a rifle arm and plays good D. He's keeping us in the game. Dan K. is on the other team and he brought his friend, a guy named Matt who's lefthanded. Kissel Sr. asks me in the dugout if the beers we brought are "community beers." I don't really know how to answer that, so I say, "If by 'community beers' you mean I bought them with my own hard-earned money, then yes they are community beers.' I'm not sure what my point is and neither is Kissel Sr. He goes and grabs a community beer.
Again, I am wondering about what people see as my role here. Am I the guy who has so much money that I want to buy beer for everyone every week all season long? If that's how they see me, I need to reshape my image, because I ain't rich. I'm happy to share a beer or two or ten, but damn people somebody else bring some fucking beer one time or throw me a fiver. Just sayin'.
7:45 pm: The game is like 3-3 and it turns out Dan's friend Matt brought a whole cooler full of imported, delicious, "community" beer. That's how you do it. Not that I really want to drink a Stella while I'm playing softball, but everybody else -- have at it! Matt has earned his stripes with one simple gesture. However, I am finding it very difficult to hit his pitching, and I don't really know why. None of us can hit him. Is he pitching too close? Is he too inaccurate? I don't really know, but I bitch to DLee about it anyway.
Two beers in and I love everyone. I love you. I love America and softball and I want to share my beer with you. Have one.
8:15pm:
DLee's team (damn are we slacking in the name department) has built a 5-3 lead and we are struggling like crazy to mount any kind of rally against the series of junkballers he trots out. There are some good plays I think. Kissel muscles up and hits one off the CF fence. I leap at it but my feet forget to leave the ground and he's in with a standup double. That shot probably would have left a major league park if not for the immense assiness of tonight's game ball.
Red Sox man, Johnny I think his name is, keeps checking the score of the Boston game on his cell phone. Refresh Refresh Refresh. Apparently it's in like the 89th inning. I yell at him playfully. Maybe I'm drunk.
If I live my life as an asshole, but I'm always trying to improve, does that make me a better man than someone who's an asshole on purpose? Is a repentant asshole, one who swears to get it right next time, any better than an unapologetic asshole, or is he somehow worse? My name is Joe Roberts. I work for the state I'm a Sergeant out of Perrineville, Barracks number 8. I always done an honest job, as honest as I could. I got a brother named Frankie and Frankie ain't no good. Are Ortiz and Manny the best 1-2, or rather 3-4, since Ruth and Gehrig?
8:30pm:
The wheels come off. DLee's squad lays a severe beating on us in like the 13th inning, going up 12-3. In a gesture that touches me deeply, Evan keeps calling out "1 out" after each batter, as if we are still in the game. It's hopeless. Kissel Sr. makes a sweet sliding catch in CF, but the Puma races home with another run. Did he leave early? Nobody knows. We argue anyway. It's all we have left.
I want to kiss you. I couldn't care less about the team struggling. We're looking to next season. We're looking to make some noise now. And I want to kiss you. Yeah!
8:42pm:
There are no soccer players in sight. We decide to reset our laugher and play a quick three inning game. I have to pee. I cross Hudson and run down Clarkson to my usual spot. I'm already unbuckling my pants but there are two homeless guys camped out on blankets right in the golden zone.
Homeless Guy: Yo, not here man. Not here.
I keep running and find a good spot. I do my biz and I jog back past the homeless guys again.
Homeless Guy: I gotta go clean that up, you know.
Is he trying to shake me down? Like he's never had to go on the street.
Whatever. I am handsome. Really, really handsome. I have a little pee pee on my shorts maybe but I am handsome. Perhaps I should lose a few pounds but damn I am handsome. Definitely. I'm not handsome. Soul Patrol!
9:12:
The second game is a tight one. We are tied at two after three innings and then we are tied at three after an extra inning. People are starting to grumble about going home. We need to settle this. Ideas are bandied about.
Somebody: Let's have a home run derby.
Somebody else: In honor of the World Cup, let's have a shootout.
Me: Sounds good, but we have no soccer ball.
Various unuseful suggestions follow. Then:
Dan K.: Listen to me for five seconds, I have an idea.
Me: OK
Dan K.: Let's do a shootout, but you have to throw the softball past the goaltender instead of kicking it. He gets to wear a glove as he tries to stop it.
Me: That is the single greatest idea of the past 500 years.
We set up the soccer goal. We march off what seems to be a reasonable distance. Each team picks five throwers. Now we need goaltenders.
Evan (whispering to me): just so you know, I used to be a goaltender in hockey and soccer.
Me: Get in there, goalie!
D. Lee picks Dan K. as his goalie.
I throw first. I shoot for the upper right corner. I miss by about three feet. D'oh! Baggid'oh!
We trade off. Justin throws. He misses wide left. He mutters something about how ashamed he is to be a part of this ridiculous contest.
Ambrose fires low and hard, and it bounces past Dan K. to give us a one goal lead. We keep alternating, and nobody can get it past Evan, who is remarkable in goal. Finally Kissel steps up and fires a one hopper past Evan, who lays out in a futile attempt to stop the shot. However, Kissel was like 4 steps beyond the starting line when he threw, so we force him to make another attempt. Evan lays out again and makes a diving, clean catch to preserve the lead. I collapse on the floor, paralyzed by happiness.
One more thrower each. We miss. Their last attempt is blocked by Evan, who gets on the ground and gets his body in front of the ball. Team player. Winner. He cements his status as my official favorite player, and he gets the Game 2 Game Ball. Game 1 goes to DLee for thoroughly outpicking me and for having a good night at bat and in the field despite a lingering case of poopy tummy.
This is the most fun I have had in years. Why do we even play softball? This is way better. I wonder if that girl Julie in my 11th grade English class liked me. I liked her. Can you look that shit up on the internets? Where's my beer? Holy cow it's 9:30. Let's tarp up, bitches.
6:50 pm:
Joe Monkeyweb, Ambrose and I show up at the field. Some goofy Europeans, clearly swept up in W. Cup fever, kick a soccer ball around pointlessly in right field. Kissel sits alone in the dugout. We all agree that we can't kick 'em off just yet because the permit doesn't take effect until 7. But their presence annoys us.
I hate soccer players. Even when they have big Swedish girlfriends jumping around and jiggling delightfully.
6:58pm:
Our crew has begun to arrive. We are at 12 guys right now and it's time to administer the boot. Kissel Sr. attempts to do the dirty work, telling the soccer dudes it's time to go, wrap it up, etc. They respond by moving the soccer goal into centerfield. He readministers the boot, assuring them that indeed we will need the entire field, and they leave slowly but peacefully. DLee and I retire to the decompression tank for the draft. I open a beer. Joe and Ambrose smoke cigars.
We pick teams. Justin is there, the big equalizer. DLee picks him like he always does. Everyone else mills around uselessly, not bothering to de-tarp the field or get the bases set up. I go and dig out the dirt that has filled in the base-hole at second so we can plant the base there. Leigh does the same thing at third. Our fingers are dirty and sore and for the wrong reasons.
I wonder why most of the people who show up refuse to help unless begged. Do they think I want to grab the bases and set them up? Do they forget that it must be done? Do they think that I am being paid by the league to handle such inglorious tasks? Or are they just feigning ignorance so they don't have to get their hands dirty? This inevitably costs us five minutes of playing time. I am a grouchy motherfucker.
7:10pm:
We start the game and we have a wonderfully mushy ball tonight. Assier than Le Petomane's easy chair. CSHR's, IEHR's and ACSHR's are all gonna be scarce. That's OK because we are no longer keeping stats. There is also some new blood out here tonight. Kissel Sr. has brought a couple of dudes. One of them is wearing a Red Sox jersey and blue jeans. That's not good in any way that I can think of.
This beer is delicious. I don't want to go to work tomorrow. Or the next day.
7:30pm:
We've got a good one going here, back and forth. We have a huge musclebound guy named Jose who has a rifle arm and plays good D. He's keeping us in the game. Dan K. is on the other team and he brought his friend, a guy named Matt who's lefthanded. Kissel Sr. asks me in the dugout if the beers we brought are "community beers." I don't really know how to answer that, so I say, "If by 'community beers' you mean I bought them with my own hard-earned money, then yes they are community beers.' I'm not sure what my point is and neither is Kissel Sr. He goes and grabs a community beer.
Again, I am wondering about what people see as my role here. Am I the guy who has so much money that I want to buy beer for everyone every week all season long? If that's how they see me, I need to reshape my image, because I ain't rich. I'm happy to share a beer or two or ten, but damn people somebody else bring some fucking beer one time or throw me a fiver. Just sayin'.
7:45 pm: The game is like 3-3 and it turns out Dan's friend Matt brought a whole cooler full of imported, delicious, "community" beer. That's how you do it. Not that I really want to drink a Stella while I'm playing softball, but everybody else -- have at it! Matt has earned his stripes with one simple gesture. However, I am finding it very difficult to hit his pitching, and I don't really know why. None of us can hit him. Is he pitching too close? Is he too inaccurate? I don't really know, but I bitch to DLee about it anyway.
Two beers in and I love everyone. I love you. I love America and softball and I want to share my beer with you. Have one.
8:15pm:
DLee's team (damn are we slacking in the name department) has built a 5-3 lead and we are struggling like crazy to mount any kind of rally against the series of junkballers he trots out. There are some good plays I think. Kissel muscles up and hits one off the CF fence. I leap at it but my feet forget to leave the ground and he's in with a standup double. That shot probably would have left a major league park if not for the immense assiness of tonight's game ball.
Red Sox man, Johnny I think his name is, keeps checking the score of the Boston game on his cell phone. Refresh Refresh Refresh. Apparently it's in like the 89th inning. I yell at him playfully. Maybe I'm drunk.
If I live my life as an asshole, but I'm always trying to improve, does that make me a better man than someone who's an asshole on purpose? Is a repentant asshole, one who swears to get it right next time, any better than an unapologetic asshole, or is he somehow worse? My name is Joe Roberts. I work for the state I'm a Sergeant out of Perrineville, Barracks number 8. I always done an honest job, as honest as I could. I got a brother named Frankie and Frankie ain't no good. Are Ortiz and Manny the best 1-2, or rather 3-4, since Ruth and Gehrig?
8:30pm:
The wheels come off. DLee's squad lays a severe beating on us in like the 13th inning, going up 12-3. In a gesture that touches me deeply, Evan keeps calling out "1 out" after each batter, as if we are still in the game. It's hopeless. Kissel Sr. makes a sweet sliding catch in CF, but the Puma races home with another run. Did he leave early? Nobody knows. We argue anyway. It's all we have left.
I want to kiss you. I couldn't care less about the team struggling. We're looking to next season. We're looking to make some noise now. And I want to kiss you. Yeah!
8:42pm:
There are no soccer players in sight. We decide to reset our laugher and play a quick three inning game. I have to pee. I cross Hudson and run down Clarkson to my usual spot. I'm already unbuckling my pants but there are two homeless guys camped out on blankets right in the golden zone.
Homeless Guy: Yo, not here man. Not here.
I keep running and find a good spot. I do my biz and I jog back past the homeless guys again.
Homeless Guy: I gotta go clean that up, you know.
Is he trying to shake me down? Like he's never had to go on the street.
Whatever. I am handsome. Really, really handsome. I have a little pee pee on my shorts maybe but I am handsome. Perhaps I should lose a few pounds but damn I am handsome. Definitely. I'm not handsome. Soul Patrol!
9:12:
The second game is a tight one. We are tied at two after three innings and then we are tied at three after an extra inning. People are starting to grumble about going home. We need to settle this. Ideas are bandied about.
Somebody: Let's have a home run derby.
Somebody else: In honor of the World Cup, let's have a shootout.
Me: Sounds good, but we have no soccer ball.
Various unuseful suggestions follow. Then:
Dan K.: Listen to me for five seconds, I have an idea.
Me: OK
Dan K.: Let's do a shootout, but you have to throw the softball past the goaltender instead of kicking it. He gets to wear a glove as he tries to stop it.
Me: That is the single greatest idea of the past 500 years.
We set up the soccer goal. We march off what seems to be a reasonable distance. Each team picks five throwers. Now we need goaltenders.
Evan (whispering to me): just so you know, I used to be a goaltender in hockey and soccer.
Me: Get in there, goalie!
D. Lee picks Dan K. as his goalie.
I throw first. I shoot for the upper right corner. I miss by about three feet. D'oh! Baggid'oh!
We trade off. Justin throws. He misses wide left. He mutters something about how ashamed he is to be a part of this ridiculous contest.
Ambrose fires low and hard, and it bounces past Dan K. to give us a one goal lead. We keep alternating, and nobody can get it past Evan, who is remarkable in goal. Finally Kissel steps up and fires a one hopper past Evan, who lays out in a futile attempt to stop the shot. However, Kissel was like 4 steps beyond the starting line when he threw, so we force him to make another attempt. Evan lays out again and makes a diving, clean catch to preserve the lead. I collapse on the floor, paralyzed by happiness.
One more thrower each. We miss. Their last attempt is blocked by Evan, who gets on the ground and gets his body in front of the ball. Team player. Winner. He cements his status as my official favorite player, and he gets the Game 2 Game Ball. Game 1 goes to DLee for thoroughly outpicking me and for having a good night at bat and in the field despite a lingering case of poopy tummy.
This is the most fun I have had in years. Why do we even play softball? This is way better. I wonder if that girl Julie in my 11th grade English class liked me. I liked her. Can you look that shit up on the internets? Where's my beer? Holy cow it's 9:30. Let's tarp up, bitches.
Monday, July 03, 2006
7.2.6: power of the rainbow
pbdotc: first of all i want to talk about kathy
koisdan: me too
pbdotc: i think i might be in love
koisdan: she was an all star, pure and simple
pbdotc: werd
koisdan: i count four sparkling defensive plays at first
pbdotc: james and i were completely abusing our right to play infield and she kept coming up with amazing scoops, not to mention clutch base hits .... it's not a stretch to say we could never have had a chance to win without her at first
koisdan: two bad-throw pickups for outs, including that nasty short hop from james
koisdan: and then two plays where she was pulled off the base by bad throws, but dove back to the base to get the out
koisdan: including the final out of the game
pbdotc: totalemente and i don't even want to mention the, um, injury
koisdan: PLUS she sustained the injury of the night going after your overthrow
koisdan: oops
koisdan: i mentioned it
pbdotc: i hope she doesn't have a desk job
koisdan: it is possible that injury made her even more alluring
pbdotc: james sez she's the michelle wie of bungleball
koisdan: because we are writing this recap for posterity, i will explain:
koisdan: pete charged a ball at third
koisdan: tough throw, maybe shouldve eaten it
koisdan: but i appreciate the effort
pbdotc: def should have eaten, but ...
koisdan: and the throw went wide
koisdan: she made a quick turn to try and get it, lost her footing, and totally wiped out at first
koisdan: big-time wipeout -- if we had instant replay they would have shown it from five different angles
pbdotc: with appropriate surf music playing over it on the 11 oclock news
koisdan: YES
koisdan: she ended up with one of those round, bleeding scrapes you get when you try and slide in shorts
koisdan: high on the back of her left leg
pbdotc: it was a legitimate injury ... ximara said she would have retired had she suffered such a thing
koisdan: totally legitimate -- she is probably still picking gravel out of it today
koisdan: she had to hike up her shorts so they wouldn't get bloody, so when she batted for the rest of the game she flashed the pitcher a lot of leg and a huge bleeding battle scar.
koisdan: very intimidating, i would think
koisdan: PLUS several clutch hits, one of our only two RBIs in Game 1, scored once or twice.
koisdan: overall: wow
pbdotc: werd
pbdotc: here's why i didn't eat it tho: hans bungle was having ambrose -- who was "playing" catcher - peek at our defense and say whether i was protecting the line and i moved off the line and there it went, right down the line, so i was like ok i'm throwing this ball no matter what
koisdan: i sympathize
koisdan: the other team -- thunder? -- had some wack shit going on at catcher all game
koisdan: often they played three catchers
koisdan: when i pointed this out, hans responded, "we're only playing one, dan, you must be drunk"
pbdotc: i don't remember the first game v well ... i know we lost but we also squandered like six outs in a row because there was a rush on
koisdan: my memory of the first game consists of me being a chickenshit asshole
koisdan: first i argued for a full half inning that we had three runs
koisdan: despite everyone on the other team and on my own team disagreeing with me
koisdan: i got really vehement
koisdan: but i was wrong
pbdotc: it happens ...
koisdan: (except even now i suspect i was right)
koisdan: (no, no, i was wrong, i accept it)
koisdan: (i was right)
koisdan: and then the rain came and I had grabbed my glove and was almost out the hole in the fence before it was made clear to me that we were still playing
koisdan: i was positive we were going to get killed by lightning and hail
pbdotc: hans had a CSHR in the rain and claims to have exclaimed "SOUL PATROL" upon rounding the bases
pbdotc: hans is a beefy guy
koisdan: hans's homer was impressive
pbdotc: when the rain is flying and the ball is assy, he's the only one who can muscle it out
koisdan: maybe james
koisdan: but yes, no one else had a shot at a HR, called or uncalled, during game 1
pbdotc: james def has the muscle but, in one of the funny lines of the night, he came up to me in the dugout and said, quite earnestly, "i'm in a slump"
koisdan: god, grant me james' slump as my everyday hitting stroke
pbdotc: still makes me LOL when i remember it
koisdan: speaking of earnest -- hans's 6-out scheme was presented as the natural solution to a rainy night
koisdan: with great, straight-faced enthusiasm
pbdotc: he's all standing there, the apocalypse is upon us, and he's all, "let's save time!"
koisdan: monkeys are falling from the sky
koisdan: buildings collapsing
pbdotc: i think i saw a harpy getting a dozen sprinkle donuts
koisdan: yup
pbdotc: dinny and ambrose were smoking stogies and pretending they were branch rickey
pbdotc: they were all, "you look good see? i'll sign the lot of ya!"
koisdan: i suggested to dinny that he pick the player on his team who wasn't giving full effort and put the cigar out on his arm
koisdan: "this is how we do it in the big leagues, kid!"
koisdan: several excellent plays were made with cigars/cigarettes ablaze
koisdan: james had a nice one at short too
pbdotc: yeah ... i made a low throw and he still almost got a DP out of it
koisdan: game 1 ended 6-2 in favor of thunder
koisdan: game 2 was exciting
koisdan: first of all, there was a rainbow
koisdan: a big, beautiful rainbow
pbdotc: danny lee said it was the first rainbow he ever saw
koisdan: that's impossible.
koisdan: what??!
pbdotc: i wanted to hug the big galoot
pbdotc: when i saw the rainbow i knew we had to win it for danny
koisdan: wow -- that is a lovely sentiment
koisdan: but who hasn't ever seen a rainbow???
koisdan: has danny ever lived anywhere besides new york?
koisdan: has he ever left his building?
koisdan: does he spend all his hours playing poker at night and sleeping during the day?
pbdotc: (i think he drinks)
koisdan: ah
pbdotc: he did mention something about "the pollution" but i can't remember what that was
koisdan: i assume that's a reference to drinking
koisdan: heavily
koisdan: thunder bolted out to another lead in game 2
pbdotc: i was getting scared that we simply didn't have a good enough team.
pbdotc: that lightning just didn't have the sticks
koisdan: it seemed like we should have, but we sure could not get a rally going for inning upon inning
koisdan: it seemed like we would get two guys on base, then squander it, over and over
pbdotc: with james in a "slump" it wasn't easy
koisdan: we had two or three singles-into-fielders-choices
koisdan: those are always rally killers
pbdotc: hans bungle was a predator out in CF
koisdan: true
pbdotc: but we started going to RF and had success
koisdan: including an unprecedented two stand-up triples
koisdan: and i scored from first on a hit -- that may have never happened before
pbdotc: and pulled "all your groins"
koisdan: it really hurt
koisdan: Lee had that triple -- who had the other one?
pbdotc: i had one
koisdan: right
pbdotc: i hit me a triple!!
koisdan: in our big rally
pbdotc: the rally was sweet
koisdan: we were down 4-2 and scored four in the eighth
pbdotc: the soccer players were getting real itchy
pbdotc: kathy sparked it w/ leadoff hit
koisdan: then one error
koisdan: then more hits, including your triple
koisdan: was it you that referred to the storm as "god's version of the soccer players?"
pbdotc: no but that's funny
pbdotc: i have never seen so much gear for such a crappy soccer league
koisdan: there were many "wonderboy" references during the most lightning-y parts of the storm
koisdan: james and i joked that lightning would hit one of the light poles, splitting it in half and revealing a superpowerful aluminum bat
pbdotc: who gets the game ball for thunder?
koisdan: for thunder -- hans
koisdan: great plays in CF, big game one homer in the rain
pbdotc: probably. i was impressed with connie at 2b too
koisdan: she was strong but hans takes it i think
koisdan: game ball for lightning is clearly kathy
pbdotc: no doubtsky
koisdan: good games all around, very fun -- plus a rainbow, as dinny never stopped telling us
pbdotc: it was a nite like no other.
pbdotc: want me to send this to hansel?
koisdan: i'll post it later today
koisdan: good work
koisdan: laters
pbdotc: thanks man. have a good day. rub some ben-gay on them groins.
koisdan: am doing so right now, thanks
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