Soft Balls, Called Shots and Hot Boxes

8/30 softball: it's on for now!

2009-08-28T18:38:00.000-07:00

Hey all, sign in for Sunday's game in the comments, and then check back there on Sunday at 5:45pm for a final decision.

softball sunday 8/23/09 GAME OFF!

2009-08-20T22:57:00.000-07:00

Tonight's game us canceled due to low numbers and spotty weather. See you next time.

softball sunday 8/16

2009-08-14T20:25:00.000-07:00

softball sunday 8/9/09

2009-08-07T10:03:00.000-07:00

softball signup for sunday 8/2/09

2009-07-31T08:54:00.000-07:00

Please sign in below and check back there on Sunday around 6pm for final word on game status.

softball signup 7/26

2009-07-24T20:23:00.001-07:00

Game is on, check the comments on Sunday for news if the weather if iffy.

softball sunday 7/19

2009-07-17T18:52:00.003-07:00

softball sunday 6/19

2009-07-17T18:52:00.001-07:00

softball 7/12 -- check back SUNDAY at 5:30 for final word

2009-07-09T11:50:00.000-07:00

let us know if you're playing

have a happy holiday -- NO SOFTBALL for JULY 4th weekend

2009-07-03T11:56:00.000-07:00

We will not have a game this weekend, but will be back strong on 7/12 -- we have recruited some extra people so the numbers should improve.

8/19/07: The August Rainball Classic

2007-08-20T18:50:00.000-07:00

by pbdotc

It was mildly drizzling on Sunday evening and James J Walker ballfield stood moist. Not good moist, like a Dove Beauty Bar ad, but bad moist, like a tent you forgot to air out before putting it away for the winter. But it wasn't a soaking rain and seven of us showed up at the outset for softball. Most of you louts decided it would be better to sit home and think about how the hours of your life were ticking away instead of getting a little wet and having a little fun.

We took an extended batting practice as we gave people as much time as humanly possible to show up. When it was clear there would only be seven we got together and discussed what to do ... leave? more BP? We determined we should play an every-man-for-himself type of game and rotate through the field on defense. This in and of itself wasn't striking in its originality except we came up with two critical updates to this timeworn solution:

-- first, we would close off first base and nobody would run the bases
-- second, we devised a point system in lieu of counting ghost runners and runs

James, probably because of his extensive cricketing background, must get credit for the points system, which was accepted by the rabble after a few blinking moments of incomprehension.

Closing off right field is standard operating procedure. But closing off first base is more radical. In this case it worked with flying colors because nobody had to run on the slick field (think sliding and ensuing raspberries) and nobody had to throw. Nobody likes those things anyway.

The rules system was as follows:

-- the batter had three outs to tally up as many points as possible
-- any ball that made it past the infield (marked by tires behind third and second) counted one (1) point
-- any ball that made it to the wall on the bounce counted two (2) points
--- and ball that hit the wall on the fly counted three (3) points
--- errors in the field cost the fielder previously accumulated points depending on nature of error (see point system above)
-- after a poor play, it was up to a fellow player to nominate an error and for the others put it to a vote
-- three swings cumulatively cost the batter one additional out
--- scoreboard shots counted ten (10) points [none occurred]
--- Inning-Ending Home Runs counted minus three (-3) points
--- any beer in the field of play hit by a batter tallied five (5) points for the batter and minus five (-5) points for the fielder [none occurred]

At the end of play the loser, he with the fewest points, was to shotgun a budweiser.

As the game got underway, with the mist falling, we realized quickly there was not enough beer. Only James had brought some. So Hans and later D. Lee jogged up the puddly boulevard and hauled back additional cans. A good deal of beer was imbibed by everyone.

In many ways, Handsome Andrew, whose normally stylish play is to be admired in an of itself, became the quiet hero of the night with his technology-rich phone thing. Andrew kept a running tally of the batting order and accumulated points on his phone thing, which became important because the scoring started to get complicated with the error subtractions and the onset of drunkenness. After every batter finished up and we rotated, H.A. could be seen hunching over his phone thing, trying to protect it from the raindrops, marking up the totals with a stylus, which apparently accompanies the device. Then he could be seen stuffing this bit of quicksilver back into his rainy shorts and resuming his intimidating defensive posture.

Of the seven of us, two had remarkable nights, four had average nights, and one -- yours truly -- had a hideous night with the bat. Hans Bungle and James had the best nights. They were locked in, dinking the softball off the fence on the fly repeatedly and adding up the threes like they were going out of style.

Danny Lee started out strong but he seemed to be doubling as beer anchorman. After a few rotations, his reaction time and batting prowess were dulled. By the end of the night he was staggering around the outfield like Hack Wilson after a bender, waking up occasionally to remind us all of his dazzling potential as a defender, but mostly stumbling around, muttering, and pissing on rats, legions of whom had taken up residence in the planters behind the outfield fence.

Alex and Marky (spelling? maybe it's Marquis) were game to stay and they had average nights at the plate and good nights in the field. Marky certainly must have felt this league was a strange one since the Rainball game was his maiden voyage at James J Walker field. What a good way to indoctrinate yourself. Marky also showed some real potential with the mitt, making a lot of key outs along the way. I think Alex and Marky, overall, remained more sober than the rest of us. Not positive.

At some point, as we had established the rhythm of the game and we were all happy as pigs in shit, Douglas showed up. He was greeted as a hero and seemed to take it all in stride as we excitedly blurted out "the rules" all at once, hands waving, and basically slotted him in. His arrival posed two problems:

-- first it mucked with the batting and rotation order, which wouldn't have been a problem for sober, intelligent men. Luckily, H.Andrew again took the reins and simply made a few calculations on his mission control phone thing and pointed out everyone's next spots
-- second, doug was the only lefty and when we shifted across the diamond we all became confused about the batting order again. But ultimately we figured all this stuff out as well.

Doug was given extra outs in the interests of equity and he made decent use of them, tallying a fair amount of points before burning through his outs.

Not long after Doug's arrival, Handsome Andrew and his supercomputer had to leave and we were forced to remember our totals. I was in negative territory and remain so to this moment at negative one.

Hans and James each were in the low 20s. The rest of the players were somewhere in that range.

James's last licks were a phenomenon to behold. He was locked in with his graceful, powerful swing, and chopping the rain-soaked ball all over the place. When he finally made his third out it was almost a mercy out. And he stood at thirty (30) points. During James's onslaught, I got to talking with Hans out in the outfield. We noted, looking at the empty Sunday night streets, that 10 million New Yorkers were sitting in their dank apartments, watching it rain and basically having a poor time, while eight New Yorkers, namely us, were having a fabulous time and enjoying life. We nodded in agreement and quickly woke up as one of James's frozen ropes came screaming toward the fence and we did our best to drunkenly prevent it.

Hans's last licks amounted to an epic comeback. He was at 22 and quickly tore a few off the wall and pounded a few for single-point hits. James, in center, was desperately trying to put a cap on the onslaught, and finally did with one of the finest, sliding catches one will ever see. James sprawled out, armed fully extended, on a line drive to short center field, and the ball lit in his mitt in the most graceful fashion. That left Hans with thirty points as well.

It seemed only fitting that the night should end with a sudden death playoff. Hans and James were each given one additional out per frame to do as much damage as they could. At the outset, it felt like two prize fighters looking for an opening, as nobody tallied any points. It took about three extra frames for James to break through, and he did for five points, But Hans came up in the bottom of the last and rediscovered his form, and his final, soggy base hit made him the winner of the first-ever August Rainball Classic.

We all congratulated ourselves and -- since there were two beers remaining in the dugout -- Hans (the winner) and I (the loser) each shotgunned one. It was the first beer I've shotgunned since the early 1990s. And it was delicious.

A Friendly Game of Softball

2007-08-07T19:18:00.000-07:00

I don't know if there was something in the air this Sunday night, but this might have been the sloppiest, most error-filled game I've participated in since Little League. The final score, Bonds defeating Aaron* 14-13, does reflect the exciting, action-packed game it was, but few of those 27 runs were earned. There were some monstrous homers, most of them uncalled, natch, including a huge shot by Ambrose that cleared the fence, rattled around in a tree, and dropped gracefully and perfectly onto the noggin of a bald guy sitting on the bench in right. We all believed that was the first time that ever happened. In retrospect, we should have awarded Ambrose the run.

I myself -- the epitome of the good-field, no-hit infielder, though I did hit my one wall shot of the year -- made two throwing errors and an error of judgment in the infield that led directly to six of Bonds' runs. That sucked, but not as bad as it sucked to be that dude on Bonds. Those who were there know who I'm talking about -- I don't know his name, but he's a nice guy who had an absolutely brutal night in the field. He booted ground ball after ground ball in the infield, including two consecutive shin shots at third. He got eaten up in the outfield, dropping a couple balls and letting a few others fall after losing track of them near the wall. At one crucial point in the game, when he was in center, one member of Aaron hit it directly to him with two runners on base; the dude botched it, both runners scored, and when the Aaron player scored, he shame-facedly admitted, "That's the third time I've hit it to him."

On such a night of bone-headed defensive errors, let's mention the two guys who actually flashed some leather. Warren, on Aaron, made an outstanding catch leaping into the left-field fence. Tony, on Bonds, made two great plays -- one a fantastic double-play starting snag at short, and one a stumbling, sliding catch of my line drive with two outs in the ninth and his team up 14-11.

With no soccer jerks visible -- "It must be a holiday in France or some bullshit," said Pete -- we decided to play another, a decision I loudly endorsed with the argument that we're about to have another baby and therefore I'll never get to have fun again. We held Bonds scoreless in the top of the tenth, then mounted a rally in the bottom, for once solely based on our own hitting as opposed to any errors by the opponents. With Aaron having pulled within one run with none out, that guy Rob -- is it Rob, who wears baseball pants sometimes and always hustles more than anyone else, to the point of sliding frequently? -- hit a solid single, and on the next batter's hit rounded second and tore off toward third, everyone on the bench (and Danny in the coaching box) yelling "Stay 2! Stay 2!". Ambrose's throw was dead on target and beat Rob by five or six steps but the usually solid James dropped it at third, perhaps thrown off by his lack of the traditional fuelding cigarette. Rob's slide came in hard and knocked James over; Rob seemed to catch him again as he leaped up to head for home. With James holding the ball but rolling around on his back, Danny -- Aaron's captain -- called Rob back to third just as he touched home.

"What?" he demanded loudly. "Why do I have to go back?"

"Because James got hurt," Danny said.

"Because he got hurt?" Rob said in disbelief. "What does that have to do with anything? Why doesn't the run count?"

"Because we're playing a friendly game of softball," I shouted from the bench.

Needless to say, in the farcical spirit of the evening, the next batter (Andrew?) walloped an uncalled shot over the left-field fence to end the game. Rob walked straight over to me, stood closer than is usual, and loudly asked, "So what does that mean, 'We're playing a friendly game of softball?'"

"Uh," I said.

"And I'm NOT playing a friendly game of softball?"

"I'm saying," I said, as he stared fiercely at me, "that you acted like you were angry with James that he got hurt when you slide into him, and that didn't seem like it was in the spirit of this game."

"I wan't angry with James," he said. "But I AM angry with you."

He stormed off as Danny bemoaned the fact that had he just allowed Rob's run to score we would have tied the game. He learned a valuable lesson: chivalry never got anyone anywhere. I learned a valuable lesson as well: some people take things seriously.

After we tarped it up, Rob walked over to me and said, "No hard feelings." When I told this story to my wife later, she shook her head and said, "Boys."

Game ball: will be passed among all the players on both teams, who will each drop it or throw it over each other's heads.

*I just made those team names up.

7.15.07: by a hair

2007-07-16T21:26:00.001-07:00

It is a generally accepted fact that sportswriters are the luckiest of God's creatures. While a few stand out as competent, most are stupid, lazy, and terrified of real knowledge. Yet they continue to draw healthy salaries, they continue to fatten themselves on free buffets, and they continue to spend their evenings in breezy ballparks, watching more talented men play children's games. Not a bad life. It is perhaps because of this, because of their own guilty realization that they getting away with something, that they litter their stories with fancy, literary-sounding bullshit phrases that add nothing to the stories but probably help the sportswriters sleep better at night.

Intestinal fortitude. That's a big one. It basically means "guts," or "courage" or "nerve" or even a "strong stomach." But they like to say "intestinal fortitude." It fills up more column space and to the average moron, it lends the story an air of intelligence.

If I were a hack sportswriter instead of a hack blogger, I would tell you that Sunday night's softball game came down to one thing and one thing only: mandibular fuzzitude.

That's right. My newly hair-lined jaw was on display, and it may have made the difference in the game. This is what D. Lee and his team had to deal with:

Shades of Dick Pole, right?
No longer would I be pushed around like a little bitchy-pants. I had hair on my lip goddamit, perhaps no more than my friend Alexi had when he returned from summer vacation in 8th grade, but hair nonetheless!

The moustache first proved its value in the pre-game rock-paper-scissors showdown with D. Lee. If you have been following this subplot, D. Lee has freaking owned me in the RPS department. He's like 11-1 on the year and he's got me talking to myself. Not this night. Before we even threw our fingers down, D. Lee sensed something was different.

"It's the moustache," he said. "I can't read you."

Sure enough, I threw down paper and covered his rock, thoroughly freaking him out.

D. Lee is master of facial hair himself -- he's rocked 137 different moustache/beard/sideburn combos over the years. So it must have been upsetting to see his protege getting the upper hand, er, lip, on him -- it's as if Luke Skywalker suddenly pulled out a light saber and stabbed Yoda in the balls.

We used the pick on Jungle Cat James. He was the cornerstone of what proved to be one of the better squads of the season (Ambrose, Handsome Andrew, Cey, Hit machine Dan K., JCJ, Jimmy, John Red Sox, Warren, Deion and me).

As we were finishing up our choose 'em up session, Dan K. came over and said he really wanted us to come up with some team names. I struggled, with my best attempt being Brew Crew (us) vs. Cutting Crew (them). Not so good, but let's use those names from here on out for purposes of clarity and simplicity.

At around 7:20 Deion showed up, and once again D. Lee and I RPS'd, with his services going to the winner. Once again I took him down, this time with a crushing pair of scissors splitting his paper in half.

The magic moustache. Again.

Even without Deion, Cutting Crew had a tough team, filled with badasses like Pete B., Jon R., Leigh, Carlos, and Javy, not to mention D. Lee himself and rookie phenom JD. The game was a good one, with very few colossal fuckups by either team. The lead changed hands several times, and Cutting Crew went ahead 6-5 on a controversial CSHR by Carlos at around 8:18, past the announced CSHR cutoff for the first half of the night. Like any good manager would, D. Lee lobbied on his behalf, claiming that Carlos didn't get up again after the "call 'em if you got 'em" announcement was sounded for the first half. Ultimately we honored the appeal, although I do believe it sets a dangerous precedent.

Controversy or not, it looked like Carlos's dinger might stand up, as the game remained 6-5 until around 8:42. Then, with a light rain falling intermittently between at-bats, the Brew Crew began to put something together. A hit here, a runner taking an extra base there, and some loud screaming by yours truly, and it seemed certain: a rally was...brewing.

We tied the score at 6 on somebody's hit, god bless them, and then with two outs Red Sox John stepped up to the plate with the go-ahead run on third. After going through his usual Garciaparra-like business with the batting gloves, he calmly laced a single to center to give us the lead. Most of our team was giddy with delight, but I knew there was unfinished business to take care of.

I stroked my moustache. And the two of us shared a private moment.

"Moustache, I need you," I said. "We've been through a lot together over the last two weeks, and now I'm relying on you to bring me strength. I've come to love you like a brother -- an older, far more macho and successful brother who sticks up for me at school when other kids make fun of me for my poor hygiene. And now it's time for us to put this game away, together. As brothers."

"Let's do this," my moustache said.

With that, we walked to the plate together. The pitch came in, and we unleashed our mightiest and machoest swing, sending the mushy ball over the fence by a good three feet and giving us a commanding 10-6 lead.

As one of my moustachioed forefathers, Mr. Reginald Fucking Martinez Jackson, said of a similarly dramatic home run back in October of '78, "It was an insurance run, so I hit it to the Prudential building." Of course, my ball landed humbly in the piss-garden beyond left field, but still.

I spent the rest of the game crouched amid oil spills and dead birds on Leroy street, looking for the ball. I was glad I missed what was happening inside. In what turned out to be the bottom of the "ninth," Cutting Crew rallied for three runs, cutting the lead to 10-9 when JD boldy cruised home. It was a redemptive moment for JD, who had already been cut down looking to take the extra base three times in the game. On one of his misguided excursions he went into second with a slide that was later described as 'half feet-first, half head-first' and left him looking like this:

Later he said of his decision to slide, "That ain't soft Carolina dirt out there."

The "ninth" inning ended at 8:55. With douchey soccer players all around us, we decided to call it a night.

TWIS notes:

-defensive gems were turned in by JCJ, ranging far to his left at 3rd, and spinning to get the runner by a step; Pete B., with a shoestring catch of a sinking liner in left; and John Red Sox, cutting off a ball that was headed to the right field corner and holding the runner to a single.

-there was a close play at second with JCJ oversliding the base and reaching back to touch it just as he was tagged. I didn't see it but we gave them the call, with the possession arrow going our way if another close play came up.

-I drank 3 beers during the game. That is the exact right number, kids. 3. I was still somewhat coherent at the end, although I was also loose enough to start hollering like a madman for about ten minutes straight at one point.

-game ball goes to Deion, who came straight out of the station wagon to bang one off the fence and knock in our first two runs, and who generally had a strong night with the stick.

-It was good to see Jon R., who was a little rusty but still a serious force. Having been absent for much of the season, he observed that the field now has less of the green fake 'turf' pieces and more of the black fake 'soil' pieces than before. I find that kind of creepy.

-Javy and I had an ugly collision at first base, with my knee hitting him in the head. He was dazed for a minute but came back and toughed it out. At my age, any collision could mean the end, so I am thankful to my God and my moustache that I didn't get hurt.

-it was a 9 on 10 game, and credit goes all around for how seemlessly and efficiently fielders were shuffled around.

-JCJ hit a liner that was definitely traveling over 100 mph and may have achieved escape velocity if it hadn't collided with the fence.

-more pics:

recaps wanted

2007-07-15T14:35:00.000-07:00

in the meantime, here is a general recap of the last few weeks:

I was awesome.

T & A

2007-05-28T12:02:00.000-07:00

There are some things, I have come to realize, that one should not do while drunk. Flying a chopper. Free-climbing a sheer mountain face. Committing a complicated bank heist that took four years to plan.

And, it turns out, playing softball.

I discovered this last fact on Sunday evening. By my loose and unofficial tally, I cost my team (Tits) a total of 10 runs in a 16-8 (?) loss to Ass that was actually closer than it sounds. I did it in every way you can imagine: through fielding incompetence, batting ineptitude, and baserunning boneheadedness. I even threw in some shaky strategizing. Normally an average player, I was reduced to a whimpering, sweating clown, incapable of anything more than hurling unecessary and belligerent insults at Ass's pitchers. The cause of my embarrasing behavior: Budweiser, King of Beers.

I've played basketball drunk a few times and that is a real fucking adventure. It's a weird sensation when someone passes you the ball alone under the basket and you shoot it like 5 feet over the rim. It's basically impossible, drunken basketball. I have friends who say marijuana basketball is actually pretty fun. I think it was Deion who told me that he played stoned a few times and he was seeing passing angles he'd normally never see, he was trying cool shit that he'd never think to try. My boss told me he played hoops on acid and played better than he had ever had before -- he says he thinks he also dunked in that game for the only time in his life. But he may have been hallucinating. Anyway, basketball is a tough sport to play and it only follows that it would be a tough sport to play drunk. But softball? Softball is an easy fucking game. That is why many of us drink beers on the field each week. That is why guys with huge round bellies and sore backs can be considered the greatest players in the world.

But even in softball, at a certain point you gotta stop drinking, or at least slow down, or you will look like a fool. Softball is capable of humbling a drunkard.

On to the game. The night started out the way it always does: DLee defeating me in a round of rock, paper, scissors for the 1st pick. He moved to 36-2 lifetime with the win, and he's definitely crawled into my brainspace. He's sitting on my brain sofa, watching my brain HDTV, eating my brain Fritos. I can't shake the guy. He chose Jungle Cat James with the pick, and it proved to be a wise move. The Cat prowled the outfield all night like, well, a Jungle Cat. Several times he leaped up against the fence, cigarette in his meat hand, to rob our hitters of hits. Each time it left us shaking our heads in frustration and thinking about how much we wish our parents had done as JCJ's did, injecting their child with Jaguar DNA at birth.

In fact, seeing the Cat in action underscores perhaps the least talked-about and most important factor in winning or losing Sunday Night Softball games: Speed (and its sometime companion, Hustle). Fast guys are a pain in the ass to play against. If they're not tracking down shots to the gap, they're turning off-target throws to first base into standup triples. Oh, to be fast. Skinny, intelligent, handsome, motivated, well-endowed. Oh, to be those things too.

Since it was Memorial Day weekend, I decided to be the Guy Who Overdid It at the Barbecue, minus the barbecue. I started drinking at around 6:52 and kept pouring 'em down all game long. The game went to 9:30 because the soccer players had taken the night off, presumably to honor the memories of all the French and Italian war heroes who fell in battle. This extra half hour of playing/drinking hurt me bad.

The game itself was a back and forth battle, with Ass finally opening it up in like the 38th inning at around 8:55. Some high/lowlights:

-CSHR's from DLee, Richie's Baseball Pants, The New Guy Who Took Things a Little Too Seriously (did he actually call it? none of our players saw him do so), Handsome Andrew, Jungle Cat?, and maybe a couple more. I don't remember; I was quite drunk.

-Handsome Andrew brought our old basketball buddy Bruce, and after a shaky start, Bruce made a very nice positive contribution, including a couple of fine plays out in CF. He also doinked one right off the very top of the fence, which was cool.

-I struck out batting lefty. Last lefty at-bat of the year for me.

-In one of the early innings, our team scored two runs but could have had a few more were it not for some shitty baserunning. And, predictably, it was All My Fault. I hollered at Julian to run on a deep fly ball, insisting at the top of my lungs, "It's Off The Fence!" Of course Jon caught it on the warning track and Julian was doubled off first. Then on a basehit to left, my third base coach told me to keep running as I rounded the base. Seeing James about to gun me out, I slammed on the brakes. When his throw sailed high I decided to make a break for it. Unfortunately, The New Guy Who Took Things a Little Too Seriously quickly picked up the bad throw and tagged me out in between third and home before I could even mount a decent hotbox. That guy was fast.

-I let one groundball go through my legs and I fell down trying to pick up another after I had booted it. I almost cried.

-I also threw the ball away every chance I had. One of my bad throws led to the Official Pep Boys Presents: The Moment The Wheels Came Off for this game. We were down like 10-8 and Handsome Andrew hit a grounder to me at 3rd base. I actually fielded it cleanly, but my throw to first was way off target and Joe M. couldn't grab it. It was at this point that Joe was faced with a decision: do I run after the ball (which at this point was rolling into the corner), or do I just try to tackle Handsome Andrew and turn this game into an official farce? He chose the latter, but H.A. was tough to bring down, so Joe decided he'd go get the ball after all. H.A. was by this time headed to third, and Joe's throw back to me was off target. I probably could have grabbed it, but I forgot that I was allowed to step away from the base in pursuit of the throw. The ball got past me and H.A. scampered home with a big run. Tits had officially gotten sloppy. I was blaming myself, but BJL pointed out that Joe M. needed a good chewing out for his attempted takedown on H.A., so I delivered a "come on, man" type speech that I'm sure Joe appreciated. At this point in the evening, I had officially become a drunken asshole -- nothing more, nothing less. Joe and I were at odds the rest of the night. He threw rocks across the diamond at me, as he is prone to do from time to time.

-I was yelling at everybody. James made me mad when he came home with like their fourteenth run as I drunkenly stumbled after a throw that had gotten away from me. I kept having to remind myself to STFU. I was angry at myself but taking it out on others, and even though I was aware that this was what was happening, I couldn't stop it. I actually promised myself that at the end of the game, I would take five minutes alone to pull myself together. I thought somehow that I could achieve inner tranquility and outward humility in the span of just a couple of long, reflective minutes. Never happened.

-Towards the end, I put myself at catcher to minimize my potential for destruction. But the ball still found me. One two-hop throw hit me right in the tip of my penis, which was pretty symbolic of how my night had fallen apart.

A few of us went out for impromptu food and beers after the game. We went to that place Mr. Dennehy's on Carmine street. I kind of hate it there but I don't know why. Then Pete and I ended up at The Stoned Crow (possible finalist for "Worst Bar in NYC" reader survey) on Washington Place. We got in an argument with some mildly irritating British people about rock and roll. One of them had never even heard of The Kinks. They kept trying to tell us Coldplay was good. Being drunk, obnoxious Yanks, we just couldn't let that stand. It all ended peacefully enough, with Pete and I drunkenly recommending some NYC tourist attractions. At one point, I think I said, "Wow, you're only here a week - what are you doing in this shithole? There are a lot of good places in this city." I think I halfeartedly floated a "Wanna hit 7B?" out there at one point, but Pete was wise enough to shoot it down quickly.

After that, I went home. My wife looked at me and said, "You're drunk." I was like, um, lemme take a shower. When I got out of the shower, she had gone to sleep. I crawled quietly into bed next to her. Mercy had found me at last.

5.20.07: cops and cops

2007-05-22T19:50:00.000-07:00

by pbdotc aka the wayward O

this was the first game of the 2007 season that felt like summer. the sun stayed out late, there was some passing weather, and the turnout was heavy. since nobody names the teams any more, i've gone ahead and named hans's team "the retired police officers" and d. lee's team "the off-duty police officers."

the game featured a good bit of offense and the regular amount of hideously booted ground balls. one especially poor play was mine at short stop; in the "7th inning," with 1 out and runners on first and second, I went to my right to catch a ground ball and -- amazingly perhaps -- came up with it. however, i failed to make the exchange and get the ball to third and the effort was for naught as everybody was safe. the next batter hit a two-run double and the batter after that -- deion sandals -- cranked a three-run, called-shot donger.

the five-run meltdown was the featured offensive outburst in the game, which ended 15-13.

despite the loss, the retired police officers had their moments. after --- jebus --- i got picked off trying to stretch leigh's base hit from first to third, leigh, who had advanced to second on the play, came home to score on a hard slide. i can't remember who the batter was - john quinn probably - but the play at the plate was cold-blooded and javier who was at catcher pretty much never saw it coming. there was a good deal of dust and a lot of cheers and no injuries. the hard slide picked us up and we felt like we were going to sail after that.

but the off-duty police officers had other ideas. and javier would have his revenge later -- both for the slide and a triple he lost in the lights -- with a late-inning called shot home run off --- ummmm .... uh ..... er ..... welll --- ME. said shot was the difference in the ballgame, giving the off-duty police officers their final margin of victory.

essentially, i guess, since i'm writing this recap, it's a bit me-heavy. however, it appears i cost my team 8 billion runs on offense and defense on three separate bone-headed occasions.

their were two controversial plays. they were as follows:

--- matt was in a close play at the plate and insisted he was safe; quinn, the catcher, insisted matt was out. there was some back-and-forth but apparently matt ultimately was called out. i had mixed feelings about the play. i felt like john may very well have put the tag on, but i was far from sure. also, i feel like if you show up late and displace a fresh-faced newbie, you pretty much forfeit your right to argue your cause, at least on the first close play in which you are involved. i'm not sure how ultimately the out was decided upon; from my vantage point in center field i was under the impression that the run counted and the out did not count. i only learned later the out did in fact count. to this moment, the whole thing resides in some weird, metaphysical grey area.

--- the second controversial play was a force out at second in which some dood not only left first base too early (before the crack of the bat) but also was out anyway on the flip to second and nevertheless vehemently claimed to be safe. it was a hideous reminder of why the base runner never should be permitted to umpire the play. he probably went on to score. to make this point more clear: a base runner is entitled to politely lobby his cause; however he's not entitled to insist he was safe despite clear evidence to the contrary, especially after he left first base too early, violating both the spirit and the letter of the law.

one new player, i think his name was j.d., proved to be a pretty good acquisition. he rapped a few hits, scored a few runs, made a few catches and throws, and also got his inaugural raspberry on a slide. that's a solid, all-around night. he lives right in the area ... as do most walk-ups ... and we may see him again.

there were two stand-out defensive plays. one involved james "jungle cat" morris loping in and snaring a seemingly harmless foul pop up in the obstacle-laden area along the left-field line; the second involved jon on a tough chance in deeeep left-center on a long fly ball. jon and james consistently make tough plays look easy.

there were three other home runs besides those mentioned above: d. lee had one, ambrose had one, and i had a cheap scoreboard job, which ricocheted downward from the top of the wall and bounced off the top of the scoreboard. it counted, bitches.

i leave you with rule change, which will become official immediately unless there are strenuous objections: from here onward, henceforth and forth-with, the batter's "called-shot" shall be voided should his at-bat result in a score-board shot home run . in other words, if you call your shot, then hit the scoreboard, you can call it again.

5.13.07: mama's boys

2007-05-15T17:36:00.001-07:00

by pbdotc aka the Wayward O

After the Mother's Day Massacre I went out looking for some softball. But the turnout stunk. We did have a core of 10 regulars and semi-regulars, including Cey, Kathy & Lex, each of whom showed for I think for the first time this season. I was in a shitty mood because I don't have anything else to do but watch Orioles choke. Well that's not right actually: There is a lot to do in New York. I chose to watch 'em choke. Even worse.

We were still awful damn short on players. So we pulled in two doods from the bocce court, Will and Chris, who were playing catch. They weren't sure they were going to stay the whole while, but they did, and they had fun. We also pulled in a lady named Ruth. She was in dugout area with her pooch, Sadie. She ran home and got her mitt and some shoes. That gave us 13, which meant more or less we pitched & caught for our own team and sported two (2) outfielders per team. We did not close off any fields.

Ruth was nervous at first but it was clear she had played a lot of softball in the past because she immediately contributed on defense, gunning down an advancing runner at second after a bad throw to first. She also had trouble at the plate but worked out some of those issues as the game progressed. Her dog kept chewing her mitt but it would not chew the mitt when I tried to take a video of the dog chewing the mitt.

I have a feeling we'll see the new players again. I think the dog should come back too so I can film it chewing the mitt.

My team played a modified defense which featured the "opposite field middle infielder backing out into short outfield" depending if a lefty or righty was up. That caused us a minor headache at one point. Danny Lee's team appeared to be playing a full-time short fielder, or deep roving infielder. I'm not sure what you'd call it. I think each strategy has its strong points and in the end it appeared to be a wash.

There were A LOT of booted balls and it seemed like the sloppy fielding was contagious. I did fall down again, as I predicted, attempting to field a grounder way to my left at 2nd base. It was a sort-of tough chance but I had no business falling down. I think I was tipsy.

There were one or two controversial calls. The ball beat Kathy to third, but she insisted she was safe despite solid evidence to the contrary. But she has a solid rep so we let her have it.

Handsome Andrew hit a moon shot but it was not called. And Kissel (I think please correct me if I'm wrong) hit what would have been an inning-ending home run except the newly leafy trees out in deep right center knocked the ball back in play. Leigh and Cey, my outfielders at the time, protested the ruling but once I explained the ground rules to them, all was forgiven. There were no called-shot home runs (again please correct me if I'm wrong) although on Andrew's call he came within six inches of his 2nd scoreboard shot on the young season.

The other Dave hit a bases-clearing triple that salvaged the game for my side. And he gave me a cigarette after the game. That was the second (2nd) cigarette I have smoked in 2007 and the 3rd overall since I quite smoking on New Year's eve, 2004/2005.

The game ended in an 11-11 draw. It was a very nice night to be outside, far away from the Blatzmore Schnorioles and their Imbecile Manager.

it's back

2007-04-04T08:03:00.000-07:00

and I am going to smash a lot of home runs.

Are We Gonna Play Soon?

2007-02-19T20:35:00.001-08:00

Because I am fucking ready.

9.17.06: Rehash

2006-09-21T12:03:00.000-07:00

Wanted: Softball Players. Cannot be afraid of potential rain. Must enjoy playing softball. Must not be a ten year-old girl. People who play in a cold rain are gamers. One guy is afraid of water, and he played. That makes him a gamer-sissy. The guys who didn't show just because of a little rain are suckers. The game could most charitably be described as "not quite as bad as it could have been."

But to make tonight's game out to be meaningless or halfhearted would be unfair. Both teams wanted to win, one was just far more capable of doing so. Our team had more soft spots than Kathy Bates's nude scene in "About Schmidt." Then a couple of guys came in off the street, and things picked up. We had one lefty glove for three lefty players, which always makes life interesting. One of the "off the street" guys was a lefty who had to play righty, and in fifteen minutes he was better at "catch the ball, flip off the glove and throw the ball with the glove hand" than Jim Abbott ever was. Granted, Abbott only had one arm.

Game One:

First, let's discuss the Bounty Hunters(!). They played because Matt is producing a doc about a family of bounty hunters and the ties that bind and some such shit. It sounds good. Plus, the bounty hunters were real nice guys and brought a big audience of family members, who were also nice (and I’m not just saying that so they won’t hunt me down and break my spine). All in all, they were a welcome addition to the game. In fact, when a couple of people started grousing (you know who you are), newly-minted egomaniac Dan the Recap Man started yelling at everyone to shut up and play. You want to make a statement? Try adopting a child from an impoverished nation, "Dan." Step up to the plate and do something, instead of running around in that stupid hat acting like King Shit of Fuck Mountain.

At one point, we pulled a "dropped pop-up double play" when Mark failed to run out his pop-up. This was the culmination of a long evening spent arguing about the Infield Fly Rule, and whether it applies only with first and second/bases loaded, or if it also is in effect with just a man on first. Since we had not established the rule, our DP was overturned. This saddened Benge, who was right and knew it.

While the argument raged, I was busy directing some guy and his dog, who'd been walking down Leroy Street and sportingly searched for the ball. (They found it, incidentally, about twenty feet fair, but ricochets are tricky.) I don't know why I tried so hard to recover that ball. I hate that doughy, assy ball. If you don't hit it right on the nose, it goes a maximum of six feet. And any ball that is popped up comes at you with such ridiculous spin it is nearly impossible to catch:

More than the game, though, what fascinates me is the seemingly unlimited supply of do-gooders who only want to help us retrieve the ball. Innocent bystanders, all, who see us grown men pound a ball out of a children's field, smashing cars and windows and people's heads - and they can't wait to get it back in to us. They fetch it out of sewers, from beneath cars, fetid reaches of the park's garden, the pool, the handball court, wherever. We haven't found a place to hit it where someone won't rush to help us out. I mean, what the fuck? Isn't a New Yorker not supposed to help? I suppose there is that immediate instinct, perhaps bred into us all as kids, to run after a ball when we see one rolling around. Not unlike a dog in some ways.

Note: on gay pride day, it’s the women you want to have throwing the ball back into the park when someone hits it out. The guys can’t throw worth a shit.

Game 1 was won by Scissors 1-0, their first-ever victory over Rock in over 100 million tries.

Closer Hans Bungle (is that right?? or was it Rob?), pitching for Scissors, recorded at least three and I think actually four of our final six outs 1-3 or 1 unassisted. That's what I call a lights-out performance. I think I saw M. Rivera spying from Hudson Street, trying to figure out what if any adjustments he needs to make to get the Pinstripes on the right track.

Hans had himself a huge cheering section in Right Field. Curiously enough, that’s where he ended up for several innings. There were all kinds of chants for him, my personal favorite being: “Hans, we’ve got condoms!” Those are true fans.

And where was the Mantis? Busy working? Feeding? Beheaded by his woman during coitus?

Game Two:

I got caught in a hotbox. We missed Dinny in this one, although there was sufficient chaos. I actually feared for my life for a moment. There was a real sense of relief when I was tagged out but permitted to live. There is something glamorous about getting in a hotbox. It's like you're battle-tested after you've been through it, and you can brag to the kids about what it was like. It got to be such a badge of honor that people were purposely trying to get caught in the rundown, and one guy even brought a camera and began snapping pictures from the inside of the hotbox. I guess that cheapened it a little bit, because to me, the ultimate thrill of the hotbox is the sense of both abject terror and utter defiance you feel when you are caught in one. Like, "I may die here in this hotbox, but I am taking some of you down with me."

Danny hit a scoreboard home run. The ball hit the very top of the scoreboard with a satisfying “THUNK!” and everyone started screaming. As we all know, the more screaming, the better. Danny was screeching like a banshee as he rounded the bases and we all congratulated him as he passed by us. Then he was greeted by his own teammates in a big group hug at Home. It was like Hank Aaron’s 715th. All we needed were some drunk, tripping hippies storming the field and it would have been the same thing.

Lots of balls were hit over the fence, many with the wooden bat. The wooden bat is kind of good. Culprits included D. Lee, Justin, myself, Sandals, Alexi, and Eugene. Eugene's shot landed on a sleeping homeless man who cheerfully lobbed the ball back to us.

Alexi hit perhaps the hardest shot since The Thing With The Teeth showed up a couple of seasons back. It left the park in about an eighth of a second, and a debate ensued as to whether it went over the fence or through it. We couldn't find any holes in the fence, so we had no choice but to call him out. But if I had to testify in court as to what happened, I would say that he hit the ball so hard he changed its molecular structure, and it liquefied as it went through the fence. By the time we retrieved it, it had calmed down and become a solid again.

Joe Monkeyweb, who was catching, signaled that it was a HR. Kissel, from the mound, correctly called it foul. Like a scumbag, I pretended to be unsure. Our team attempted to lobby for the runs to count. I didn't tell them not to. After all, we were down by 4 runs with 7 minutes left. It was cheatin' time.

Kissel immediately moaned the stupidity of the called shot. The other balls were too hard to use without risking death upon bystanders. Soccer players swarmed the field thinking our game is over...

(Soccer players. Oh, boy. They are the devil’s business. Up to their usual bullshit down the right field line. Stretching and doing jumping jacks and twirly-whirlies and all kinds of shit. None of us like that. Not one little bit. Hans decided to do something about it. So, hitting lefty, he raked one down the line and hit a player mid-stretch. Well done, Hans.)

Next inning. We've managed to pull within one. Bases loaded, no outs, and Danny comes to the plate. "Call it!" we shout from the bases, but Danny shakes his head. The police are still out there, talking to Justin. So what does Danny do? Bam, first pitch, deep to left, over the garden, into the street maybe fifteen feet from the cop, who was just about to drive away. The cop himself tossed the ball back over the fence. Danny fell to his knees as the game -- and the moral high ground -- slipped away.

We won Game Two, 12-11, in the bottom of the "ninth" inning. The D. Lee's pulled an "Ambrose Shift" maneuver that really hadn't been set up properly in advance. One of their fielders sprinted over to the left side of the infield at the last minute to try to protect that entire side of the diamond. Matt G. made an incredible throw to the plate from deep in left field, but Dan K. came in high and hard like Pete Rose and jarred the ball loose. Pretty much kinda like that. I was quite worried he wouldn't make it, especially when he smashed into the wire fence "dugout" after rounding third. It was a little reminiscent of Sid Bream scoring on Francisco Cabrera's single to put the Braves in the 1992 World Series.

After the game, Big Jim Lang and I sat in the dugout, collecting our belongings and wondering what exactly cost us the game. I offered up an apology for my big fuckup. It went something like this:

Me: Shit, that was a tough one tonight. I really messed it up with that bad throw to second.
BJL: Oh, yeah. That was the game right there.
Me: Thanks.

T.W.I.S. Notes:

-Ambrose can no longer throw the ball. He claims to be experiencing no pain, but his throws are just terrible. I feel OK about this.

-Matt redefined "minimum effort" on a one-out grounder back to the mound. When the batting team is supplying a pitcher (its other simple duty), the pitcher is supposed to give a minimum effort in fielding his position. Most of us are comfortable with this concept from our work experience, but some truly take it to another level. On this play, Matt could have thrown home for an easy out (or a potential hotbox), or he could have thrown to second for an easy force, but instead, he took the out at first, allowing the run to score and the lead runner to advance. However, he did it with such calm smoothness, nobody on the other team really had the nerve to invoke the "sub-minimal effort" rule. It was like they were mesmerized. The run counted. Well done, Matt.

-Nothing quite like the sound of softball hitting little girl, not even the trappy sound.

-There were two bizarre urinating incidents. I will spare names and details, but come on, people. If you need to piss, remember that's what they made the desolate sidewalk down the block for. You're acting like a bunch of common soccer players.

-Some Dude playing CF had a terrific jumping catch that protected the fence from further damage - I liked that play. Otherwise, nothing too special vis-a-vis the leather. There was a beautiful girl in the stands for part of the game. I did not see her as she left, but I hope she's with a good man.

-Alexi looked like Yaz out in left; he has completely mastered the art of playing the ball off the Wire Monster.

-Ambrose beat The Shift with a hilarious, victorious, intentional check swing blooper to left field. Mark seemed upset by this obvious abuse of the rules, or at least the spirit, of the game. He grumbled mildly and and made a whiny face, even though his team was ahead something like 7-0 at the time. I saw that, Mark. You just cost yourself a game ball. Too bad, you had a hell of a week.

-Chris Lee was pounding the ball, especially when he heard or saw pretty girls by the fence, though they may not have been girls.

-*Item removed at D. Lee's request

-Recap Dan made an amazing backhanded stop at 3rd and nailed the lead runner at 2nd. Well done, especially for a guy wearing a first baseman's mitt and a ratty O.S.U. hat.

-Speaking of hard-ons, I am typing these words with one of my very own. I am thinking of that beautiful, mushy, malleable, pliable gray ball we played with on Sunday. It was like clay, like the ass of a girl I once knew: you could pinch it and your fingers would meet. That ball deserves its own card, its own page on Verbungle.

-Injury report: AJR's arm looked awful, and despite some good hustle, it looks like the arm is done for the season. SRC threw someone out from RF, so the howitzer may be on the mend. We'll see. My arm feels great, but I can't hit worth a damn. I think it's because I have a sore wrist. I also think it's because I suck.

Game ball:

In what will be known as the Jordan exemption, Justin will be ineligible for the game ball from now on as well. He is the best player every week, and the game ball will be given to the Best Player Besides Justin.

Close runner up was Big Handsome, who made what will probably be his only appearance of the season, as he lives in California, where he is known as Big Average Lookin'. He smashed the ball the way you should if your nickname is Big Anything.

Game ball to Little Girl for taking one for the team and striking fear into the hearts of those shitbird soccer players.

Soccer players. Gas face. Again.

8.13.06: Ambrushed

2006-08-14T20:01:00.000-07:00

By Kissel

It was an absolutely beautiful night at JJ Walker field, perhaps the best weather we have had all year. It was unclear if we would have a full compliment of players, and at the time that DLee and PeteB moved to the deliberation chamber to choose up sides, we had only 14 guys. Eventually, some late comers would show up, bringing the final number to 17.

Team names were not used during the game. For the sake of discussion, we will call DLee's team Sgt. Elias and PeteB's team Sgt. Barnes. Those who recall the movie Platoon will note that Barnes ambushed Elias, and the same fate would befall DLee's squad. At first sight, it appeared that Elias was a bomb squad, with mashers like Justin, Hussar, DLee and Deion.

Barnes also had a tough team (PeteB, Lex, Wazzo, Evan, Doug, CSDave, Matt H, Andrew C), but somehow we were confident, too confident, of victory. In the first inning, that overconfidence seemed to be justified; Elias put up 8 runs with only one out, capped off by Justin's massive CSHR that landed on the far side of St. Lukes Place (Leroy Street). Evan came in in relief and put out the fire, but it looked like it would be a laugher for Elias. The movie tagline for Platoon was "The First Casuality of War is Innocence." The first casuality of this war would be arrogance.

Our swagger only brought out the competitive spirit in Barnes. By the end of the second inning, the score was 8-5. Then the wheels came off the Elias cart. Barnes busted out with a 13 run third. Much of the rally was aided by inept defense on the part of the Elias squad, and Team Barnes took full advantage. Balls not booted by Elias, were crushed by Barnes. PeteB hit the first of 2 CSHRs, and I believe Andrew C also had a CSHR.

With the score 18-8, DLee and company finally realized that this was going to be a real battle, one that they would likely lose. You can tell when DLee gets serious by the fact that democratic defensive positioning gets tossed out in favor of a rigid defensive alignment. It didn't help. Team Barnes utilized a trio of tough pitchers to baffle Elias. Doug and Wazzo used the spin ball to great effect, and Matt H. used speed and location (his location-he stood about 5 feet from home plate) to stifle the Elias bats. DLee, still confident of a comeback, allowed
latecomer James to join the already dominating Barnes squad. He promptly crushed a CSHR that earned him the "Better Get Maaco" award by denting a parked car.

On a play that typified the evening that Team Elias was having, Deion, playing left field, lost a ball in the lights. After calling off DLee, he charged in, but then dropped to his knees, and held both arms up in the air. A perfect rendition of the Willem Dafoe's death pose as the ball bounced in front of him. Despite a last inning mini-rally, Barnes crushed Elias 26-16.

***

TWIB Notes:

1)As mentioned, Pete had 2 CSHR's. The first was a meaty semi-line drive that easily cleared the trees, and the second was a moon shot that traveled a linear distance of 400 feet. He also hit what appeared to be an uncalled HR, but it was ruled foul. That led to a rule change: any
non-called shot that clears the fence ends the inning. We will see if that rule sticks.

2)CSDave had a nice game in the field, especially the infield, making several nice pickups and throws over to first.

3)Andrew C is a fearsome hitter, and his glove was sharp too. He came within one foot or less of a scoreboard shot. He also told me that he has decided to not step into any pitches for fear of another IEHR. He also came through with pork rinds and beer.
4)One bright spot for Elias was Kissel Sr., who hit the highest portion of the center field fence twice, and came just short of a opposite field CSHR. This prompted DLee to ask if he was on the juice. He also made a diving stop at second complete with a throw over to first from his back that nearly caught the runner.

5)James hit perhaps the hardest laser-beam shot off the fence that I have ever seen. He blamed his aggression on being stuck in traffic for 2 hours.

6)Hussar was a Hoover at third making some awesome plays.

7)DLee hit a nice shot that looked destined to be a CSHR but was eaten and spit out by the tree
in left field.

8.6.6: Let's Play Two, I Mean One

2006-08-06T21:42:00.000-07:00

First of all, and most importantly, THERE WERE TWO GAMES TONIGHT. If we get nuked tomorrow and this blog post is all that remains of what was a wild and stupid Sunday night of softball, let our children remember that we won Game 1 5-4 and they won Game 2 something like 9-6.

We were up 5-0 going into the top of the "9th" in Game 1. We all agreed that it was their last chance to tie the score. They rallied, and came up with 4 runs, but when I caught a fly ball to center to end the inning, THE GAME WAS OVER. I threw the ball in to the infield behind my back in celebration and got ready for Game 2. OVER. GAME 1. OVER.

Then they were all, no, let's keep playing wah wah wah and so we reluctantly agreed. We put down the mushy ball and switched to a much harder ball that gave their big bats an edge. And they put a hurtin' on us. But it should have been the second game, and so it officially will be.

We came back in the bottom of the 9th and cut the lead to 9-6 (13-11) with one out, but then AC hit a GEHR and that was that.

I suggested Ray Parker Jr. and Huey Lewis as team names but DLee said it was too obscure. oh well, I'm going with it anyway.

Now on to the non-recap:

My JV baseball coach Mr. Piazza* was a real character, a classic hardass with a heart of gold. He had that Bobby Knight thing where you hated him but you loved him at the same time and you'd do anything to gain his approval. He had a saying, "After nine innings, if you don't smell like a homeless person, you ain't hustling."

Well, Coach Piazza, I must have hustled tonight, because when I got home I reeked of beer, urine, sweat, and maybe even a little unidentifiable general homelessness. And I wasn't alone.
The stench was with us tonight, and I doubt there was a person out there who could look me in the eye and say "It wasn't me."

Coach P. also used to make a big point about "No matter how you played today, there was something you could have done better and something you could have done worse." The morning after every game he'd leave a note in each of our lockers with the paper divided in half by a line. In the left hand column it was "Things you should be ashamed of" and on the right it was "Things you should be proud of."

Ok, Coach P., this 18-player postgame evaluation is for you. No order, and remember that I was kinda drunk.

1) Ambrose:
Should be ashamed of: failing to run out his infield dink shot in a close game (he'd have easily been safe); failing to come up with a better excuse than "I don't take charity"; threatening to call a strike on John Red Sox fan when John did his usual semi-swing at the first pitch of an at-bat.
Should be proud of: almost killing a couple of soccer players with a hard hit shot to right; running hard and fast several times; consuming 24 ounces of beer in under three minutes after the game ended.
2) Joe M.:
Ashamed: failing to acknowledge that Game 1 was a legitimate, self-contained piece of history; attempting to switch balls to gain an edge.
Proud: an amazing play at third base, reaching behind the bag to snare the ball and then firing a strike to get the dude at first; driving me home from the game; bringing beers.
3) DLee:
Ashamed: failing to acknowledge Game 1's legitimacy; somehow avoiding playing catcher for more than a minute or two; denying my Ray Parker Huey Lewis team names after I gave his suggested names from a coule weeks back big kwachas.
Proud: finding his hitting stroke; making a great play at third that was ruined when Matt Danbuddy dropped his perfect throw; inviting Kathy.
4) Matt D.:
Ashamed: dropping DLee's perfect throw; misplaying a couple balls at first; throwing his weird junkballs up there when he was pitching.
Proud: bringing a bat; lining some nice hits all over the field; being a nice guy.
5) Cigarette-smoking Dave:
Ashamed: Wearing jeans to the game; pitching real bad; cursing when he made an out.
Proud: Showing some good intensity; helping keep good mushy balls in play.
6) James:
Ashamed: Not living up to his Bunyanesque status -- failed to hit a mushy-ball CSHR.
Proud:hitting some terrifying shots as usual; showcasing primal, beastlike ability; spreading goodwill.
7) Doug:
Proud: Solid overall play including a couple of big hits in their rally innings; constructive "bitching and whining" at soccer ref.
Ashamed: using term "bitching and whining" to describe his own actions.
8) Hussar:
Ashamed: thrown out trying to take extra bases approximately 17 times; tried to murder Wazzo as Wazzo rounded third.
Proud: on base almost every time and hit several mushy balls to deep outfield; played some nice overall ball.
9) Leigh:
Ashamed: failing to muscle up and smack one out despite arriving in muscle-showcasing wifebeater.
Proud: improved D and fine, samurai-like HR call.
10) Dan K.:
Ashamed: failing to hit huge CSHR even after I offered to touch him in his special place if he did so.
Proud: Solid hitting and fielding; best line of the night: "Since this game was so close, why don't we just continue it next week?"
11) Wazzo:
Ashamed: not hitting any freaky Australian CSHR's.
Proud: Great play at 3rd to get us out of a scary inning; good speed on bases; bringing beers.
12) Red Sox John:
Ashamed: wearing jeans to a softball game; taking too long in the batter's box; not charging the ball in the infield; liking the Red Sox.
Proud: some decent rips and two absolute game-saving plays in leftfield, both in the same inning.
13) Kissel Sr.:
Ashamed: jeans, Red Sox; playing too close to the fence in the OF.
Proud: Some excellent hitting, including a beautiful double to right field; continuing to prove that he is the best opposite field hitter there is.
14) Me:
Ashamed: several errors, including the first two plays of the game and a dropped throw from Dan K. on a play where we could have nailed James at the plate; not putting up a stink when they failed to acknowledge our Game 1 win; being drunk; wearing the same outfit I wear every week.
Proud: Brought beer, pretzels; got some good hits and knocked in a few dudes.
15) Pete B.
Ashamed: letting his anti-soccer player rage get the better of him, causing him to strike out; spiking the ball in the outfield for no good reason, allowing a run to score.
Proud: the game's only CSHR, a real nice meaty shot that I think may still be stuck up in the softball tree; fine play overall; screaming at the stupid fucking softball players several times.
16) Evan:
Ashamed: Nothing
Proud: A couple of good hits; a tremendous over the shoulder catch on a popup with men on base; generally intelligent conversation.
17) Andrew C.:
Ashamed: two IEHR's, including the game-ender; wearing a football jersey to a softball game.
Proud: two nice IEHR's; a mushy ball shot to left center that would have gone 450 feet with a regular ball; brought beer and snacks, including pork rinds.
18) Kathy:
Ashamed: not playing quite as well as she did last time; wearing baseball pants.
Proud: a great barehanded pickup and throw to first; wearing baseball pants.

There you have it. A doubleheader split. Work on your weaknesses and we'll see you next week.

* I never had a coach named Mr. Piazza. I never had a coach, period. I have never played one second of organized sports. Anybody else with me on that?

7.30.6: I Want To Kiss You

2006-08-01T19:58:00.000-07:00

tha pbdotc: is it me or does it smell like No. 2 in here?
darvin ham: haha
darvin ham: there will be 20.000 bottles of that shipped out to india this time next year
darvin ham: reecap today? a bit lsater on?
tha pbdotc: i kind of like the smell of old No. 2
tha pbdotc: oh, this is the recap MAng!!!
darvin ham: ill wait for the Zimmer fragrance
tha pbdotc: eau de Helmet
darvin ham: deer urine and listerine
darvin ham: you can float your dentures in it
tha pbdotc: hey who gets your game ball?
darvin ham: the guy
tha pbdotc: that guy?
darvin ham: yup
tha pbdotc: the guy who had the hit?
darvin ham: the drunk guy
tha pbdotc: oooohhh yeah ... kissel aka dave
tha pbdotc: oh he was in mint form
darvin ham: i thionk he was drunk. at least thats what i tell myself. makes me more comfortable about him staggering over and saying "I want to kiss you"
tha pbdotc: he kissed you too? hans gave him his only bottle of gatorade after the game so he could hydrate
darvin ham: dave had some clutch cracks though. the juice suits him
darvin ham: i sensed massive testosterone spike
tha pbdotc: plus the diving stab at 2nd and the turn and throw and fall down
tha pbdotc: the game also featured the first-ever IIEHR*
tha pbdotc: * intentional inning-ending home run
tha pbdotc: from the bat of Just
darvin ham: very noble.
tha pbdotc: how bout Test vs. Tost? for team namez?
darvin ham: [work calling]
darvin ham: [i may go dormant for strecthes with work]
tha pbdotc: we'll take this easy like sunday morning
darvin ham: speaking of game balls, that ball was the softest yet. i saw more bounce in a goat carcass in a game of Afghan Buzkashi i played in 02
tha pbdotc: are you doing a graphic of castro wrapped in a large intestine for your page?
darvin ham: i was in afghanistan for a story. it was weird. Warren was there
darvin ham: he said he was a "translator" but wouldnt let me take his picture
darvin ham: he also slept in a spider hole and tackled a spooked camel with his bare hands
tha pbdotc: did you see what spooked the camel?
darvin ham: i think i spooked it. i spooked a few people that day. it was hot so i was wearing my rasheed wallace bullets jersey and nothing else
darvin ham: i call this photo "fear pouch"
tha pbdotc: btw warren is a nice player ... i mean for a CIA agent.
tha pbdotc: HTat is one of my favorite pics!!!
darvin ham: he had that leaping snare late in the game
darvin ham: he must haave thought he was back playing cricket as a Grammar boy, playing Silly Mid-Off
tha pbdotc: i hear his nickname in astoria is OMnibus because he'll play any sport with a ball in it except waterpolo
darvin ham: its a real position, you can look it up
darvin ham: nice
tha pbdotc: you have to have a midoff when your bowler is spinning googlies
darvin ham: is that because of the jellyfish in the astoria pool?
tha pbdotc: thoooooose aren't jelllllllly fish!!
tha pbdotc: who was the guy with the 'red sox fan for life shirt'?
tha pbdotc: he made a nice, athletic play at first
darvin ham: hes no kathy
tha pbdotc: kathy hasn't been there lately she's working on her "Ripken Way for Girls" instructional DVd
darvin ham: i think we need a mascot.
darvin ham: people should hop on the comments board and suggest mascot names
tha pbdotc: agreed. best mascot name in Hans's judgment will receive 5 Verbungle Genius Points
darvin ham: and a bat boy
darvin ham: maybe Mathew Brodericks kid
tha pbdotc: how bout an Irishman named Clincher McDrinky for mascot
darvin ham: we wouldnt even need a costume
darvin ham: and we need to sell naming rights to the field
darvin ham: maybe to a pork rind manufracturer
tha pbdotc: we could change the generic scoreboard to an AD for rindz
tha pbdotc: and if you hit it the loudspeakers go OINK OINK each base as you touch em all
darvin ham: heres our mascot
tha pbdotc: Rindy
tha pbdotc: do you remember any other in-game feats?
tha pbdotc: i know Hussar made a good catch in right cuz i made the outdarvin ham: Danny made a fancyboy polay at short
darvin ham: in the tips oif the webbing and a spinning throw
darvin ham: he even looked like he had impressed himselftha pbdotc: indeed that was a good one ... he got a golf clap
tha pbdotc: that was just prior to the onslaught
darvin ham: and he think he had a tough grab in the field
darvin ham: there was a nice grab, maynbe by justin? at second
darvin ham: on a low line drive
tha pbdotc: Danny gets the Game Ball!
tha pbdotc: justin is like a vacuum out there
darvin ham: i feel like manute bol when i play 3rd
tha pbdotc: too tall?
darvin ham: big heart, long legs, comical play
tha pbdotc: i saw one go under the reggie mitt. but later on you threw a BB from dead CF right into my mitt at 3rd
darvin ham: im like a circus freak. not the kind of cirecus freak you want in the infield though
darvin ham: not like some circus lady with giant vagina hands
darvin ham: that would be better
tha pbdotc: baseball is like that. lots of ups and downs. i think harold reynolds once said, "baseball is a crazy game: you never know when you'll make an out and you never know when you'll bang an intern."
tha pbdotc: hey did you get the digital stills onto your computer?
darvin ham: let me try now
tha pbdotc: okay ... send em to me or bungmeister at verbungle dot com
tha pbdotc: that's hans's work email
tha pbdotc: and i'll catchya later ... must begin my day of toil
darvin ham: cool. ive got to work up an interactive web feature at work
darvin ham: its a photoessay on "The F**king Jews of Malibu"
tha pbdotc: lol
tha pbdotc: that'll go down in history with the yeltsin obit

Editors Note: Our team, Time, beat D. Lee's team, All Living Things, 12-5 and 4-3 in the two games of the twinbill. 18 men showed up. D. Lee and I both hit CSHR's in game 1. Not sure about anybody else. Pics courtesy of James and Leigh in no particular order. I have more pics if you want 'em, let me know and I will email you.

7.23.6: Crying Tiger, Hidden Tall Boy

2006-07-23T21:24:00.000-07:00

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?

7.16.6: Free Beer Tomorrow

2006-07-19T22:44:00.000-07:00

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.

7.9.6: Tarp Up, Bitches

2006-07-11T21:56:00.000-07:00

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.

7.2.6: power of the rainbow

2006-07-03T10:41:00.000-07:00

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

6.4.6: To be Named Later

2006-06-05T22:49:00.000-07:00

By Pete B.

First of all, sorry. Sorry to "the other team." (Did we ever choose team names?) In the early going, I insisted there were two out. But there was only one out. And I got kind of mad about it. I might have uttered a swear word. But I was wrong. Jon in fact did not catch the liner to CF. Jon even informed me in the dugout afterward that I in fact fielded the dropped liner. I have no memory of this and quite honestly, this scares me. Anyway, my bad. At least I wasn't arguing in bad faith, I really actually thought there were two out.

Softball was fun on Sunday. It was good to have D. Lee back. He looked all tanned and whatnot; braised by the Italian sun. I could tell he was kind of holding back because it's clear he bedded like nineteen olive-skinned Tuscan virgins and he just didn't want to make us jealous. His game was a tiny bit rusty too -- lots of ill-advised attempts to throw out the lead runner when it's clear in Jimmy Walker land the smart play is to keep the tailing runner from advancing to second.

In fact, one would think there was a new stat for assists given the number of times "our team" tried to throw out a runner and cost us runs instead. This is not a knock on D. Lee because his game is tight and even with a little rust, he's the man.

And I know it's not even that important who wins and who doesn't, but if you are trying to gun down runners, you better have a play, that's all I gotta say, cuz I'm not chasing down your poorly thrown attempts at glory. I'm a fielder, not a golden retriever.

Ernest and his (expanding) crew showed up for more and -- ain't it a bitch? -- Ernest popped a hammy trying to beat out a double play ball. Ernest's young son (pretty sure it's his son) Terrence pinch-ran for the E man the rest of the way. And with the pressure off, Ernest was hitting like another famous right-handed E--man who couldn't run but boy could he mash. For 6 Verbungle GP's can you name him? I'm stoked he brought like three bodies, not including the pinch runner, because we needed players, but I'm not sure if anybody has brought up the bad news yet to Ernest and Company that it ain't free to play. Maybe it doesn't matter; it doesn't really matter too much to me.

James was back for more and he provided an impressive display of raw power with an IEHR in approximately the 7th inning using the softest, mashtest, assiest ball I've ever seen. Most of us couldn't get it out of the infield. Anyway he got hold of it and deposited it in the garden out in left for a first-pitch IEHR. Ouch. The proved to be a bad break for "the other team" because "our team" came up in the bottom of said inning and promptly banged out seven runs using the livelier ball that entered into play, erasing a 5-2 deficit and pulling ahead by 9-5.

We almost ran the Puma to death out there in left; he had to field about ten balls.

Dan Kois made it to the game and he was raking line drives all over the joint. Some of them found mitts, some didn't. He made a couple of nifty picks at third and he has the "cross diamond sling" down pat.

Chris Hussar also made it. What can you say about this guy? He's the David Wright of Bungleball ... just an infectious character who knows what it's all about and he packs the game to boot. At short stop for "the other team," he had us on level six lockdown until the lively ball entered into play, turning DP's like it was going out of style not to mention slapping BBs off the wall in left center.

At 8:40 p.m. the skies opened up and by the time we had it all packed in and the soccer players were taking the field, things were getting good n soggy. The soccer players were pretty well-behaved actually. Nobody ran onto the field of play. But I have never seen so much gear for such a low-rent game. Doods were all sporting like $100 game jerseys. It's World Cup fever...

Other CSHRs included Jon's post-HR reset called grand salami*, my 2-run job, which I'm told hit two cars and set off a car alarm, and Deion's mashus collusus, with two out in the last and the rain coming down, after which it was agreed the game was OVER.

Final Score: Our Team 12, The Other Team 6

* I'm 98 percent sure it was Jon, but correct me if I'm wrong

Hans's addendum: since I wasn't at this game (DNP-sniffles) and the scorecard was in my possession, I can only assume that no stats were kept. I am open to suggestions on how to handle this. We could allow it to derail the entire stat-keeping process, but I'd rather not let that happen. My first thought is we treat this game as an "exhibition game" but I don't want to sell short the efforts of the fine men (and children) who showed up and played. I also like the idea of only counting HR's from this game, and nothing else -- maybe an "ACSHR" column for Anecdotal Called Shot Home Runs? Please tell us your thoughts.

5.28.6: Can We Get A Jimmy Key?

2006-05-29T22:46:00.000-07:00

By Ambrose

BOX SCORE
LEADERS

First things first - on this Memorial Day weekend, before there's any talk of our feats and accomplishments on the turf at Jimmy Walker Park (and there were many), let's give a shout-out to, pour a little of the 40 out for (I'm enjoying one as I type this), everybody serving in Iraq and Afghanistan right now. Whether you're Blue or Red, pro- or anti-war, blogger or reader, top or bottom, it's impossible to be against a sincere wish that no one dies in combat, for any reason. Good luck to our armed forces, both on the battlefield and in the bars of Manhattan tonight (it's Fleet Week).

But enough sentiment - on to the ball!

Tonight was, naturally, Roe v. Wade (or, as some doofus wrote for Game 2: "Wade v. Rode," which is less historically accurate but probably a better description of what actually happened to Roe).

That there were any games to recap at all is a surprise. The owners had evidently locked the players out. The park was tighter than a virgin on prom night. How is it we don't have a key? Didn't we pony up $40 a head to use the goddam field? Luckily, Hans and I espied a chink in the field's armor (I know: racist), and thus did a group of grown men... lawyers, professors, writers, TV producers, architects, power-bottoms, and promiscuous college students... perform a kind of limbo beneath a section of chain-link fence. It felt very early-80s, if you ask me. We should have all gone for a Chipwich instead, listened to Yaz, talked about what we'd do when we were grown-ups.

Game One felt like a bunch of boys playing against their older brothers. Roe, my team, managed only five hits in as many innings. Our opponent scored more than that - eight runs, to be precise. The ball was, to borrow a term, "assy" as hell (or was it "assey"?) and wasn't jumping off the bat. The kind of ball you need to place well. We didn't. Futility at hitting a softball feels like the worst kind of impotence. And wouldn't you know it, didn't my wife choose this very night to come to her first game in at least five years? Another childless summer. Wade pummels Roe, 8-2. Somewhere, Antonin Scalia is smiling.

And yet Game Two was worse. It was more like playing your Alzheimer's-addled granddad in a game of "Simon" (remember that, you children of the 80s?). I couldn't remember how to field a groundball, Dinny couldn't remember how to catch a pop-up, and no one could remember how to hit a ball that seemed to be filled with sand. Of course, Wade slapped the old beanbag around the field with impunity, mounting rally after rally, and cruising to an easy 9-0 win.

Let's now pour what's left of that 40 out in memory of the athletic careers of myself, Dinny, Steve, and a few others. When I was a kid, I followed the Mets. I recall being astounded that analysts thought Keith Hernandez was over the hill at age 35. I couldn't conceive of a reason a player would hit a wall at such an age. Now I'm amazed anyone lasts that long.

Game One Ball goes to James, for a gallant 4-4 performance full of several rips right down the third-base line... moreover, it was his first baseball or softball game in years. Now ice that elbow down.

Game two ball goes to Jon, for a 4 for 4 night of his own in the face of several never-before seen defensive schemes concocted by Dinny (who knew a box-and-one zone could be used on a softball diamond?).

5.21.6: It Ain't Raining

2006-05-21T23:20:00.000-07:00

BOX SCORE
LEADERS

Crack open a history book and have a close look: tucked in among the stories of war, slavery, famine and oppression you might just find a few reminders of what the human race is capable of when people work together towards a common goal. The Freakin’ Pyramids, for instance. The Great Wall of China. That crazy-ass indoor ski park in Dubai. Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

And now, on the page covering May 21st, 2006, you'll find a tale of 14 men getting together to play a game of good softball on a night when it was less than 70 degrees outside and it had rained earlier in the day. We can do it! Be a part of it!

What makes this achievement even more remarkable are the names of some regulars who were absent.

Out: D. Lee, chilling in the Tuscan countryside with a bottle of vino, scribbling notes into the margins of his in-progress NBA Draft Preview.

Out: Ambrose, preserving his stats and shaking his moneymaker at a gay wedding in Massachusetts.

Out: Deion, possibly still stuck in traffic.

Out: Tin Man, off in an underground batting cage somewhere helping the Mantis plot his comeback.

Out: Joe Monkeyweb, once again the victim of The Man's unquenchable appetite for labor and production.

Here's how Joe's week usually goes, as far as I can tell:

Wednesday: The sign-up sheet goes up. Joe, still a little pissed about having to miss last week's game because of work, immediately puts himself in as a "Yes." There's no way I'm missing another game for work. Fuck that, he thinks, I have a life.

Friday comes, and The Man calls Joe into his office. The news isn't good. Infuriated, Joe privately maintains that he will still be free in time for softball, but posts the first of his many status updates to the website: "In-work permitting" he says cautiously.

At this point, I know he's out, Lumbergh knows he's out, and I suspect even Joe knows he's out. But he still tries to put on a brave face. That's why he's a gamer.

Sunday comes and the work is still raining down on Joe's head. He posts an update: "Looking less and less likely for me."

Finally, after the clouds get thick and it looks like rain, Joe accepts his fate: he'll be tied to a desk until night comes. "Definitely Out" is his final update.

Poor Joe. I feel for you, dude. I guess this is what you have to deal with when you have a real job. If you had stuck it out with me, you'd be free by 3pm on Sunday after overseeing the Chef du Jour set turnaround.

Sorry about that digression. Just making the point that a lot of regulars weren't there but we trudged on and had ourselves some fun.

On to the game.

Like I said, 14 dudes on a 52 degree night that was a little cloudy but never really threatening. Tall Boys were in hand. Dan K. showed up munching on a chocolate ice cream cone. Evan came and brought a dude named Mark who lives in his building. Good job, Evan. Hussar brought his positive attitude in from Jersey.

As we waited for the Little Leaguers to get off the field, a homeless couple got in a spat on Clarkson street. The man snuck up behind the woman as she walked away, and then he poked her in both ribs. In a voice that resonated with all the sorrow of her miserable lifetime, she screamed, "Don't you fucking touch me! I'm an evil motherfucker! Call the cops! Help!" Then she realized it was her man and got even madder. Eventually they agreed to disagree and they went their separate ways.

All the signs were there for a strong night.

Without D. Lee we were a little lost at first. Pete reluctantly agreed to step in and choose teams with me, and he turned out to be a natural. The teams were evenly matched and the game was tight throughout.

We never got an official set of team names so we are going with Dan K.'s suggestion of Brown v. Board of Education (henceforth BOE).* Since I'm writing this recap, we'll be Brown.

There was a whole bunch of wind blowing around and, as illustrated by 3 accidental inning-enders over the first 3 innings, it was probably blowing out.

BOE threatened to blow the game in each of those first three innings, but only managed a single run in each frame. When I stepped up to the plate with two on and none out in the 3rd, I knew I had to call my shot. And on the first pitch I hit a solid homer out to left, tying the game at 3-3.

Here's the thing: I really enjoy hitting the ball out of JJ Walker field. I know, as a grown man who's over 6 feet tall and close to 300 pounds, I shouldn't. It's like 150 feet. But it feels good. Especially when there are men on base.

So we tied it and blah blah blah and then they scored again blah blah and some guy made a nice play here and there and then blah blah and we came back again and took the lead whatevs and then when we were in like the 6th inning Leigh came up and called his shot and muscled out a towering blast to dead center to give BOE the lead for good.

That put them up 7-6 and then like a minute later Pete was on 3rd and he was like, "That was a big shot." I had already forgotten about Leigh's homer from 30 seconds earlier and assumed that Pete could only be talking about mine from like a half hour earlier. "Mine?" I asked hopefully, honestly moved that he was still marveling at my 158 footer from the 3rd.

"Um, no...Leigh's," Pete said incredulously.

Another unwanted reminder that there are other people in the world besides me. Whatever the case, BOE tacked on a couple more and went on to win Game 1, 9-6.

Game 2 was one of those laughers that got out of hand pretty early. New Guy Mark's girlfriend actually showed up at the field and told him he better get his ass home, which may be a first in Leroyball history. Not even the angry cellphone call -- she hit him with the full-on in-person swing-by. Completely humiliating, if that's what really happened. We'll have to check back with New Guy Mark, if he ever shows up again. Once he left it was 7 on 6 and we donated them an extra fielder when we batted. The extra fielder (which was a composite of several of us) did a rather poor job and helped Brown score a bunch of unearned runs, and Kissel launched his first called shot of the season, and the final was like 7-1 or something in an abbreviated 4 inning 2nd game.

TWIS NOTES:

-The soccer players are getting out of hand. They made several snide and wholly incorrect comments about how we had played past 9:00 last week (wtf? that was our mother's day debacle when 7 guys showed up. plus we've never played past nine. maybe the dude is stuck on GMT) and they encroached annoyingly down the line in right. I did turn around and bat lefty once Game 2 was out of hand so I could take a couple potshots at them. I managed to hit one screamer that almost decapitated a few of them, which was even more satisfying than my 158 foot homer. Stupidly, I yelled "Heads Up" and they managed to get out of the way. There will be major beef with these guys very shortly. They need to understand the rules of the park and respect our permit-granted rights, and maybe line drive to the head is the only language we can both speak fluently.

-Justin is a ridiculous player. He was roaming CF like an antelope. He leaped up against the fence to rob us of one hit, and he made several other big plays as well. At one point after he effortlesly cruised about 80 feet to catch a looper, I said to Adam R., "Would a major leaguer look much different than that while chasing down a flyball?" Adam said no, probably not.

-Doug gets a gold star for climbing into the garden/bocce area at the end of the night to retrieve two of our balls. He also had 4 hits in Game 1. Climbers are key. Without Original Mark, it's down to Doug and Deion. They deserve something extra for their troubles. Next week I will bring them each a donut of their choice, and one for Original Mark if he re-enters the fold.

-Jon R. may be my favorite player. He's fast as hell and has plenty of skill but he's got some weird clumsy streak that causes him to take huge awkward dramatic spills where it looks like all his limbs are gonna pop off and roll around. Tonight he took one at first and one at third. He's also a hell of a nice guy.

-Justin hit a gargantuan homer that somehow failed to be entered in the box score. I think it was in Game 2 and it went so far out of the field that it reminded me just how teeny our little park is and how chintzy my homers are in comparison. It was both awesome and humbling.

-Evan had an off night with the bat but played some excellent D, including a nice play on a line drive and an over the shoulder Jeter-style catch on a popup.

-Leigh is the opposite: his D remains shaky as he wrestles with the middle-aged man's understandable reluctance to buy new glove, but his bat is lethal. He can rip it.

-Pete B. was all over the field in both games, and he went 5 for 5 in game 1. He has established himself in the top non-Justin tier among Leroy ballplayers. Right now I'd put him and Jon R. there for their athleticism and all-around play. Julian might be getting there but we need to scout him a little more. Oh, and you. You're there.

-Dan K. had a strong all-around game as well. He's one of the better early-round picks you can make because he's always on base. He's got a swing that was custom built for Clarkson, hard liners every time. He did manage his annual drive off the fence in this game, too, and it was in a called-shot situation. Maybe next year.

-I hereby put forth a motion that if Game 1 is close and it's around 8:10, we just play one game instead of two. The second game is sometimes a rushed dud. I would say we can reset the called shots at 8 o'clock but the park is closed at that point so all balls hit into the park require a climb.

-The Puma had another good night at the plate, but he proved his real value in directing street-retrievers away from the garden before they threw our balls back to us. Incredible, it was like he had the Jedi mind trick going out there. Pete observed that Lex could probably be bringing in 747's if the architecture career falls through.

-The Kissel brothers are breaking down physically. I hope we can get a full season out of them. Kissel Jr. has a serious wrist injury and big bro Adam is all banged up as well. But they are toughing it out for the glory of love.

-Game Balls:
Game 1: Pete/Leigh
Game 2: Hussar/Kissel Jr.

-I'm not gonna harp on the scorekeeping because I know it's a pain. I will however gently remind you to please make sure you mark down runs and rbi's. It helps.

***New Feature***

Recapilogue:

When the game was over and all the ballplayers had gone home, I noticed that I still had three Tall Boys left in my Tall Boy sack. Without Deion and Ambrose there I guess our Tall Boy consumption was down a little bit.

Since I was going to ride my bike home and I had to pick up some stuff at Whole Foods, the idea of lugging three Tall Boys home with me didn't make a lot of sense. I considered leaving them on top of one of them newspaper dispenser things and letting some hobo make a wonderful discovery. Then I decided that such a move would be much better if I could be there to present the hobo with his Tall Boys, so I could actually see his face light up.

Then I was like, what the hell is the matter with me? I'm treating hobos like doggies, tossing them a little treat in exchange for some weird sense of superiority. Plus, if a guy is all down and out on the street and he's addicted to booze, should I really be giving him more booze?

The answer: probably yes.

But I didn't feel right about it so I crammed the tall boys into my gym bag and got on the bike for the ride home.

I rode down Leroy and passed the Village Tavern on Bedford. The Yankee-Met game was on. I slammed on the brakes. Jeter was up, 4th ininng, 2 outs, men on 2nd and 3rd. I had a perfect view through the window.

So I cracked open one of the Tall Boys and drank some of it while I watched the game. Jeter came through with an RBI single. Then Giambi walked. Then A-Rod lined out and it was time for me to go. I rode home through the cool night, taking tugs on my brown-bagged Tall Boy the whole way. Breeze, Bike, Bud. No worries. It was as close as a man can come to Spicoli's model of complete personal satisfaction.

I rode east across 8th street and headed up University Place, passing the spot where nearly every day for four years on the walk home from high school the Puma would hand me his leftover Twix wrapper and I would inexplicably take it. As I hit 11th street I drained the last of my Tall Boy save a half ounce of backwash. As I hit 12th I spied a garbage can on the right hand side of the street, next to a streetlamp. The window of opportunity was small. The lamppost was blocking about half of the can, leaving only a sliver of can available to me. I knew I had to attempt the shot, and of course I knew that slowing down would be cheating. At around 19 mph, I let it fly. Money. I thought of that line from the first Lethal Weapon movie: Ten guys in the world coulda made that shot.

I went to the store and bought food for the nanny and then I rode home buzzed and content.

* Although perhaps using this name frivolously is inappropriate.

5.14.6: You Don't Need a Weatherman

2006-05-15T23:48:00.000-07:00

By Pete B.

To all those dads who sneak out on Sunday to play softball and leave Mom & the kid(s) at home to sort out the bath & the pj's, the DVD player, and the homework, you are hereby absolved for staying home on Mother's Day. However, the single most insidious thing about Mother's Day in my book is it always falls on a Sunday, which means it always packs a punch in terms of its high guilt factor and its rampant commercialism. But I might as well be telling you the Sun sets in the West; you already know and there's not much you can do about it.

If you had planned to play and decided against it because some weatherman told you it was going to rain, I want to give some friendly advice: Don't listen to the weatherman on TV, please. Those guys are instructed by their bosses to hype 'weather events' because they are in a constant fight for ratings. They are always going to err on the side of predicting bad weather, and that's what they did yesterday. This isn't a myth; it's a true fact about the news business and god knows I know it firsthand. You just can't trust the weatherman with a key decision like that; not only is he generally kind of dumb, but he's also not acting in your best interests. Instead, I recommend going on the computer and checking out Accuweather and clicking on the 'local radar' page. This page never fails to give you reliable information on whether it will rain in the next few hours; one time using Accuweather animated radar I predicted the arrival of a summer thundershower within five minutes of its arrival and departure. The weatherman is fine for getting comme ci comme ca forecasts for a few days out, but when it gets down to the nitty gritty, you want to go with the Internet.

Softball had these two strong factors working against it Sunday. And the turnout suffered. In the end, we had seven players: myself, Ambrose, Lex, Hans, Evan, Adam and Danny. Adam was depressed because his beloved Red Sox haven't played a game in like weeks but he brought me the news that the Os came back in the 9th to sweep the lowly Royals. Julian showed up for about 15 minutes but left when it became clear there would be no game. I myself went through a not insignificant amount of trouble to rearrange my sked and show up which makes me either a) a statistical outlier or b) an asshole depending on whether you are into science or not.

What emerged was an extendo batting practice with lots of beer drinking. Thanks again to Hans who brought a six-pack. I generally bring one beer in hopes of just catching a tiny little beer high. But of course I rarely say no to a second if there's another around. I would add that this behavior from Hans is not limited to beer; Hans is one of the world's truly generous people.

During the BP session Danny perfected his behind-the-back catching technique.

There was a hot rumor on the diamond that actress Julia Stiles was in the little park area behind center field. I believe it was confirmed at some point to be accurate. I had to really stress to Ms. Stiles a few years back that she should no longer call my cell phone late at night so I kind of stayed away from that little sideplay.

After an embarrassingly long BP session we hastily arranged a game of 'every man for himself' with six guys in the field, a pitcher throwing overhand, and no catcher. The batter received ghost runners for hits and they advanced as far as he did on subsequent hits. We staggered through two rounds of this and everybody seemed to be enjoying the outright idiocy of it all to a fair extent. The overhand pitching added a tiny element of danger and mystique to what surely would have been a failed attempt to get something lively going at all. It was hard to score runs off the overhand pitching and there was no incentive to take pitches because, with no catcher, the batter had to retrieve the ball. Also, there was a brisk wind pouring in from the power alley in left, which would have made 'called shots' during a regular game a real challenge. This was no July night where the ball jumps off the bat. Ambrose hit the only ball out while batting leftamundo. There were more trick catches and stuff like that; Hans was seen working on his 'glove on head, catch fly ball with bare hand' trick.

At least one bladder was relieved in right field.

After the 'game' we proclaimed ourselves winners and headed into the dark night a little shook by the bad turnout but confident that a moral victory of sorts was achieved in that we hung out and did something, anything long enough to hamper the French speaking soccer players from running wild on the field of play.

5.7.6: The Falcon and The Snowman and The Puma

2006-05-11T23:40:00.000-07:00

By Ambrose

BOX SCORE
LEADERS

.636

That's a mighty number. A landslide in any election. A healthy majority, silent or not. A strong correlative to whatever "1" is. If a given person is 63.6% an asshole, most people would say, with certainty, "Why--ye-es, he's an asshole."

.636 is also Lex's batting average right now. To quote Bull Durham, "that's a career."

Right or wrong, keeping track of stats this year was my idea. It was my wife's idea that we go a step further and play Rotisserie softball amongst ourselves using our own stats - I'm still not sure if she was making fun of me, or us. Either way, bitch, my number one draft choice is Lex. You guys can have your Dannys, your Justins, your Jons, your Richies.. I'll take .636 any day. For god's sake, the man's nickname is "Puma," and it's an unironic one - he is a superb outfielder, probably the best we have along with Justin.

"The Puma." That's a career right there.

Moving on, I have to say, I prefer playing ball when Hans is there. His presence fills me with confidence. He is a man and I am not. I once read somewhere that it takes a boy to admit he is not a man. I am that boy. In a drunken stupor, I once attacked Hans in a bar. He had me in the yoke, thrashing about and begging for mercy within a minute. At the moment I attacked him, however, I had only love in my heart for him. That he remains my friend to this day amazes me. Another time, I punched him in the testicles while he was choking on something. He was looking to me for a slap or two on the back to help dislodge it, but instead he got a solid uppercut to the gonads. I was sure I'd killed him, but I couldn't stop laughing.

Hans still talks to me. Think of that when you're annoyed at a friend for not calling you back quickly enough, or for borrowing your mower and not bringing it back.

I cannot wait for Baby Bungle to grow up so I can tell her about punching her dad in the balls.

I am also dumbstruck by Hans's humble willingness to bat last, even though it obviously hurts his team. Moreover, his Billy Martin-esque micro-managing (shifting one defensive position every three innings - didn't Billy do something like that with Pagliarulo and Meacham back in '85?) inspires me to play harder. I run to first when Hans is my manager. He is obviously thinking several innings ahead at all times. D. Lee's teams usually have no chance, despite his stable of pro athletes. Hans is the straw that stirs my drink.

On to the game, a crisp early-May affair with no Hans anywhere... Falcon vs the Snowman. I am not running anything out, I am not fielding well (though the shouts of 'hit it to Ambrose' have died down a bit), I am sad and looking for leadership. In steps the Puma. Despite leading Christendom in batting average, he takes the time to post a lineup, build a defense, step up like a goddam man.

Snowman got the early lead, with a double by the Australian known as Wazza (Aussies tend to use 'zz' anytime they encounter a person with a double-R in their name. Hence, Jerry becomes Jezzy, Harry becomes Hazza, and Warren becomes Wazza) that brought in a run in the second. The Falcom stormed back, plating four with a string of singles in the next inning.

Snowman brought it to 4-3 in their half of the inning.When the score got to six-all, there was talk of pressing the reset button. (which I intially typed as "rest button," which might be closer to the truth). Cooler heads prevailed, and in the end, the reset came at 8:20pm, and all that was reset was the called-HR capability.

At around 8:45, Snowman erupted with five runs in what was (sort of) the bottom of the ninth. The Falcon had no response. Snowman 12, Falcon, 8.

The World Cup qualifying match (I could be wrong about that) got to begin a couple of minutes early.

Game ball to Wazza, for a fine 5 for 8, 3 RBI performance and just a loose understanding of the rules.

4.30.6: The Two Jakes

2006-05-02T22:07:00.000-07:00

By Joe Monkeyweb

BOX SCORE
LEADERS

Sometimes two lopsided games make for a fun evening. Such was a case at ol' Jimmy Walker Memorial Field and Proving Gound on Sunday evening. It was a nice evening. Not warm, but certainly not too cold. I played in a sweatshirt. Ambrose wore a mock turtleneck. There was a generally laid back kind of vibe the whole time. Some guys showed up late, not much bp. But there wasn't a sense of apathy. Just a bunch of grown men relaxing on a field that only minutes before had played host to a little league game. Play ball!

Before we get into the details, I must take a step back for a moment. I suppose the old adage is correct: bearded transvestite sightings are good for softball. I drove Hans and Ambrose down to the field in the Monkeymobile. We hit a red light at Bowery just north of Houston. We were stopped next to a parked big shiny Escalade-lookin' thing. And out of it stepped a guy who was truly mint. If the Village People had a mafia guy, he'd be it. All done up, jewelry, hairpiece, makeup, sweatsuit. Fantastic. So, he walked into one of the kitchen supply stores on Bowery. Huh? Then Ambrose noticed that the store had trophies in the window. Weird. Then we saw her. She stepped out of the kitchen/trophy store. She was wearing a tight little tanktop-type dress and high heels. And she was showing lots of skin. She also was sporting a full-grown beard. Turns out "she" not so much. Rather "he." We all waved, snd s/he waved back. S/he was awesome, and despite the fact that it was clearly a he, s/he was modest enough to cover his/her possibly erect nipples due to the cool breeze. I hope the point of this story is not lost on you, fair reader.

So, back to the game. It was Jake v. The Fat Man. Pretty good names. The first game was a complete blowout. Fat Man was whacking the ball all over the place, and when it wasn't up the gap, it was right at Ambrose, which was almost as good because he had one of his worst defensive games at Jimmy Walker. Actually, that's unfair, he just had one horrible inning. Poor defense notwithstanding, we managed to get into Jon's head by playing a 1-1 zone on the left side of the infield when he came up. So what if he stroked a base hit where I should have been. We got him thinking and that's important. But it still didn't stop the Fat Man from storming to a 7-0 lead. The crushing blow was a called shot by PtotheBtotheDtotheC. Pete had been muscling out shots during bp, and this was on a windy evening when nothing was carrying. Sho'nuff he hit a blast to left that got caught in the tree, threatened to come back into play, and then plopped softly into the garden. Time to hit the reset button fellas. A quick note: it's damn good to have Doug and Mark back. Those guys can climb like the devil. No more lost Clinchers for us!

So the reset button was hit and Hans called a team meeting. He asked/told us that we would have assigned positions. He made me pitch the whole damn game. But, importantly, Jake came alive. The team had snap! We played with purpose, with abandon, with beer. It was a drubbing; we beat the Fat Man 13-1 behind some good hitting and some better defense. Smooth D by Julian at short. Just a solid all around effort. But kudos to Danny for agreeing to jam the games together to make the 2nd game interesting before the soccermotherfuckers took over the field. (Prediction: near fisticuffs this year between us and the soccer players. Which softballer do you think it will be?) So I guess technically, Jake won 13-8, but I think a win is a win and when you hit that button, it goes in the books.

Injury report: my wrist hurts. What's that injury ballplayers get in their hand from swinging the bat? That one, that's what I've got. Kissel fractured his finger and sprained his wrist on the same arm (separately and within minutes of each other). Hussar came in with a gimpy leg. Hans threw his arm out of its socket, thereby breaking the adhesions.

TWIS Notes:

- The Bad Smell in Left Field ("TBSLF") is starting. Sandals has already started pissing there. I think this may partially answer why softball trees never grow in the garden; the ground is covered in man's piss.
- The Kissel brothers running the basepaths is fun to watch.
- The ball really wasn't carrying.
- Jon noted that the lights are brighter this year and that we need some plywood behind the catcher.
- I think the scoreboard looks more beautiful this year.
- The Fat Man forgot to keep score one inning. Gas Face.
- No baseball pants this week.
- The Tall Boys went down nice.

Player of the Game, game 1: Pete B.

Player of the Game, game 2: Julian.

4.16.6: Meat of Choice

2006-04-17T23:00:00.000-07:00

By Joe Monkeyweb
BOX SCORE
LEAGUE LEADERS

Older. Fatter. Slower. That's me.

And so the gang is back again under the lights at Jimmy Walker. Mostly old faces. Good to see everyone.

It could have been a disaster this evening. It's Easter, we don't have a key, no original permit. But the door was open, the field beckoning to us, Come Play With Me! No problem there. Play Ball!

And play ball we did. A pretty tight game given how early it is in the season. The teams were Ham and Brisket. I'm not sure which team I was on, but we lost 13-12. It was a back and forth battle. We took an early 1-0 lead, and then we had one of those innings and they surged to a 5-1 lead. We chipped a way a bit and made it 5-2, which held for a while. Then some more bullshit happened and it was 5-2. Our team was plucky as hell and we marched back to take the lead by a run. Then they went up by one and later stretched it to 10-7, which became 13-8. In a last fit of resistance, we clawed back to 13-12 with 2 out and 10 minutes to go in the bottom of the "ninth," but there we fell short. We just couldn't overcome the fact that they had two professional athletes on their team.

Given the strength of the other team, we probably should have lost by a lot more, but we had heart and spunk. And we cheated only a tiny bit. I can't hit the ball much further than 70 feet in the air. That's depressing. And I am so gotdam slow that I think it may be faster for me to walk to first than to run. Whatever, I am going to make a concerted effort to improve my hitting this year.

Some notes on the field. Overall, it's in decent shape. However, there's still a fucking pit in the batter's box. We need to fix that. Also, the fucking lights are out in Right Field, which makes it exceedingly difficult to see. Also, it's kind of lonely and cold and spooky in Right Field without the lights. I was sad when I was out there. Left Field doesn't smell bad yet.

Speaking of Left Field, I made a pretty rookie mistake this evening when I let a chick try to throw a homerun ball back in to the field. She was sturdy-lookin' and I felt confident that she could do it. So she wound up and threw the ball, and sure enough--clank!--it bounced off the fence and into the garden where we now know a softball tree will not grow. Gas Face to me for that and to the sturdy-lookin' chick with the bad arm.

The game itself was kind of boring to be honest. However, some guys already seem to be in midseason form. Ambrose showed that the new steroid program he is on is working out just fine. He was raking the ball all over and running almost as fast as Dan Russell for most of the night. Justin sent a ball screaming into the night air for a called homer. I actually heard the ball screaming as it left the yard. Jon had a fine game, too. Hveem came wearing baseball pants. When a man shows up wearing baseball pants, you know he is to be taken seriously. And Hveem was such a man tonight. He was throwing the ball all over the damn place, turning DPs and gunning guys out at home. Lex (the Outfield Puma) was in good form in Left.

And then other guys clearly are not there yet. I won't be in midseason form until late next season. Sandals and Kissel both drew the collar. That's a real accomplishment in our league. The baserunning was atrocious, but as bad as it was, there was only one hotbox and a lousy one at that. Clearly, we will need to hone those skills again.

The scorekeeping is pretty funny. I'm not so sure how long it will last, but there were a couple of times when you could see that the official scorer was getting real nervous. It happened to Pete first, when he just couldn't keep up with the multiple errors committed on one horrible play. He looked shaken. Then Ambrose ran into the same problem and told people he needed quiet for a minute while he filled in what the guy did from 2 at bats prior. If it makes people anxious and lends itself to argument, I'm all for it.

No real arguments tonight, although it's a lot of fun to watch Sandals and Ambrose yammer about whether or not "he's callin' it!"

Oh, and there was a heckler. He called me John Kruk. Fucking heckler. He was pretty funny though. And mean. He called a big guy on our team "Balboni." Props to Balboni for ripping a clutch hit in the face of the heckling.

And so it goes. Pretty boring recap, and frankly, a pretty boring game. But boring in a good way. We've been doing this for years now. We know each other and fall right back into the same old silly banter. God bless America and Jimmy Walker Field.

4.9.6: One for the Books

2006-04-10T22:16:00.000-07:00

BOX SCORE

Let me be clear right now. You are not getting a full-fledged, masterfully crafted, Kois-level recap this week. I am too busy and it took me at least an hour to set up this new site here.

You're welcome for that.

So we played the softball on Sunday night. Good weather, good fun, good hotboxes. Soccer douches encroaching down the right field line at 8:17 pm like they own the place. It was like we never left. You should have been there. Oh, you were? That was you? Holy shit. Man you look different. Did you lose weight or something? A girdle, huh? I haven't considered that, but maybe I will.

We had fifteen men on this fine April evening. Joe Monkeyweb was a late scratch due to a case of adult-onset adulthood. Joe, it'll probably get worse before it gets better.

Still no key for the lock. The drama builds. This week we had no problem getting in. Let's hope our hot streak continues. Or that D. Lee strikes gold this week. Or steel.

It was a reasonably late-arriving crowd, but not too bad. We messed around for about fifteen minutes and popped a few rotator cuffs and then it was time to play ball.

The first game was an old fashioned blowout, 9-0 Disco (us) over Rock (them). I will come clean and tell you that those are two names I just made up, because somehow we forgot to do it on Sunday. That won't happen again. It was a laugher. I am proud to tell you that I hit the first Called Shot HR of the season, a 3-run job in the 3rd onto Waveland...er...Leroy. Big Jim Lang also muscled up with a 3-run shot in the 6th, and Disco also received multi-hit performances from Lex, Doug, Mark, Chris L. and Pete. We played the field with grace and precision, turning several double plays and standing around absorbing just how great we were.

It was an old-fashioned slaughter.

The reset button was pressed, and Game 2 saw Rock dip into the free agent pile for Cey A., who provided an immediate spark on offense, finishing 3 for 3 with a run scored. Whether it was Cey's addition or just the natural human response to humiliation (which is of course anger and the desire to line solid base hits all over the field), Rock came out for Game 2 with a fire in their collective belly and several other awkward cliches. Back and forth it went, with Deion providing the first two thunderous drum beats on a scoreboard-doinking natural homer in the top of the first. Pete B. kept Disco on the dance floor with his first HR of the year, a 2-run called shot to right center in the 5th. Heading into the bottom of the 8th and final inning, Rock was hanging on 9-7 and looking as nervous as Richard Marx on the main stage at Ozzfest. Disco stayed alive by putting men on second and third with one out, and sent Doug to the plate with early season pride on the line. He responded with a hard chopper towards Eddie at first. The ball hit the ungroomed lip of the first base "dirt" and bounced high over Eddie's head. One run scored and Doug rounded first, brilliantly luring Rock into a time-consuming hotbox (the second of the game). While Rock concentrated on getting Doug out, Mark rounded third and broke for home, scoring easily with the tying run. It was now 8:57 and I figured we needed something big. Having used up my called shot already, I attempted to go for a natural HR but instead popped out to short. Then BJL tried the same thing, hitting a majestic drive in the general direction of the scoreboard. There was a moment where we thought maybe he'd done it, but the ball had too much carry and it sailed over the fence for an inning-ending, game-ending homer. But not the good kind.

TWIS Notes:
1) As you may have noticed, we have implemented a rudimentary stat-keeping system. Everyone was kinda skeptical at first, but maybe once they see that they are leading the league in hitting come June they'll start to wallow in their own dorkiness and have some fun with it. Thoughts on stats:
a) We will try to get it into an excel spreadsheet at some point so we can actually keep running tallies and averages, etc without doing everything manually.
b) As of now, we are only keeping AB's, runs, hits, RBI and HR's of all kinds (natural, called, and inning-ending). No doubles or triples so if you are thinking about emailing me to tell me you hit three doubles, kindly fuck off instead. Or take over as official statistician.
c) The official scorer dilemma kind of solved itself -- whoever is holding the book at that moment makes the judgment of hit vs. error. He is the scorer in every sense of the word. Or at least two senses of the word. I think he should have to yell it out in some stupid way or maybe hold up a sign that says "hit" on one side and "error" on the other, just to maximize our tremendous stupidity.
d) Everybody needs to either know how to keep score or pass the book to somebody who does. The scorecards were a bit of a mess, so don't complain if you think your stats are off by an RBI or a double. I'm telling you, if you mention the word "double" I am going to box your ears. Lex pointed out that he never learned how to keep score, and it hadn't been a problem until now. His life seems to have been no less rich for lack of filling out Yankee-Brewer scorecards from 1983. I don't really know what I'm getting at here, just that we need to be conscientious with the scoring if there is any hope of it continuing.
e) After approximately 8 seconds of debate, it was decided that any batter hitting an IEHR will be charged with as many at-bats as outs resulted on the play. In other words, if you hit an inning ender with nobody out, that's a quick 0 for 3. We can revise this if somebody can give me a good reason.
f) What do you think about the scoring? Is it fun? Is it a waste of time? Is it painfully juvenile? Any improvements you'd like to see (besides doubles)?
2) A Dunkin Donuts opened up across Hudson street. I can't help but think this will factor in big at some point down the line.
3) The night is too short. I find myself constantly rushing, mostly thanks to the soccer wanks, and it definitely inhibits my good time. I also forgot to bring Tall Boys for the first and final time this season. That'll help. Munchkins and Bud, mmmmm.
4) Please note that we are moving the signup sheet to this page (upper right), so everything will be self-contained. Please remember to sign up and don't fess, front, or otherwise screw things for the rest of us.
5) In this space here, please feel free to submit your suggestions for the following week's team names (in addition to any other brilliant comments you'd like to leave). We'll pick a good one and bank the rest for later.
6) We paid for lights and one bank of lights is completely out, leaving a rather dangerous void on the right side of the field. Anybody want to call the Parks department to see if they can fix it? What's that, you say you'd rather just bitch about it amongst ourselves for the rest of the season? Yeah, me too.
7) I am sore, sore like hanging drywall sore or wrestling wolverines sore, like I used parts of me that I never used before and should never use again.