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:
