2/12/14

2/12/14

Softball: Hints of my own Inner Turmoil

Dear People,

I know what you're thinking; You're thinking “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice in a manner so callously indifferent to the searing psychic pain with which I burst whenever my brazenly stoked hopes for weekly aerobic release are dashed by a totally predictable two-bit piss-storm, then shame on me again for ever thinking you were anything but the reckless and climatically clueless psychopath that you clearly are.” Listen, I am so down with every word of those sentiments, and if I weren't me, I'd be the first to call for my immediate expulsion from this entire league.

Indeed, about 10 of us converged at Crepe Vine for a savory brunch of suet pudding and fresh jellied eels, and while we had a stimulating discussion on a variety of topics that ranged from Woody Allen and gluten-free cuisine to the current crisis in post-existential despair, the simple reality is that there was a metaphorically engorged elephant in the room. I refer, of course, to the dozen or so players amongst you who were so heartbroken by the cancellation of a game that I practically guaranteed would occur that you undoubtedly rejected the allure of grub and gab so that you could crawl back into your beds for an additional 24 hours of restorative hibernation. I hear ya', and yet sadly, you missed out on some spirited discourse and some mighty fine eel.

The point is that I could've preemptively cancelled the game mid-week since I already knew the odds of rain were overwhelming, and in its place I could've organized a robust alternative match of semi-nude Sochi-style curling at the Oakland Ice Center (at 18th and San Pablo, under the glorious drizzle-proof roof). Yet the fact is that I didn't do that because I was afraid of that 5% chance of sun, and if we all ended up in Oaktown when we could've actually been playing ball, some would've likely suspected me of steering the community awry just because it's always been my well-known dream to be the starting left sweep for Denmark's current Olympic team. And thus, to avoid this slight risk of damage to my carefully nurtured reputation, I not only caused incalculable disappointment for the most vulnerable among us, but I also needlessly denied every one of you the chance to participate in this most sensually grueling of the classic broom-wielding sports.

So yeah, I obviously have no choice but to tender my resignation and eventually retreat to my cherished childhood vicarage in the lush storied hills of Kingston upon Hull. Of course in the meantime I still have your cardiovascular integrity to consider, and since I presume we're not going to get totally hosed three weeks in a row, there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning . . . Raymond

PS: Sport or Nervous Tick? You Decide . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eH93D72OjBA

2/14/14

Softball: Dry

Dear People,

There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, and as of now there are still three slots left.

Please note: There is apparently a small chance of rain on Sunday. However, I happen to believe that even though nature has no motivational agency or consciousness, she wouldn't totally hose us for three weeks in a row (Of course if climatic conditions are ambiguous that morning, you'll need to check email around 10).

Please bring $5 for the field, which for this week only includes a rare post-game sea salt scrub pedicure with rich butter cream and grape seed oil moisturizer. . . Raymond 845-7552

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