3/6/02
Softball: Specialized
Dear People,
Congratz to all on last week’s salubrious 24-23 lost-on-the-last-hit exemplification of ethereal kinesiologic drama, steeped as it was within the searing astringent of a righteous dream deferred. For the record, I still assumed nothing as our team took to the field with a cushy nine run lead in the bottom of the 9th, and thus when our rotator respectfully asked to finish out the game as pitcher, I looked deep into his dark and yearning corneas for hints of potential and risk. "Darryl" I said, "pitching ain’t like 2nd or left-center or any of those other candy-yam positions that we all know every buffoon and his grandpapa can do with their eyes shut. This is the most exacting job in all of sport, and before I let you throw a single pitch, I just need to know that you’ve got fire in the paunch."
At first he seemed frightened by the blunt tenor of my presumptuous screed, but he then quickly gathered his internal mojo. "I am not a pitcher by trade," he gently told me with stout conviction, "but I know what it takes to hurl strikes and flummox batters, and Ray, I got what it takes." In all candor, I had never been so impressed as a manager, and thus I ordered him to the mound, fully at peace with my final-inning gambit.
Oh sure, Darryl immediately proceeded to walk five batters, allow another six hits and give up eight runs, nearly single-handedly costing us the game before Broh was finally called in to crush the insurrection once and for all. But this hardly proves that the Darrylator was "the wrong man" for the task, any more than my fear of needles would somehow suggest that I should reconsider my latent dream of becoming a pediatric vascular surgeon. Obviously, a captain with vision knows that his player’s unique skill-sets need to be nurtured, not scorned, and I for one always take that to heart. And thus, should Darryl ever find himself on my team again, his thirst for pitching redemption will be unequivocally embraced, so long as we’re leading by at least 35 runs.
In any case, I just happen to be scanning the New Faculty section of this month’s edition of The Berkeleyan when I noticed that Cal has hired a certain Jennifer Doudna as a Professor of Molecular and Cell Biology, and that her expertise includes the role of structured RNA molecules in protein trafficking and translation. I also noticed that they’ve just appointed Martin White as Professor of Physics and Astronomy, and that his expertise in theoretical cosmology includes neutrino astrophysics and the early universe.
Perhaps not coincidentally, proteins and neutrinos are two of my own personal passions (Of course, and as Coleridge may have asked, Does not the wandering eye seek out honey and kale?). Regardless, I’ve often ruminated on how abstract things that are so small that they’re essentially pointless can still offer us insight into both batting and fielding, and indeed, for all of its supposed mundanity, we as a softball-playing people are probably replete with tiny little proteins and neutrinos ourselves. Yes, I think you see where I’m going with this, and therefore, there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11AM, IF I get enough commits by this Friday at noon….Raymond
PS: A gentle reminder to avoid unsightly confusion: Your slots are not guaranteed until you get an OK or equivalent back on your commits. I know this makes you bitter, but it’s just the way that it’s gotta be.
3/8/02
Softball: Phonetics
Dear People,
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11AM (most likely followed by ultimate or football), and as of now, there are still TWO slots left.
Please bring $2 for the field, which for this week only includes a complimentary pre-match demonstration of my most cherished voiceless labial fricatives in both English and Gaelic….Raymond 845-7552
PS: Once again, there is loose talk of rain and pestilence, and thus if conditions are ambiguous, check email/voicemail around 10AM.
Softball: Cancelled ;-(
Unfortunately, Codornices is now a flooded suck-swamp of malarial swill (and officially closed), and worse yet, Kleeberger is already taken by those manly but uncaring UC Lacrosse types with the well-marbled buttock cheeks. Alas, until next week….
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