Softball: EasterBall! (Musings in Comparative Pain)
Dear People,
In one of those truly rare games in which I felt curiously abstracted from the play at hand, Jerry's team crushed Chris Fure's into chastened aerobic mush, 14-4. For the Jerrinator, it was a breathtaking managerial debut, and for the legendary Furfighter, it was just one more unsightly defeat in a recent string of them so long and painful that it practically evokes that old folk chestnut, “Where have all the flowers gone?” Where, indeed.
Of course, memories of the match itself still remain vague to me, being as I was stuck in bed at the time-a shivering, febrile and semi-delirious shell of my former self. In all candor, I don't really remember much from that day, though I do recall that as I lain bed-ridden in ache-laden despair, Wendy (whose childhood was spent stuck on a goat farm in China during the Cultural Revolution), would lovingly mock me for being a “silly American city boy,” for apparently, suffering is relative.
The point is that I'm fully aware that there's all kinds of ways to suffer, and just to be clear, my groans were not a tacit claim that I was somehow enduring more than what she went through in Guangzhou, or for that matter, more than what the Powers brothers had to bear just being stuck on Chris' team. Still, relativity is relative, and thus I think we can all agree that none of us have undergone anything quite like what the late, great Jesus Christ had to (as far as I know).
Well, I mention this because just by coincidence, this very upcoming Sunday marks the 1,982nd anniversary of his inimitable resurrection, give or take a decade and a really impressive_ leap of faith. Given this, I wasn't going to even bother organizing a game, so that those of the faith amongst us could partake of family, deep reflection and ham. But then, honestly, I started to think about what Jesus himself would want us to do on such a day, and while I'm obviously not going to quote myself like some pitifully flu-fried hack who's lost the very will to write (though let's not forget that writing is pain and pain is suffering and thus writing is suffering), I would gently remind you as to what I wrote this very week, 13 wondrous years ago. . .
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I for one am not about to schedule a game that would conflict with the more spiritual foci of our people of faith. Nevertheless, I just happened to be reading through the Gospel according to Matthew when it suddenly struck me that the Mattmesiter's most compelling contribution was probably his stirring depiction of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount.
In all candor, I am not an expert in the ancient Hebraic tongues of the Eastern Mediterranean, and yet my own etymological analysis strongly suggests that the Aramaic slang word “mooundt” (meaning_ literally, “awesome anthill”) was somehow translated into ancient Hebrew as their word for “mount,” (meaning “nice mountain”), when in reality, the location where Jesus offered his beatitudes was_ on the “mound” (with a 'd').
No, I cannot prove this beyond a doubt, and I certainly do not mean to cast aspersions on the fine folks who toiled at the Department of Translation in King James' Court. Yet I am suggesting that recent archeological breakthroughs now clearly imply that the ancient Israelites played a club-swinging ball game that was shockingly similar to our modern game of baseball, and more to the point, when Jesus rose to address the multitudes on that fateful ancient day, he did so from the pitcher's mound at the original Jerusalem Stadium and Rugby Club.
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Truth be told, I still get a bit verklepmt when I read my own scholarly analysis, but regardless, I think we all know where we need to go with this. Sure, you can spend this Sunday hanging out with the usual nutjobs that make up your extended family, being 'one' with the awkwardness and tension as you all partake of deep reflection and ham. Or you could do what JC himself would do if he were here to do it, and that's play a spiritually invigorating match of softball with your Hebrew, Heathen and good'ol Godless peeps. Your choice; And therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning…Raymond
4/5/12
Softball: Industrial
Dear People,
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, and as of now there are two slots left.
Please bring $4 for the field, which for this week only includes a complimentary selection of cylindrical carbide cutting burs (with both head and shank)…Raymond 845-7552
PS: If you're female and love softball, community giant Allan Brill needs you to play on his team tonight at San Pablo Park (Friday at 8:50PM). He might even ask you to join the whole dang team, so stop being coy and contact him at 510-910-0998 or at brill@sbcglobal.net