5/27/97
Softball: No Shame in a Triple!
Dear People,
Greetings from Seattle, where the passion for softball is so intense it’s palpable. Anyway, there will be a game this Saturday (5/31) at 4:30 at Cordenessis field, IF we get enough of the minimum number of commits already explained in my previous rants of beloved discursive gibberish. Reflecting upon recent experience, I'm not sure how anybody puts together a school board meeting, little less how they ever pulled off the Russian Revolution. Regardless, I am pretty confident that the game will be a go for this weekend, as many have already implied that they want to partake in the aerobic mirth and merriment.
In order to facilitate the ease with which you can make your commitment count, I am extending the deadline for getting back to me until this Friday at noon. For reasons reflecting the inexplicable nature of human frailty, three people, representing six players total and enough to have created a quorum, made their commits well after the Thursday night deadline, and even after I had already canceled the game. I suspect that some of our e-mails crossed in the ethereal electric miasma, which in itself points out one more reason why the deadline can't be any later; e-mail is often hours slower than the mythic instantaneous performance of its most avid technogeek promoters.
Thus, I would still greatly appreciate it if you could get back by Thursday night or earlier, and if you do end up e-mailing a commit on Friday morning, it would be safer to also call and leave a message to make sure that I got it (845-7552). Obviously, expect confirmations sometime Friday afternoon, a bit later than in weeks before. As usual, invite your friends. And since a few people will be taking off for summer, I'm still looking for new names w/e-mail addresses, if such people are truly interested in occasionally showing up.
As the organizational process continues to congeal into an embryonic paradigm of communal recreational excellence, the imminent yaw of a single humble curve ball will no doubt float through our collective conscience, pricking the turgid assumptions of our most cherished Berkeley-based illusions. Indeed, one has to go back to the Bauhaus School of 1920s Berlin in order to find such an apt athletic metaphor, and yet, truth be told, I have no idea what I mean by this....Wuv, Ray
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