6/4/03

Softball: A Slippage in the Drivel Brake

Dear People,

Congratz to all on last week’s splendidly scorching 15-14 journey into the deep psycho-emotive convergence of sport, glory and unfathomably varied risk. I think of Kamala, whose first appearance in six months featured an unfortunate skull-first rendezvous with Franklin’s blazing throw from short. I later found out that the resulting lump peaked with the diameter of a decent sized mango, but she still took it like a trouper. Indeed, she later emailed me that "I can think of no greater way to get a mango-sized cranial lump than by beating a throw to first."

I also think of Amy, whose breathtaking catch of Keith’s drive to deep center-left could not help but play havoc with the delicate nature of their coupledom qua couple, and while I would not blame Keith if he had later bitterly withdrawn from the tender consortium of their quasi-nuptial lair, I must still stand by my policy of cleaving these pairs asunder if it contributes to greater team balance. Fortunately, Keith always moves quickly past the sundry defeats of his day, although I suspect that between the humiliation of that stolen triple and Kamala’s mango-sized cranial lump, he would have taken the latter.

Finally, I think of Chris F., whose magnanimous offer to share his slot with a fellow aerobic-starved athlete led to his somewhat dubious tenure as a late-inning volunteer ump. His heart was in the right place, but in a stirring display of precarious neutral authority, Chris threw Franklin out on a gallant and patently successful slide to 3rd in the bottom of the 8th, and in so doing, he defied the vociferous countervailing analysis of Mike Davey, his very own captain, as well as, for the record, every semi-sentient being in that park. Of course we are a people of laws, not mobs, and thus I am proud to write that despite the obvious, that dumb-ass call stood.

Alas though, the ghastly snuffing out of that one potential run soon emerged as the game-losing difference (pity), and thus I could certainly sympathize with Mike when he glibly observed that Chris was less qualified for the transient ump position than virtually every kid in BALBY (the Berkeley Association of Legally Blind Youth). Somewhat chagrined by the zeal of his detractors, Chris himself soon confided that if forced to choose between the damage to his reputation as a competent and impartial arbiter and Kamala’s cranial mango wound, he would have gone with the fruit, though ultimately, he would have preferred to face the denial of tender consortium within his pre-nuptial lair. I then gently reminded him that he lives alone with his cat, and thus after a hearty chuckle, we both agreed that the anguish of such an option would be too abstract in its actual application.

So yeah, softball is fraught with peril and there’s lots of ways to get hurt, but I for one will not indulge our inner-community-sissy by giving in to the rising clamor for switching to kilt-only hop-scotch. No, my friends, that is the one thing I will not do, and therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11AM, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning…Ray



6/6/03

Softball: Tolerance

Dear People,

There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11AM, and as of now, there is still ONE slot left.

Please bring $2 for the field, which always includes a wide array of exceptional bats, and unlike those stuffy major leagues, plenty of fresh virgin cork to use as we please…Ray 845-7552

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