Softball: Whatever it Takes
Dear People,
Chris Fure’s team crushed my own, 17-9, in large part thanks to the greatest, most poignant Father’s Day Grand Slam in the history of post-Renaissance sport. Yes, Allan “Ballet Boy” Brill blasted a 5th inning line drive deep into the yak-laden tundra beyond center right, and in so doing, he drove home both his daughter Jenna and his wife Carol, as well as both Franklin and himself! I still get verklempt just thinking about it, especially since this means that under the California Law of Athletic Filiation, Franklin is now an official member of the nuclear BrilloPad unit (see Family Code, Section 9305(b)(ii): “…intended adoption is assumed and recognized when said adult is the only base-runner not of kin to the hitter, so long as the home run in question occurs on a familial holiday of procreative achievement.”)
In any case, a special thanks to both Albert and Carol for heroically playing after being spontaneously drafted for duty. On the morning of the game, I found myself with five cancellations, which was a nearly unprecedented crisis in the organizational integrity of this community. After a dozen unsuccessful pleas by phone, I had to beg wives, children and completely innocent walkers-by when I arrived at the park, and for those who were there, I suppose my supplications made you feel awkward and unclean.
Fine. But just for the record, I will always place your need for a minimum 18-person aerobic release above all other concerns, and if that means you have to turn away in embarrassment as I accost total strangers like a shamelessly prancing cheap’n’tawdry social-whore-thing, then so be it. And therefore there will be a game at Cordornices this Sunday at 11AM, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning….Ray