9/1/10
Softball: Musings on Mothers, Daughters and the Current Zeitgeist
Dear People,
Chris Fure’s team pan-seared my own, 16-10, and frankly, the whole experience felt as if a lumbering Great Dane had slowly bit down on the scruff of our tiny little Chihuahua neck, dragged us around with an insensate heart, and then dropped us right back into the lingering hot steam of our own canine caca—drained, demoralized and utterly defeated. And yet as an observer of the sport qua sport, I’ve rarely felt so energized by the complex and nuanced integrity of its Judeo-Aerobic foundations.
I refer you to bottom of the 4th, with Paul H at the plate, two out, two on and Lynsie thirsting for home from the safety of her 2nd base perch. Suddenly, the Paulinator’s searing line drive toward 3rd threatened to break the inning wide open, but Leslie pulled off a bobble’n’scoop of transformative defensive acumen. With ball now in mitt and Lysnie barreling down the baseline, Leslie suddenly faced the utterly Sophoclean dilemma of either letting her very own daughter run free and score, or simply tagging her out in a ghastly display of pure unambiguous filicide. In a certain sense, the Lynster perished right then and there, but for what it’s worth, good’ol mom seemed quite pleased and even giggly with the denouement in question.
Of course Leslie’s betrayal of her own athletic seed is hardly unexpected in the context of an event that is not governed as a mere rave or cocktail party, but rather as an explicit concordance with the majesty of recreational law itself. Indeed, Alan Miller clarified several troubling rules which came into play over the course of the next several innings, including a venerable Talmudic chestnut which states that line drives hitting base runners after ricocheting off the pitcher are still in play, and more importantly, these runners are free to sprint joyously onward! (This contrasts with what we as a community had been mistakenly practicing until last week, when such players were immediately called out, often ejected and occasionally deported).
The point is that this upcoming Monday is Labor Day, and so naturally I was thinking I wouldn’t even bother to organize a game. To be sure, I suspect that many of you plan to take off for distant national parks, where you’ll bond with the local rattlers, ’coons and other vermin while reflecting long and hard on how to become a person of greater honor, faith and charity. Of course, you now know that such inspiring self-improvement is actually achieved by simply embracing a vague ideological blend of 19th century government-hostile social Darwinism with a cloying overlay of right-wing Christian patriotism, so in fairness, do you still really need to go to Yosemite?
Needless to say, I didn’t think so, and regardless, I think we all know that if we’re going to celebrate the true spirit of Labor Day and the countless workers who made it possible, then the most appropriate way to do so is to simply recognize that while Leslie may have gone through 14 hours of grueling labor before birthing Lynsie just 24 short years ago, her recent actions make clear that there is simply no inherent conflict between hard work, motherhood and towering athletic honor. Yeah, I’m willing to stretch and stretch dumb for basic literary arc, and therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning…Raymond
9/3/10
Softball: Grapes
Dear People,
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, and as of now, there are still six slots left. Lest I have to undergo the indignity of trolling for players tomorrow, do the right thing and send me more commits!
And how are you going to lure others into our little aerobic net? You’re going to tell them that this week’s field fee is just $4, and that includes a delightful post-game carafe of 1991 Navarro Cabernet Sauvignon (Napa, Mendocino, or possibly Emeryville)…Raymond 845-7552
9/5/10
Sunday 10AM: A Softball Appeal with Barely a Patina of Dignity
I've been hit by a few cancels and we're down to 17 players. Somebody grab the bull by the spontaneous balls of fate and tell me you'll play!!*...Raymond 845-7552
*Codornices, 11AM (in one hour)...
BACK