Softball: A Directive of Brazen Scope
Dear People,
My team staved off Alan Brill’s 13-11, in one of those languid error-filled quagmires where time moves like molasses, the athleticism is somewhat less-than-inspiring and certain scrotal-bearing players amongst us appeared to be a tad pre-menstrual (No names, unless you really insist). In any case, the recreational zeitgeist was perfect for the contemplative mind, so I personally found myself enmeshed in that age-old mental soliloquy to which all recreational organizers occasionally succumb; “Wow, this game sucks; What can I do to make it LESS sucky?”
Fortunately, I was sitting next to the Ken of Men when the subject of our long-standing strike zone came up. To wit: A ball is a strike if it hits the carpet without hitting the plate. As another pointless round of pitch-related bickering broke out, Ken gently observed that under the current rule, a ball could land on a single annoying strand of fiber on the far back left of the carpet and it would be a strike, but a pitch that sailed exactly down the middle yet fell right on the sensual border where plate meets carpet would be a ball! In all candor, I had never thought of this blatant absurdity, but fortunately I’ve been trained as a highly skilled attorney in the common law tradition, and thus I was quick with a disarming riposte. “Yeah” I told him with smug self-assurance, “but don’t forget, it’s always been that way.”
The point is that as much as we like to think of our community as a charming paragon of aerobic self-governance, our dirty little secret is that I won’t hesitate to seize powers, sweep away the annoying bureaucratic inefficiencies of the democratic process and do what must be done, especially if I conclude that any of the rules that we’ve been playing under are incontestably retardo. So yes, just 30 minutes ago, I signed a legally valid fiat refining the rule in question, and in the process, I gave it a raw and stark simplicity that will undoubtedly send chills running deep up your spleen. To wit: A pitch is a strike if it hits the carpet. Period.
Oh sure, call me a unitary-executive-invoking monster if you must, but I happen to think that the end justifies the means as long as the improvement is objective, the process is quick and my personal powers burgeon anew—solidified, unrestrained and all totally mine. And therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11AM, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning…Ray
9/4/08
Softball: 10:55 10:55 10:55….
Dear People,
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11AM SHARP, and as of now, there are still four slots left. $3 for the field, because if it were free, you just wouldn’t try hard enough.
The good news is that it should be 10 degrees cooler than it will be today. The not so good news is that at least in theory, an insidious group of pre-pubescent adult-softball-hating terrorists called the Albany-Berkeley Girl’s Softball League has the field reserved at 1PM. They have a fairly dubious history of actually showing up for the times they reserve, but since we can’t be sure, I expect to see all of your chipper and smiling faces no later than 10:55AM. Just in case this isn’t clear, please try to remember that 10:55 is just like 11:14, except it’s actually 19 minutes earlier…Ray 845-7552
PS: A Trio of Clowns:
http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=W1lCMH8rlHE