Softball: Reflections on the Interplay of Soil and Destiny
Dear People,
Let the record show that when I first arrived at Grove at 10:53AM, the flooded clays between the pitcher's mound and shallow left were so dreadfully boggified that I seriously considered cancelling the game right then and there. Fortunately, Jerry and Steve quickly reminded me that ours is a community which is deeply rooted in the classic yeoman tradition of fine agrarian tillage, and so to work we went. Yes, with nothing more than two buckets, a shovel and a hoe (yeah, a hoe), we transformed that hideous suck-swamp into a veritable nirvana for fen-hating shortstops. Even better, I have a palm-full of reasons to believe that come this winter's rains, that lovingly tended loam will see her very first sprouts of cassava, okra and fresh virgin kale. Thankfully, we'll be long gone.
In any case, the match finally started and Anthony led his team with a rare clarity of broad aerobic purposes, but alas, winning wasn't one of them. Now look, I know that's a wise-ass thing to say, especially since I used that exact same line about him just four short weeks ago! Fair enough, but I'm not ashamed to rob myself blind if that's what it takes to kick start my annoyingly viscous literary juices, and that's especially true if such sass-laden analysis dovetails with the tragic dénouement of his leadership's basic narrative arc (for the third straight time). Indeed, his contingent floundered badly for most of the match, but as they looked deep into the totally degrading void of a staggering double-digit abyss, Lora's opening blast to left suddenly unleashed a 10-hit 8-run 8th-inning explosion that pulled them to within one! And so, my friends, the Antman's essential dignity was saved once again, though in the end, his peeps still went down, and down hard, 19-17. Piteous.
To be sure, I think Anthony understands that the random trajectories of life's rich pageant-with all its soaring hopes and heart-breaking reversals-is about something more inscrutable than mere triumph or defeat, and perhaps that's especially true when played out on a theoretical foundation of discreetly sown veggies. Indeed, no one really knows why anything happens, of course, yet in our ceaseless quest to learn more about managerial “patterns,” our hero will have other chances to come up just short. And therefore there will be a game at Grove this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning. . . Raymond
9/27/13
Softball: Tense
Dear People,
There will be a game at Grove Park this Sunday at 11, and as of now, there are still four slots left.
Please bring $4 for the field, which for this week only includes a rare post-game confessional on my deeply personal struggles with the Spanish subjunctive . . . Raymond 845-7552