Dear People,
Congratz to all on last weekend's majestically grueling 16-15 manifestation of rarefied aerobic elegance, fought out as it was on the sizzling soils of the broiling Codornices tundra, the soaring lush Redwoods in center field offering the only cooling solace from a climate gone wacko. The intensity of competitive mirth was almost surreal when juxtaposed against the sultry drippings of the surrounding air, and I for one fully admit that my heat-induced hallucinations in the bottom of the 8th were as deeply satisfying as the razor-thin victory that came one inning later. Yes, there is something about the synergy of competitive sport, a merciless sun and a dash of delirium that brings me closer to the Lord. I guess that's just the way I am.
And speaking of disturbing events in athleticism, it turns out that this Saturday, October 2nd, is the 69th anniversary of one of the most controversial incidents in Baseball history. As you probably know, the fabled Brooklyn Dodgers and the St. Louis Cardinals were running neck and neck for the pennant as the 1930 season was coming to a close. Legendary Southpaw Flint "the fish" Rhem was due to start for the Cards, but mysteriously disappeared from his Brooklyn hotel room late that morning. Rhem showed up later in a state of inebriation that one Times columnist called "unbecoming a major league player," and more importantly, a full day after the Dodger's pulverized St. Louis in the very game that Flint was supposed to start.
This master of the Missouri mound, who was widely believed to have an untimely affection for hard illegal whisky, claimed that he had been kidnapped by several men, forced to imbibe bootleg liquor, and sternly warned not to take the field against the Dodgers. Unfortunately, the brutal thugs were never found, and admittedly, there was circumstantial evidence that ol' Fishie fabricated the whole kit and caboodle after inadvertently getting smashed beyond possible timely repair. Naturally, the poor guy was skewered by an embittered St. Louis press, but the plain fact is that the truth on this whole sordid affair remains very much in doubt.
Nearly seven decades later, it is my firm conviction that Flint Rhem's story is at least plausible, and that a formal inquiry into his tiny little alibi is both justified and necessary. If an investigation were not launched soon, the evidence would grow even colder, and this tragic episode would take it's place with Saccho and Vanzetti as another glaring symbol of an earlier era's unsavory penchant for easy scapegoats. And that is why there will be a game at Codornices this Saturday at 11AM, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning. So make that commit; Not for Flint Rhem himself---for in all candor, I really don't know if the fishmeister was a reckless sot or not---but rather as a statement that says the pursuit of truth is a noble value in and of itself, whether to seek justice for two lowly Italian anarchists, or an equally detested incorrigible curve-ball hurling boozer....Raymond