Dear People,
Congratz to all on last weekend's slightly less than compelling 18-7 kinesiological humiliation. As the wind-strewn tumble weed drifted through the parched Codornices infield, and my own team fell ever further behind, I found myself pining for the simple grace of an evisceration deferred. Of course aerobic karma rarely plays willing mistress to the lowly infracaniophile, and thus I later embraced the acrid taste of utter and complete defeat---sapid, sensual and fair.
Whatever. As most of you know, this Sunday October 24th, is the 86th anniversary of one of the most pathetic plays in the history of the World Series. With the fabled New York Giants holding a fragile 2-1 lead in game 7 of the bottom of the 10th inning, the legendary Red Sox infielder Tris Speaker came to the plate with two out and a man on first. Giant pitching great Christy Matthewson quickly backed Speaker into an 0-2 count, and thus found himself just one pitch away from leading his beloved teammates to their first ever world championship! Suddenly, Matthewson hurled a breathtaking sinker which clearly startled Speaker, who popped up very high and shallow, in a mesmerizing trajectory that many witnesses would later claim was a perfectly Euclidean dissection of the triangle formed between Matthewson, first baseman Fred Merkle and the inimitable catcher Chief "pigeon face" Meyers (Many historians now consider 'ol bird head as the first of the truly modern crouchers).
As the ball began it's descent back to earth, 34,683 crazed Bostonians held their collective breath, the aerobic fate of the entire Northeast corridor congealed into a singular melding of time and space. Matthewson, Myers and Merkle quickly converged toward the center of the first base line. It is said that a schnauzer-hound howled eerily from behind home plate. And then, as they awaited those last wondrous seconds, each one looked into the eyes of the other two, and apparently blinked that tacit wink that only intimate lovers and finely seasoned baseball players can really understand. Unfortunately though, it soon became clear that none of the three understood anything, for the ball plunged back to foul ground, landing within inches of the baseline, and all six of their tiny little feet. A minute later, a visibly tweaked-out Matthewson hurled a slider, Speaker hit a homer, and the Red Sox won both the game and the Series!
Eighty six years later, I still get chills thinking about the inherent risks of resorting to ocular-based voiceless communication. To be sure, the New York press was merciless in their treatment of this hapless trio, but I for one will not cast stones. The fact is that I don't know what was going through any of their precariously muddled heads, yet it is clear that fateful October of 1913 ushered in a stark and brittle Fall, what with the hurried creation of the Federal Reserve Bank and ominous war clouds brewing in Europe. Indeed, it's possible that all three of these gentle souls were more concerned about the entangling alliances of Russia, France and Serbia than any genuine fan had a right to expect, and that the price of such a noble passion for humanity is a level of distraction not commiserate with the efficacious ensnarement of a stupid sphere of cowhide. And if that is the cost of a tender heart, so be it.
Therefore, there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday, October 24th at 1PM, if I get enough players by this Friday morning. So make that commit; Do it for Christy Matthewson, Fred Merkle and Chief "pigeon face" Meyers, three towering symbols of the theoretical link between truly horrible fielding and a heightened concern for the risks to world peace....Raymond