Softball: The Roiling Ghosts of Keystone Studios
Dear People,
In one of those paragons of taut athletic excellence that so intimately melds with the abstruse tragedies of the human condition, my team crushed Chris Fure’s in 10 grueling innings, 13-11. The somewhat chaotic tone of the match was set in the 4th, when Tom Bilyard overran 2nd base with such fervid innocence that he ended up tagged out about 50 feet away, deep in the hostile tundra of verdant left field. In fairness, of course, Billiard Boy was not only making his community debut, but was in fact fresh off the turnip truck from Folkstone, England, where softball is deeply resented as a crude Yankee infringement on the Crickitorial prerogative.
Of course Anthony had no such excuse, when just two innings later, his own unbridled joy at smashing a solid two-on two-out line drive to right was soon tempered by the realization that as he darted from first to second and beyond, Ramona was in fact staying prudently put at third. Alas, this meant that Dria was now trapped between the two of them as Anthony himself barreled ever forward—the perfectly crazed caboose of a determined base runner’s plans gone terribly, terribly wrong. Curiously though, when Debbie caught the throw to home, she seemed so confused by the sight of so many runners frantically trying to escape each other that she quickly went catatonic in complete indecision. Frankly, it was as if the ball now stuck in her befuddled little fingers had just been dabbed with a seditious patina of crazy glue.
As the seconds lingered, screams ricocheted through the air and the tension soared, it suddenly dawned on me that what we had on our hands was a good ’ol Mexican standoff (or a Bolivian stalemate, or a Canadian mateoff, or even the notable Ponzieist Bernie Madoff—In all candor, I actually had no idea what we had). But a few seconds later, the Debster found her inner predator, and Anthony soon met his unsightly fate, half way between 1st and 2nd. It was, to be sure, a profoundly stark dénouement for the Antman himself, but like all aerobic calamity, he could at least take solace in knowing that his was a journey of both abject failure and utter disgrace. And therefore there will be a game at Grove this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning. . .Raymond
PS: Testing the boundaries of the dumbest sport on earth:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HgqbCq_sxmo
10/30/09
Softball: Your official End-of-Daylight-Savings and Candy Sport
Dear People,
There will be a game at Grove Park this Sunday at 11, and as of now, it is full. As always, please let me know ASAP if you committed and need to cancel, and if you still want in, feel free to contact me later for word of reopened slots.
Please remember that this weekend is the totally unfair end of Daylight Savings. You should therefore set your clock back one hour on Saturday night, lest you arrive Sunday morning an hour early—A lonely and befuddled dufus who would attract nothing but scowls from the softball-hostile soccer peoples.
$4 for the field/Enjoy the extra hour of sleep/See ya Sunday…Ray 845-7552
PS: A gentle reminder in the hopes of preserving my organizational sanity: If you commit to a game, your slot is reserved only after you get an affirmative email OK or equivalent back from me. This is logic straight from a contracts class, and all the more necessary in a cyber-age where a tiny but still crazy-making minority of emails either disappear into the ether or were actually only “sent” in the heads of the writers who thought they sent them. If you ever don’t receive a response from me after waiting a reasonable amount of time (at least a few hours!), feel free to resend or call me.