10/29/03
Softball: A Rigorous Defense of the Institution
Dear People,
I confess that every so often when I’m shouting out the names of the teams who will battle each other for that day’s game, I’ll sometimes get swept by an existential wave of nearly hallucinogenic cynicism, and I’ll ask myself why on earth I am wasting my time by organizing groups of lost and aimless people into discrete organizational units whose only purpose is to sporadically chase around a small tightly-coiled leather orb. Objectively, the entire weekly endeavor is utterly pointless, and I think any rational observer would agree, be they a local tofu merchant, a theoretical extra-terrestrial, or perhaps just one of the coy East Tilden grazing yak who flourish in the tundra beyond left field.
And yet this last Sunday, and for the second week in a row, our nearly flawless sojourn into the aerobic craft was so starkly compelling that I think we just have to let go of such puerile notions as logic, reason and common sense. The fact is that my team won 17-16 on the last hit in the bottom of the 9th, and that creates the kind of profound spiritual satisfaction that you just aren’t going to find in any stupid religion or philosophy. So it really doesn’t matter that from a "Neptunian’s perspective," the sight of 22 supposedly grown adults running endlessly around an artificially marked diamond reeks of communal psychosis. That’s simply not relevant.
Indeed, I don’t think Neptunians are capable of understanding the subtle beauty of Nanci batting .600, or Frank bumbling into one sacrificial pickle after another, or Dave K hitting a fly ball so deep into center-left field that he has redefined the meaning of that most cherished of all athletic monikers, "Latent Jock." No, they are basically arrogant and obtuse and there’s just no hope for them, but I think you people get it, and so does that tofu freak, and with a searing see-saw battle like this last one, so would the yak. To be sure, yak are both physically and intellectually "slow," but as a species, they understand the glory of taut competition in ways that the dufi from the so-called outer planets just don’t, which probably goes a long way in explaining why their cities and intramural leagues are so precariously underdeveloped. And therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning…Raymond
10/31/03
Softball: An FYI on Impending Absence
Dear People,
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, and as of now, there is just ONE slot left. $2 for the field/Important notice below….Ray
PS: Wendy and I are just a few days away from moving into our humble new abode, and since my weary little brain is beginning to implode under the burden of physically packing, sorting, informing, hauling, cleaning, and caulking (among other verbs that I cherish), I won’t be able to organize a game next week. I realize this shows a brazen disregard for your aerobic health and safety, and believe me, once we’re cozy and ensconced, I plan to look into some serious atonement.
In the meantime, though, any of the regulars is welcome to contact me about taking over organizational duties. The determined volunteer should have a healthy indifference to the general scorn of their peers, while potential players should be aware that if next week’s letter takes a "Dudes, let’s all show up at 11 and see what happens" approach, that could indicate precarious flaws in the recreational design. Best wishes….RW
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