Softball: Seasonal Selections in Turkish Literature
Dear People,
In a fine handcrafted display of taut competitive excellence, Alan Brill’s team bully-slimed my own, 11-7. It was one of those intensive struggles in which so many performed above their zone of aerobic expectation that I nearly broke down in tears at the sight of so much raw resolve. Indeed, Steve Seskin played catcher like the orb-sucking vacuum that he has now become, while Debbie has emerged as our most consistent hitter. Yes, for the second week in a row she swatted line drives to left, right and center, as if she were clearly annoyed at the ball for having the chutzpah to sail through her strike zone. Of course that sassy gap between expectations and performance can slice both ways, which is one way of saying that at least for my side, it simply wasn’t “helpful” that Ken popped up 83 times in a row.
In any case, tomorrow marks the 387th anniversary of the first Thanksgiving Dinner, that bountiful New World feast in which a hearty group of disheveled English Pilgrims and their Wampanoag Indian hosts laid the foundations for the next four centuries of superb and symbiotic intercultural relations. The point is I am well aware that many of you will be going away for the extended Thanksgiving weekend, and thus I had decided that I wouldn’t even bother to organize a game. But then I started to think about what I had written you all in November 2000 on this very day, and while I’m obviously not going to quote myself verbatim, I do happen to believe in the timeless logic of basic historic truth…
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"Few seem to remember that when Captain Miles Standish and Squanto rose to toast their good fortune on that frosty Plymouth evening in November 1621, both men agreed to a post-dinner match of exhilarating AAA Pilgrim Ball (a curious colonial pastime that most recreational historians now believe was an embryonic version of soccer, although it was actually played with darts). Unfortunately for the Wampanoag, their team lost 10-8, and thus under the pre-game agreement, they and their relatives had to abandon all of New England by 1625. Nevertheless, the honored tradition of combining hearty fowl-based meals with vigorous exercise was firmly established, and I for one see no reason to discontinue it now."
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So yeah, it’s eight long years later and you can still fly off to some faraway and exotic locale to have turkey with your totally nutso extended family—inevitably trapped at a table where the thrill of fresh cranberry is offset by the horror of your kin. Or, and I mean this in all sincerity, you can grab history by the balls and decide there is no greater way to give thanks for the current reign of soothing world peace and burgeoning economic prosperity than to partake in a succulent game of unaffiliated email-organized softball. Personally, I’d ask myself “What would Captain Miles Standish do?”, or perhaps more aptly, “What would the Captain and Tennille do?” Either way, I think the choice is clear, and therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11AM, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning…Raymond
PS: I’ll soon be on a plane to a faraway and exotic locale in order to have turkey with my totally nutso extended family. This means that my email access may be sporadic and thus you shouldn’t be frightened if it takes me longer than usual to OK your commits.
Back here Saturday/Happy Thanksgiving…
11/28/08
Softball: The Trials of Uncledom, Post-Fowl
Dear People,
As I sit here pecking away on my 9-year old nephew's computer, his impatient and scornful eyes are making me feel unloved, vulnerable and deeply alienated from the youth. I have no time to spare, and so . . .
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11/Four slots left/$3 for the field/My vasectomy rocks….Ray 845-7552