11/28/01
Softball: A Tale of ’Mornin Blue (The Soggy Soils of Skepticism)
Dear People,
Just for the record, my heart ached with the pain of 1,000 cobra-bitten herpetologists when I decided to cancel last week’s game, for I knew well that this would mean three full weeks of aerobic denial, transforming many of you into wan and sallow shells of your former selves. Indeed, mine own eyes welled up with post-Sino tearing droplets as I gingerly put my naked toes into the muddied worming clays of the Codornices outback, desperately hoping that the filth and moisture would be an illusion. In fact, though, as the mineral-rich muck caked around my middle phalanges and then oozed past my tiny little talus, I felt an earthen slime of such rousing sensuality that I almost cried out in shame, for I knew instantly that what my feet perceived as a bracing pleasure was the wetted doom of a match destroyed.
And then quite unexpectedly, as the emerging rays of the sun taunted me still more, I came upon a teeming right-field colony of verdant teenage aphids, each one with it’s own pathetically miniscule green body, and each clearly oblivious to the havoc now reigning among their cherished human brethren. Regardless, the point is that it was in their calming presence that I felt an eerie theological stirring as I contemplated the role of sport and church in aphidic society, and it was at that very moment that I suddenly found myself reflecting on the searing cogency of Bertrand Russell’s central thesis in "Why I am not a Christian." Yes, as I left the park that dreary morning, I remember thinking that the Russmeister had it right after all, for no God who was both all-good and omnipotent could allow such horrid calamities as warfare, pestilence and rain-outs.
In any case, it is now several days later, and I am well aware that many of you will have had your basic aerobic zeal crushed by the sheer inertia of three long weeks of gameless torpiositude. I understand that, but in fact this is all the more reason to quickly break the cycle of pernicious sloth, and therefore, there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11:00, IF I get enough commits by Friday morning ….Raymond
11/29/01
Softball: Tentative
Dear People,
The bad news for those who have not already committed is that Sunday’s 11AM game is already FULL.
But even more distressing is the fact that beyond the harsh rain that falls as I type, there appears to be an icy low pressure front insidiously churning off the Oregon coast. God only knows how many perfectly innocent Pacific salmon, Cunge-carp and Breeding sturgeon are facing ceaseless harassment from the skies above, but regardless, I wouldn’t be honest with ya if I didn’t acknowledge that this very same system may soon be threatening to pummel every democratic aerobic value that we have nurtured over the last five years.
In any case, I’ll make a definitive announcement on the game as soon as I can, but if you don’t have weekend email access and conditions are ambiguous, call before assuming anything….Raymond 845-7552
12/1/01
SOFTBALL: Hosed Again
Dear People,
Just for the record, and like many of you, George Harrison was my second favorite Beatle (right behind Pete Best). And because of his wondrous guitar playing on such songs as "Here Comes the Sun," "Good Day Sunshine" and "I’ll Follow the Sun," I went to bed last night utterly convinced that the magic would return even in his passing, and that climatological kismet was on our side.
Unfortunately, that was all retro-adolescent dementia, and thus there will NOT be a game tomorrow because the hard reality is that Codornices is once more a malarial quagmire of filth, gunk and organic depravity….Raymond
PS: My dumb-ass excite@home internet service provider just went bankrupt (and hence the reason I write you from a disturbingly unfamiliar address), but ATT is promising that I should be back on line within a few days. Assuming that happens and the weather improves, I will try again for next weekend. Otherwise, patience….
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