Softball: Another Argument for Civil Libertarianism (Circumstantial Difficulties in the Final Ascription of Fault)
Dear People,
Michael Davey's team rallied hard, ruthless and late to beat mine on the last hit of the game, 17-16, in one of those spine-tingling paragons of taut competitive rigor that leaves all those involved wondering why this magical sport isn't the official pastime of our entire pitiful species (In reality, of course, it's not even in the top five, falling well behind soccer, yoga, poker, nude croquet and sundry acts of illicit indulgence-more on the latter momentarily). In any case, there's no point in avoiding the tactical elephant in the field, so let me address it head on:
As my side took our positions in the bottom of the 9th, we had a robust 16-12 lead from Jerry's masterful hurlage on the mound. Warily though, I agreed to let Chris Fure administer the coup de gras as part of his natural rotation, though I had gently suggested that he might want to finish up at 1st. Of course he looked back at me with those gorgeous baby-brown corneas and coyly smiled, as is his wont. “Listen,” he assured me, “I'm pitching the best ball of my life; They're going down.”
Whatever. Eight minutes later, the Furinator had given up five runs on a walk, two errors and six consecutive hits, thus costing us the win while our hero simultaneously became the universal poster-child for the inherent risk of replacement parts. Still, while it would be tempting to totally blame him for the calamity that befell us, one does have to wonder if the quantum complexities of theoretical causation in sport are so easily assigned. Indeed, was Chris really “responsible” for our ghastly final-inning implosion? Well, I've thought about that question long and hard, and the answer is, yes. . . yes he was.
Of course I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that by the time he began his ill-fated pitchership, nearly half the players on the Daveyator's contingent were apparently juiced on a fresh organic reefer of performance-enhancing aerobiweed. From what I could tell, just minutes before they had retreated to the bushes and discreetly huddled around that magical doob, and while I'm obviously not going to name names and thereby risk their imminent arrest, imprisonment and justified deportation, I would say that for that final inning, Jay, Steven, John and Wendy all batted away with a frightful blend of God-like prowess and Athlete's Giggle.*
The point is that once again, I must step back, seriously ponder the circumstances, and ask with a fair and reopened mind: Was Chris really “responsible” for our ghastly final-inning implosion? Well, I've thought about that question long and hard since I first posed it nearly three minutes ago, and the answer is still yes. . .yes he was. Indeed, if good 'ol Mr. Clean Livin' had partaken in some timely pre-closing ganja grass himself, then perhaps his role in our tale would not have been so utterly hircine. And therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning….Raymond
*To protect the innocent, accuracy of names not guaranteed.