Softball: The Eternal Lessons of Moneyball
Dear People,
Frank's team methodically disposed of Michael Davey's, 16-9, and in so doing, forced the shell-shocked Daveyator to personally cough up $88 in the first officially sanctioned adoption of pari-mutuel wagering in the 18-year history of this previously innocent league. To be sure, it was an electrifying match of irrefutably solid play, but it also featured a somewhat problematic surge in the overall level of IPTS (Inter-Player Testosterone-Squirting). IPTS, of course, is considered bad form by both the National Association of Amateur Sports and most everyone in the pornographic arts, and thus while this was a noble experiment, there will likely be no more gambling for us as a recreational folk.
In any case, the choosing of the teams in the days leading up to the game was as compelling as the match itself, and frankly, I feel privileged to have been the only witness to observe Michael and Frankenstein in this totally mesmerizing process. Once the 22-person roster was officially committed, these two masters of the Nash Equilibrium set out to destroy each other before the first pitch was even thrown, and as each new player-pick arrived on my desktop, I could see that they were both steeped in a shamelessly raw blend of randomized algorithmic reasoning and Jungian athletic analysis. Their specific tactics are obviously personal and proprietary, but I can reveal that I am so totally stoked to have not been chosen last!
The fact is that the two contingents which emerged were arguably of perfectly equal caliber, but two parallel plays in the 7th reflect the simple twists of fate that cleave honor from disgrace and ultimately, explain the final score. I refer you, of course, to the top of the inning, with Davey's team floundering under a 6-run deficit, but the captain himself on 1st and the inchoate seeds of a 2-out rally sprouting from the rich infield clays. Suddenly, Broh smashed a solid blast down the left field line, and because Joe P bobbled the hopping orb for .09 seconds, Michael seized the bull by the brazenly risk-taking balls and darted straight past 2nd on his broadly curving way forward. It was, without doubt, an executive decision of inspirational clarity, and yet our hero's breathtaking slide into 3rd was ultimately late, unsightly and utterly doomed. Yeah, it's hard being brazen.
Six minutes later in the bottom of that fateful inning, Greg “Draft-Pick- #1-for-Damn-Good-Reason” Laddish faced a similar temptation as he rounded 1st on a solid line drive to center-right. In this case, though, sagacious ol' Ladder-Limbs wisely darted back after just 10 feet, slowing only briefly to absorb the admittedly ill-advised impact of Maya's left knee on the upper-right quadrant of his normally pristine forehead. Regardless, and most importantly, he made it safely back to 1st, thus putting in stark relief the fate of these two disparate giants of the game; For Mikie, his failed run had done grave damage to his mojo, his ego and arguably his very dignity, whereas Greg's honorable retreat had merely battered his pre-frontal cortex, and a brain, of course, can actually heal. 'Nuff said.
The point is that this Friday marks the 2,119th anniversary of the great Jesus Christ, give or take a decade, and so naturally I wasn't going to organize a game this weekend in order to show some basic respect for those of the Judeo-Aerobic-Christian faith. But then I remembered what I wrote all of you this very day just four years ago, and while I'm obviously not going to quote myself quoting Luke (even I set limits to my own self-recursive plagiarism), I would gently remind you what Luke 2:4-8 does in fact say . . .
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An angel appeared to the Sheppard's outside of Bethlehem, and they were frightened. But the angel told them of the birth of Christ the Lord, which was news of great joy. Even better, they could see Mother Mary and Joseph and the baby named Jesus in a manger down the road (because there was no room in the stupid inn). Yes, Jesus was there wrapped warm in clothes, and he was at peace, for in his sacred little hands he held a tiny tin of cilantro and myrrh, as well as a woolen glove and stickball. [emphasis mine]
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No, I'm hardly the biblical scholar that so many assume me to be, yet after reading the Lukester 2:4-8, I think we can all agree on what Jesus would do this weekend so long as it didn't involve pari-mutuel wagering. And therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning . . . Raymond
12/25/15
Softball: Your Official Post-Xmas Good-Time Sport
Dear People,
There will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, and as of now there are still four slots left.
Please bring $4 for the field, which for this special week only includes a complimentary one-year subscription to Myrrh: The Georgetown University Journal of Lamb, Fruitcake and other Favorites of Early Christian Cuisine . . . Raymond 845-7552
PS: Still Edgy After 40 Years . . .
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJEAGd1bQuc