12/24/14

12/24/14

Softball: A Scriptural Defense of our Recent Behavior

Dear People,

On the pristine Astroturf sheathing of Cal's magnificent Underhill Field, Chris Fure's team braised my own in a metaphorical vat of polyurethane gunk, 21-13. Yet the sting of our degradation was offset by the pride I took in being able to frolic there at all, and I'm not saying that just to coyly imply that as the last soccer matches winded down the day before, I personally inserted a bottle cap in the locking mechanism of the venue's front gate. Indeed, that would've been both a heinous misdemeanor and a bitterly resented transgression that my bosses at the UC Regents would likely not forgive, so let me clarify one thing right here and now: I will neither confirm nor deny what you think I gone done, but just between you and me, I've never felt so naughty and vital as I did at 4:38 last Saturday afternoon.

Of course you should always accept your inner childlike sinner with a certain cautious reticence, which is something I happen to have learned from the great Jesus Christ (who, for the record, is no relation to the great Christ Fure). I mention this because it just suddenly occurred to me that tomorrow is the 2,017th birthday of the Christmeister's birth, give or take a decade, and so I was thinking that given the unseemly way in which we've recently been hoping from field to field with the shameless 'tude of a communal tart in estrus-four different locales over the last four games!-perhaps we should take a week off in order to reflect, to bray and to simply atone.

Yet on further consideration, I'm not so sure that the Lord would even want us to do this. Indeed, I'm no stranger to robust biblical scholarship, and while I'm obviously not going to quote myself verbatim, I'd like to gently refer to what I first wrote all of you 14 years ago this very day . . .

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I was reading through the Gospel according to Matthew when it suddenly struck me that the Matterhorn's most compelling contribution was probably his stirring depiction of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. In all candor, I am not an expert in the ancient Hebraic tongues of the Eastern Mediterranean, and yet my own etymological analysis strongly suggests that the Aramaic slang word "mooundt" (meaning literally, "awesome anthill") was somehow translated into ancient Hebrew as their word for "mount," (meaning "nice mountain"), when in reality, the location where Jesus offered his beatitudes was on the "mound" (with a 'd').

No, I cannot prove this beyond a reasonable doubt, and I certainly do not mean to cast aspersions on the fine folks who toiled at the Department of Translation in King James' Court. But I am suggesting that recent archeological breakthroughs now clearly imply that the ancient Israelites played a club-swinging ball game that was shockingly similar to our modern game of baseball, and more to the point, when Jesus rose to address the multitudes on that fateful historic day, he did so from the pitcher's mound at the original Jerusalem Stadium and Rugby Club.

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Yeah, it's 14 long years later, but I think you see my point. To be sure, it would be totally natural for you to schlep around feeling all tawdry and ashamed of the way we've handled our city-imposed diaspora, and if that's how you feel, I get it. Yet when you dig deep into the geo-ethical marrow of the dilemma at hand, I think we can all agree that the majestically varied pitching mounds of Frisk-Levine, and Bushrod #2 and Bushrod #1 and even good 'ol plastic Underhill, are, when all is said and done, nothing less than the invasively blessed descendants of the sacred sods of ancient Judea. And therefore, because our promiscuity knows no bounds (and because it's sunny climes from now to the New Year!), there will be a game at San Pablo #2 this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning . . . Raymond

PS: Merry Xmas . . .

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rs2zohbUSc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8qE6WQmNus

12/26/14

Softball: Bring me More Bodies! (Verdant, Glorious and officially Reserved)

Dear People,

There will be a game this Sunday at 11 at San Pablo #2, and as of now there are still seven slots left. You are therefore welcome to commit any non-community people you know who might crave the aerobic release that we take so for granted, so long as they are hardy, kindly and not clinically nutso.

Please bring $4 for the field, which for this week only includes a celebratory post-match crawling tour of the flora, succulents and aphid communities of our transitional early-winter homeland….Raymond 845-7552

PS: San Pablo #2 is at Mabel and Oregon, a couple blocks Northeast of San Pablo and Ashby.

PPS: A Couple Little Gems . . .

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZyaK3jo4Sl4#t=57

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C__CgQlaykI
(Best use of Semantic Ambiguity in the History of Rock. Really!)