Softball: The Mortality of Streaks (and the Q!)

[raymond...@gmail.com]

Dear People,

 

Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? The great Aaron McQuade humbly asked if he could be a captain last week. This surprised me since over the last 27 years, few if any individuals outside the usual handful of masochists have ever wanted to do this given the certain scorn and degradation that eventually comes with. Of course, I suspect that the Aaronator relished the idea of grabbing an easy managerial triumph on the back of my apparently inevitable 8th consecutive loss, which tends to suggest that the poor lad may have forgotten that old ontological chestnut: The future is unwritten. That’s right, unwritten, as in utterly devoid of prognosticative ink.

 

In any case, it was a taut affair filled with drama and mirth, as seen most acutely in Eoin’s continuing multi-game dominance at the plate with three more parabolic blasts to the yak-laden tundra beyond deep left. Still, my side had its own rockets, including Bobby W’s deeply satisfying 4th-inning four-bagger over James’s flailing little corpus, and, for that matter, Jim’s replicative 6th-inning tribute to said homer. To be sure, this secondary blast filled our Jamesonian hero with the burgeoning dread that can only come when you suddenly realize that you’ve been targeted as the weakest member of the defensive herd—noticed, exposed, and ripe for culling (for a germane point of reference, see D.K. Slater’s breathtaking opus of esoteric bovine history, The Cull of the Wild: Jack London, Early Naturalism and the Brain-Sick Texas Longhorns of Wary Uptown Oakland, 1902-1907).

 

The point is that Aaron’s virgin leadership was still robust and inspirational in its steady execution, and I’m not saying that just because it sounds frisky and suggestive. Indeed, my side was down by two with two on and one out in the bottom of the 8th when Luke took off from 2nd on a shallow flyout to center, and yeah, a mere second later he suddenly realized he had to reverse course to get back to base. Unfortunately, our pinch-running roadrunner tumbled face first into the dusty clays below, and while his somewhat alarming effort to butterfly stroke his way back to 2nd was noble in intent, in the end it was still a feckless disgrace. And thus we entered the 9th down by two, and by the time we came up again for our final chance, we were trailing by four and reeling in utter despair. Needless to say, the prospect of an 8th consecutive loss shook me to the marrow, and not surprisingly, an anxious copper-rumped hummingbird neighed plaintively in the distance.

 

Luckily, my peeps were in fine fettle for that final tranche, and with solid base hits from almost all who reached the plate, the table was now set for none other than Luke himself. That’s right, amigos mios, I think we all know that there’s no greater galvanizer than the opportunity for personal atonement, and thus with one out, two on and the match suddenly tied up, the Lukemeister unleashed a game-winning walk off bullet to right that both saved his own soul and my personal dignity, and while our 22-21 triumph was a bittersweet pill for Aaron to swallow, I think he can take solace in knowing that the odds of him captaining six more consecutive loses is arguably less than 3 in 5. And therefore there will be game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, FOLLOWED BY a scrumptious potluck barbecue, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning . . . Raymond

 

PS: Please let me know if you're coming to the barbie (whether you’re playing or not), and if you are, what you plan to bring beyond something to grill for yourself. I think we have three Webers good to go, but other highly recommended offerings include blankets to sit on, a couple card tables, paper towels/plates/cups, tons of ice, soft drinks, juices, beer, bubbly water, more ice, spatulas, real knives and plastic silverware, side salads, fine breads and cheeses, condiments, onions, mayo, brownies, cake, homemade ethnic entrees that Uncle Fester used to make, more ice, chips, assorted fresh fruit, raw vegetables, and if you're really feeling adventurous, some sliced Slovenian goat liver with dark rye bread, salted herring and pickled red market cabbage. 

 

Also note: Those of you who play any type of musical instrument, from the harmonica to the Vietnamese lotus clacker, are encouraged to bring them. I believe that Steve Bedrick and others will be organizing some kind of folk-metal skiffle band, with an appropriate focus on songs that capture the glory of 1880s baseball.

 

Finally: Depending on what I hear back, some of you will likely be volunteered to bring certain nutritional treats or vital barbie infrastructure.