While most of the country sweltered under a disturbing Twilight-Zonish heat dome that appeared to call into question the future of humanity as we’ve always known and loved her, my team took on Anthony’s on a bracing 76-degree-morn’ with blue skies, a suggestive offshore zephyr and the slight hint of wasabi root lingering in the breeze. Initially, the Antman’s team jumped out to a 5-0 1st-inning lead on robust hitting, and, remarkably, two dropped cans of left-field corn by the normally infallible Eoin “Owen” O’Connor. It was an eerie sight that hinted at the inherent fragility of perfection itself, but sure enough, the Conster quickly embraced the Kantian sensibility of failure transformed, and thus with a classic fillip of guilt and guile, his 3-RBI triple in the bottom of that very first tranche brought us right back to parity. Yeah, dialectical athleticism rocks, especially when it propels your own peeps ever onward to the promised gland.
Now in fairness, the match remained relatively taut through the 7th, but then Tony’s contingent suffered a devastating setback while on the verge of a go-ahead rally. With two on, one out and down by just two, Steve Bedrick unleashed a searing hopper up the middle that had base-loading glory infused in every fiber of that orb, and yet Eileen’s outstretched glove snagged it clean just before its Newtonian escape from the infield. The resulting DP from her to Anastasia to Burt was one of the crispest displays of morale-crushing execution that I’ve ever had the pleasure to observe, and sure enough, my side parlayed the big Mo’ that came with it into a deeply satisfying 22-14 triumph. Indeed, rare is the galvanizing mojo that blends overwhelming talent and tenacity with such inspiring trigonometric transcendence, and with all due respect, I think Anthony finally understands this.
The point is that human institutions are always suspect, which I mention here because for some reason the Department of Parks and Wreck rented out Codorncies this Sunday at noon. Needless to say, the thought of corralling you from your beds a full hour earlier than normal nearly broke my heart, and after a lot of soul-searching, I decided that I’m just not gonna’ do that. Of course institutional overreach is relative, and while I’m not going to get into the legal weeds on the events of the day, I am willing to say right here and now that the Deep State can do whatever the F it wants, because the most awesome thing about the United States Constitution is that there is nothing within it that prevents an American president from leading this great country from the confines of a small holding cell in a medium security federal penitentiary in, say, Leavenworth, Kansas (and no, there’s no Constitutional exception to that inspiring scenario even if that imprisoned president happens to be an utterly nauseating blend of PeeWee Herman (RIP), Benito Mussolini, Bugsy Siegal and the loudest colicky baby on the face of the earth).
So yeah, there’s all kinds of ways for normal voters and athletes and just everyday people to fight the power, and therefore there will be a game at SAN PABLO #1 (at the corner of Ward and Park) at 10:45 SHARP, If I get enough commits by this Friday morning . . . Raymond