Softball: The Rarity of Big Ascendance

[raymond...@gmail.com]

Dear People,

 

For the first time in 21 years (give or take a decade), there was a grave risk of this community failing to reach an 18-player game, which, as you know, has been our Minimum Quorum of Softball-Playing Dignity since we initially emerged from that molecular pre-biotic soup in the turbulent Spring of ’97. To be sure, I had underestimated the ubiquitous skepticism with which so many reject the venerable links between the Lord’s resurrection, chocolate wabbits, and softball, and thus just 40 minutes before the game and after scores of failed cyber-nudges, I dug deep, made the call, and expertly wooed the great Dave Ross out of lumbalgia-induced-retirement, because yeah, when Easter Day softball is on the line and the stakes are that high, ya go to the tribe.

 

Remarkably, the Rossmeister seemed to be in finer fettle than he had been in years, and thus his essentially flawless performance at 1st was an inspiring compliment to my own shockingly acceptable play at 2nd. Indeed, my team’s robust defense set the tone against Anthony’s fearsome contingent of power sluggers, agonists, and other sundry fustigators, and thus despite their intimidating ways, we held our own throughout the match. Sort of.

 

It was, in fact, an undeniably taut and tense affair from the get-go, and made all the more so in the bottom of the 4th by a charmingly romantic yet curiously oblivious pair of nonagenarian dullards who were suddenly plodding across our outfield at terrapin-like speed. Rather than stop the game in the interests of safety, I assigned them gloved player-protectors for the duration of their totally annoying 15-minute trek, but truth be told, I did so only after I seriously considered an emergency call to the Oakland PD Swat Team.

 

The point is that we found ourselves down by four as we went into the bottom of the 9th, but sure enough, my peeps were focused, pious and ready for a Paschanesque rebirth. And yeah, when down to our last out and the burdens of destiny landing on every individual batter, we still pulled to within a single dinky little run with the tying and winning ones salivating on base. Unfortunately though, history shows that they no longer hand out resurrections like jellybeans, and thus, with the yearnful Dave Ross stranded on deck, my side went down, and down hard, 13-12. That’s correct, my little sugar peas, heartbreak and renewal are not mutually exclusive, and therefore there will be a game at Codorncies this Sunday at 11 IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning . . . Raymond