Softball: Taradiddles from those with Purity of Intent

[raymond...@gmail.com]

Dear People,

 

First things first: When I woke up dreary Sunday morn’ at 8:11AM, I had computer, mother-in-law, and epistemological issues—to wit, Big Weather had cleaved apart and was now totally split on the likelihood of heavy drizzle or worse returning over the following several hours. In all candor, I was already sleep-deprived and thus feeling weary, wary, and even jejune, and yet as I looked up at the ominous grey layer of softball-hostile nimbostratus clouds above, I knew I had to make a decisive decision that would respect both those fellow-athletes who would gladly play through a cat-3 hurricane and those who would fear the perils of tertiary syphilitic frostbite if their shoes got wet. 

 

Needless to say, I nearly panicked as my frontal lobe cracked under the stress. In fact, because I’m a flawed carbon-based being of profoundly human extraction, I stumbled into the ethical morass of communicating the type of deceit-laden certitudes that haunt all those who organize on days of climatic ambiguity (For a stirring point of reference, see D.K. Slater’s magistral opus in behavioral zoology, Vermicular Woes: The Extraordinary Social Life of Post-War Irish Earthworms under the Capricious Rains of Galway, 1945-1949).

 

The fact is that I’m still too ashamed to say exactly how I misled you, but the bottom line is that had the early morning forecasts of Yahoo and Undergroundweather.com prevailed over the SF Chron and Weather.com, then the precipitation would’ve ended and even intermittent sun might’ve broken through, possibly allowing for a game to proceed. In reality, of course, it didn’t happen and it was raining hard again by 11:45, but still, I can’t even imagine a world or any level of American governance where such shameless lying is so cynically accepted in the furtherance of whatever happens to be expedient. 

 

That’s right, mes petits concombres, we all know deception is corrosive and the center cannot hold and other political clichés, and thus if the community so demands, I will immediately resign and return to my cherished childhood dacha in rural Lower Silesia. In the meantime, of course, F that since I have a match to organize and Greenland to annex and Bushrod to rename, and therefore there will be a game this sunny Sunday at 11 at baronial BushRay Park IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning . . . Ray