Softball: Joyous News of Import!

[raymond...@gmail.com]

Dear People,

 

On a gorgeous Easter Sunday, my team took on Jim McGuire’s for his first game back since he underwent knee surgery just over a month ago! It was, to be sure, a swift and determined recovery, and the fact that he pulled it off for Easter clearly suggests that while Professor McGuire may be a towering giant in evolutionary biology, there is something about a good ol’ fashioned arthroscopic meniscectomy that radiates the essence of our methodically God-controlled universe.

 

And yet. While Jimmy clearly could’ve brought the inherent clarity of resolve that comes with a hero’s return to the fray, there was something amiss, for my team jumped out to a staggering 21-3 3rd-inning lead that fully exploited his curiously tragic inability to inspire, galvanize, or even articulate a basic strategic vision for escaping the calamitous shellacking that now engulfed his peeps. In all candor, I feared he was about to undergo an unprecedented humiliation for which no quantity of dark chocolate wabbits could ever truly succor, but then, with his team essentially dead, it happened. That’s right, mes petits concumbres, it was indeed Easter Day, and yeah, I think we all know where this is going. 

 

In the bottom of the 4th with his team down by 18, Jim finally found his inspirational mojo as his contingent unleashed one of the greatest acts of aerobic resurrection in the history of this league. In fact, they accumulated 16 hits over 18 batters to make it all suddenly compelling, and then, as is his wont, the unrivaled Eoin O’Connor unleashed a jaw-dropping tie-creating grand slam to the yak-laden tundra beyond deep, deep left. Equally stirring was Ari’s follow-up RBI in the 6th, for with that critical hopper, Jim’s side took the lead, 26-25, and thus completely solidified their tear-triggering rebirth. 

 

Of course back here in the real world, resurrections are notorious for being an epistemologically ambiguous mistress, which is to say that while the great Jesus Christ may or may not have risen from the dead and then ascended to wherever, Jim’s contingent had a notably tougher time of their post-renaissance sitch. Indeed, their slender lead soon vanished as Karen’s decisive 3-RBI 8th-inning rocket over Paul Fine’s shell-shocked little cerebellum shifted the final lead back to my team, and with that, alas, Professor McLoser’s contingent went down, and down hard, 29-26. It was, quite clearly, a poignant lesson for all of us and a harrowing reminder that rare is the resurrectional triumph that can last long enough to truly impact history, people, or even the random heartbreak of sport and score. So yeah, deal with it.

 

The point is that we live in interesting times, and while we’ve always known Dear Leader is vile to the core, his tweets over the last few days seem to suggest that he may also be what the DSM-5 gingerly refers to as a ‘Grade A Lunatic,’ and needless to say, this is a status that is not generally recommended for military leadership. In fact, I would argue it’s quite fucking dangerous, and yet I still remain guardedly optimistic that we’ll eventually get through this, which is really important for the following reason:

 

I am delighted to report that as of Easter Sunday morning at 3AM, Brian and Eileen became the proud parents of Lochlan McIver Harding—8 pounds, 2 ounces and 50 cm to boot! All three are healthy and happy, and even better, the four of us have already agreed that the Lochster will make his league debut on Easter Sunday, April 5, 2037, as all determined 11-year-old birthday boys yearn to do. And therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11, IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning . . . Raymond