Softball: The Varied Flavors of Athletic Injustice within the Current Social Milieu

[raymond...@gmail.com]

Dear People,

 

First things first: If leadership by example is the cornerstone of managerial excellence, I failed and failed utterly, for I went 0 for 4 on some of the most pitiful swings I’ve ever taken. Oh sure, it would be easy to blame my tender little hammy and the resulting soreness that rippled from the back of my right knee to the very marrow of my bones. Of course that’s just floating lame-ass excuses, which is obviously not my scene, and regardless, I have to accept that as I one day age into my 120s and beyond, it’s possible that such incidents may not diminish in frequency (for a portent point of reference, see D.K. Slater’s dazzling new history, Brittle: The Nonagenarian Stickball Leaguers of Medieval Venice and the Dumbass ‘Orthopedists’ who Treated Them, 1187-1328).

 

The point is that while the skill sets of a captain-player are usually compliments, they’re not codependent, and thus I could still effectively lead my posse in their brutal battle against Anthony’s side. Indeed, when my athleticism crumbles as it’s wont to do, I merely look my peeps in the eyes, broaden my galvanizing grin and imbue them with the focus of 1,000 meerkats. Yeah, it worked again, for Erica held up half the sky and led our offense with crisp and consistent RBIs while Zach continued his seamless batting progression from the quaint irrelevance of baseball to the actual career potential of professional softball, and, when all was said and done, our super-sluggin’ duo of Steve Powers and Cameron “ReeferLips” Klotz were simply too much for the Antman’s battered ramparts.

 

Nevertheless, Tony’s peeps still played on with admirable vigor, and truth be told, when Chris Fure replaced the dominating Bobby F on the mound with a 5-run lead as our own rover in the top of the 9th, I suddenly grew wary and tremulous. Moreover, I have to confess that after the Furinator gave up two runs and we found ourselves facing the tying run in the hole, I grew conflicted as I yearned for our imminent triumph and yet soberly considered another awesome opportunity to tar our perennial hero as yet one more poster child for the inherent risk of replacement parts. 

 

Of course Christopher is more than just convenient quarry in the service of narrative arc, and yeah, the fact is that in this case his renowned blend of curve, knuckle and two-fingered dangler balls stabilized in the nick of time. It was, to be sure, a performance of genteel grace that I could personally relish, and yet because competitive athletics is replete with starkly dialectical tradeoffs in its dissemination of the happy ending, I still felt a twinge of sorrow. Yeah, Tony’s team went down, and down hard, 16-13, and therein lies an exemplar of the most pressing problem within the current sporting gestalt. 

 

Sure, you can dismiss me as a sour winner, but I happen to think that if Recreational Philosophy is to ever ascend from its current perch as an academic discipline that simply hasn’t arrived yet, its starry-eyed practitioners will need to solve the ethical scar of losing once and for all. At a minimum, I think we can all agree on that, and therefore there will be a game at Codornices this Sunday at 11 IF I get enough commits by this Friday morning . . . Ray