Well, sports fans, after facing the wrath of Hurricane Irene, Hoboken recovered and Momma Johnson Park was finally declared playable. Though, from what I understand, that decision was just barely permissible. Last Thursday, after constant rain delays, the summer kickball season resumed with our single elimination playoffs. Unfortunately, I couldn’t be there, but I got the skinny from my intrepid Turquoise teammates.
How did we fare? Not well. We were drop-kicked out of competition in the first round, losing 26 – 8. ”It was ugly,” said Laura. ”I say, if you’re gonna lose, lose big.” George was particularly bummed, reporting that “the field was a mud pit” and “we didn’t have enough people.” I asked how the game was allowed to go on without a full roster, but when he told me that the ref was The White Queen from Week 2, I understood. I demand a do-over! At least Brandon kept his optimism. ”There’s always next year,” he said.
Yes, that is true, dear readers. There will always be another year of our patented schoolyard shenanigans to keep you entertained. What will our motley crew get up to in the meantime? Well, George, Jill, former team member Liz, and Yours Truly ran a 5K on Saturday. I clocked a new personal best! As for non-athletic pursuits, Jill, Brandon, emergency sub Lynda, and team founder Spitz recently crossed the canal and put their lives and livers in my hands for a downtown Jersey City bar crawl. It was quite a success, and we hope to expand the group in the future. And there may be a wedding or two this fall at which all your favorites will be featured. Keep checking back for updates!
Hey, sports fans! I’ve regrettably missed the past two weeks of kickball, due to responsibilities at the office and in my building. But I’ve been checking in with your favorite legends of Momma Johnson Park to hear how things have been progressing.
Team Turquoise continues to go undefeated! Our record stands at 5-0-2 as we head into the final weeks of regular season play. Week 6 was apparently a tight contest that saw our heroes eke out a victory. Week 7, however, was epic, in Jill’s words. According to George, the final score was 27 – 6! Amanda confirms this, and reports that the referee (who may or may not have been long-suffering Jerry) tried to invoke a non-existant mercy rule, not once but twice! Team member emeritus Erin came out of retirement to fill the female quota, and broke down the highlights for me over e-mail: Volpe hit a genuine, over-the-fence home run; Brandon took a line drive to the testicles; and one opposing player was suspected of fondling himself in the outfield. That’s our gang: putting the “ball” in “kickball”!
A more thorough recap will follow, providing we can get back on to the fields after Hurricane Irene!
The season rolls on, and the wins keep coming for the Turquoise Team! On Tuesday, we assembled to battle the Blue Team. I reached the field first, as I was coming straight from the office. The rest of the herd wandered on to the field at 7:59 for our 8:00 start. Apparently, things were getting wild at the Pourhouse. Chet proudly reported that Kish and Brandon had been dethroned from their beer pong dominance. Now we had a theory to test. Would the dynamic duo’s demise forecast our own defeat?
Apparently not. Just like last week, we exploded at the start. We couldn’t get a bunt past their infield, which meant we all had to swing for the fences. Thanks largely to Jeff and Chet, our very own Bash Brothers, we starting raking in runs. Kudos also to Jill, for crafting another stellar batting order, this time clearly displayed on her iPhone! Daring baserunning also played a part in maintaining our lead. Rosa successfully escaped a heart-pounding pickle between second and third, and Kish danced the line of good taste when he motored to second on a bobbled bunt. The Blues were officially out to get us after that little stunt.
I should say that I have no illusions that we are somehow guiltless in the tenor of our interactions with our opponents week after week. We’re loud, we’re inattentive, and when we’re on a roll, we don’t give it up easily. So, sure, you can accuse us of being distracting, of being impolite, and of being insular little weasels. But one thing all the other teams in the Extremely Casual division have to stop accusing us of is baseline blocking. After the first inning, one of the Blues was complaining to the ref that Stacy was blocking her way to third. You’ll recall the White Queen leveling a similar accusation in Week 2. Let me explain this to you, Sweetcheeks. If the ball had been kicked to right field and Stacy posted up in an attempt to slow you down, then you’d have a valid argument. But when the ball is blasted to the shortstop–the position Stacy was playing that inning–and she steps up to make the catch while you try to bulldoze your way to third, Stacy is not at fault. Stacy is making the play. And last I checked, the baselines are part of the playing field. They are not some demilitarized safety zone protecting you from harm. How else do you think double plays are made in a force situation? Honestly…
After seven innings of shenanigans, we shook hands with a silent Blue squad. This 15-8 victory was our largest by far. We now officially have a winning record. With two regular season games left to go, can we continue to ride this unprecedented wave into the play-offs? Stay tuned, sports fans.
Highlights Record: 3-0-2 MVP of the Week: The honor goes to Rosa for the second time. Whether on offense or defense, she was a menace in the infield. And now she has her own fan club! Weekly Not En Fuego Award: It’s Kish’s turn to shoulder the blame. In addition to flirting with the Dark Side of kickball in his last at-bat, Kish lost all sense of temporal reference during the game. At different times, he confused the number of outs, runs, and innings. Just how badly did you lose beer pong, buddy? Quote of the Week: “BOOM!” ~ Joe, providing his own sound effects to accompany his kick…a grounder straight to the third baseman, who threw him out at first.
Howdy, fans! Here’s an abridged report on our most recent battle at Momma Johnson Park, one which went decidedly in our favor.
We were on the late shift this time, scheduled for a 10 PM start. We made the most of our free time, dining first at Gaslight and then taking over a table at West Five. Brandon and Kish dominated any and all competition in beer pong. Perhaps their wide margins of victory were a sign of things to come? Other pre-game highlights included Rachael’s deep pondering of social mores (“Do I have to say hello just because we went to the same high school?”) and Volpe delivering–and later devouring–zeppoles from the nearby St. Anne’s Festival. There was so much powdered sugar on his face he could have been mistaken for Michael Irvin at an NFL draft party.
When we got to the field, our long-suffering umpire of choice, Jerry, was waiting for us. He looked thrilled to see us stumbling past the bleachers. Our opponents for the evening were the Light Green team, a mixed bag of competitors whose only defining characteristic would prove to be that they were worse than us.
Most of our team was on hand for the game, though we were going to be short on ladies. Continuing to further his reputation as the team pimp, Jeff volunteered two of his angels, Kelly and Stephanie, to join the squad. The last of our ladies to arrive was Jill, who had come straight from work and proudly produced a premeditated batting order, scribbled onto a pale yellow Post-It note. That’s dedication, people. (And that’s major alliteration, too)
The game got off to a rollicking start. By the third inning, we were up 7 – 2. We were stymied for a short while, but the Light Green rotation soon fell apart. We came off the field in the seventh (well before Jerry’s unnecessary ten minute warning expired) with a 13 – 4 victory to savor. There isn’t much else to say. We played our best yet, and it was almost a week ago, so my memory’s fading.
We still haven’t lost a game. Can we remain technically undefeated for another week? We’ll find out tomorrow.
Highlights Record: 2-0-2 MVP of the Week: The honor goes to Jeff, not only for his flawless female recruiting, but for finally adding an inside-the-park home run to his offensive stats. Weekly Not En Fuego Award: Given everyone’s stellar efforts, I’m giving this to perpetual absentee Amanda. Where are you, girl? The newbies are starting to think I made you up. Quote of the Week: “I didn’t know your names ahead of time, so I just have you down as Jeff’s Lady 1 and Jeff’s Lady 2.” ~ Jill, explaining her batting order to Kelly and Stephanie
Hello, kickball followers. I have some exciting news to report from world-famous Momma Johnson Park. Our incongruous streak of ties has been broken. Even better, we broke it with a win!
We got off to an outstanding start, driving in 4 runs in the first inning. Kudos to George and Jill for crafting that batting order.There was some smart bunting, some clever base running, and Jeff even had another of his patented mile-long triples. Our defense was pretty solid, too. Our opponents, the Brown Team, our flip cup partners from last week, rarely booted anything into the outfield. Our infield was practically a brick wall, falling into step behind Brandon’s strong and steady pitching. I don’t think I’ve ever been a part of so many 1-2-3 innings in all my years of kickball.
That isn’t to say that we were completely flawless. No, us being us, there were many bad decisions made. What could have been an 8 – 3 victory wound up being a much closer 8 -5 finish because, well, we’re us. In the runner-up spot for this week’s Not En Fuego Award is Kish, who acted as third base coach during our second rally. He coached Jeff right into a double play, having somehow come to assume that there were two outs when there was only one. All of our fevered shouting and arm-waving (and by “our” I mean “my”) failed to turn Jeff back. Kish is only saved from official embarrassment by Brandon, who erased any good will he earned on the mound in sudden and spectacular fashion.
Brandon was pitching and Jeff was playing third. A failed bunt attempt from a Brown batter resulted in a shallow, sky-high pop-up. Claiming possession in a voice even louder than Brandon’s notorious bellow, Jeff came trotting down field. Despite almost everyone else in Hudson County being aware of who was handling the play, Brandon refused to cede any ground. As such, the two of them collided, Brandon crumbled to the ground, and no one made the out.
Despite this, and giving up two runs in the bottom of the seventh and final inning, we held on to achieve our first victory of the season. There was a minor drawback, though. See, while the Brown Team was happy to compete in the bar, they didn’t seem as happy to compete on the field. I’m not sure what exactly happened, but there was a play in the fifth or sixth inning which the Browns argued quite passionately against. The ump would not reverse his decision, and they remained in a foul mood for the rest of the game. Shaking hands afterward was a solemn affair. I don’t think they even came to the bar for drinks. So, we learned a little something this week: you can gain a win, but you might lose a friend.
Oh, who am I kidding? They were as bland and as dull as the shirts they wore.
Stay tuned for next week’s update. We’ll be playing under the lights for our 10:00 start, which means maximum pre-game shenanigans.
Highlights Record: 1-0-2 MVP of the Week: I’m giving this to Rosa, who made some smart decisions in the baselines, and pulled off the most graceful catch in the outfield I’ve seen in ages. Weekly Not En Fuego Award: Brandon, again, for everything you read above. He also almost popped another kickball…again! Quote of the Game: “I love scoring! … In kickball!” ~ Rosa
Happy Monday morning, sports fans! I’ve no doubt that you’ve been hearing all about a certain athletic milestone that occurred this weekend; but before I give you my own account of that, allow me to fill you in on an equally remarkable feat that unfolded last Thursday at Momma Johnson Park.
Fresh off Week 1′s moral victory, we assembled in the ghetto of Hoboken for our early bird special 7:00 game. The lack of time allotted for pre-game imbibing did not keep this from being one for the record books. For starters, we finally met our last two newbies, Rachael and David. We also had a special guest in Elena, friend of Jeff, because we were without most of our lady starters, and each team must have a minimum of four ladies, according to the Zog Rules. These fresh faces fit right in with the crowd.
More memorable, but nowhere near as personable, were our opponents for the evening, the White Team. Now, I think I’m a fairly decent judge of character. I give people plenty of chances to ingratiate themselves. But sometimes…sometimes it’s just instinctual. Like the time my brother had a party at the end of the school year. People’s parents were coming to pick them up (this was long before anyone could drive), and my dog–the happiest dog in the land–went Cujo crazy when one girl’s step-father showed up. In her thirteen-and-a-half years on this Earth, my dog never reacted to a person so violently. I spent the next two weeks waiting to see this guy on the eleven o’clock news, being led away in handcuffs, accused of any number of unimaginable crimes. It never happened, but that doesn’t make him any less guilty in my mind. It just means he never got caught.
So, much like my dearly departed labrador, the hairs on my neck were standing straight up the minute I laid eyes on the White Team; even more so when I spotted one member of their squad in serious pre-game conference with our umpire, a non-threatening fellow who probably wanted to be anywhere else. This gal was wearing form-fitting athletic wear, two tight braids, and a serious game face. I don’t know what they were discussing, but it came down the grapevine rather quickly that she, too, refs for ZogSports. No doubt she was making sure our umpire knew the rules as thoroughly as she did.
Since we arrived first, thank you very much, the ump gave us his clipboard to make the batting order. Without Spitz this season, the task of assembling a line-up can take some time. Not because we’re trying to strategize, mind you; just because we’re trying to count. The whole time that Brandon assembled the order, the White Queen stood just outside our group, barely containing her impatience. When we were finally done, she took the board from Brandon and marched off to her dugout.
Her behavior didn’t improve any once the game started. During the second inning, I sat out and quietly sneered when Her Highness made it to first base. I was vindicated shortly thereafter, when she got herself caught in an avoidable double play and ended the inning. Lips pursed, she jogged off the field and said to the umpire, “They’re blocking the baselines.”
I’m sorry. You’re going to have to back up the truck for me one second. First of all, you aren’t out because Volpe stood in your way. You’re out because you bolted for second base like a Wal-Mart shopper who spotted a free sample when there was only one out and your teammate kicked the ball towards first base. Volpe caught it on the fly and then stepped on the bag, while you were halfway to Weehawken. He was going to make the play no matter what. And guess what?
Unfortunately, the rest of the White Team didn’t suck as much as she did. Midway through the game, we trailed 3 – 1. We were up to our usual foibles in the field. Rachael took a pop fly to the chin, a jarring but ultimately painless baptism into the sport. Kish pegged an advancing runner so hard that the ball ricocheted into the outfield, allowing another runner to make it home. George had apparently mixed muscle relaxants with his pre-game beers; his arms turned to rubber by the fifth inning, and his throws from third to first barely passed the pitcher’s mound. This all pales in comparison to the outrageous offensive feat accomplished by Jeff, when he booted the ball sky-high into foul territory. Careening down from the heavens like a red-hot meteorite over an adjacent playground, the ball managed to strike a small child square in the back of the head, knocking him right off his swing. You can laugh; he shook it off. But wow, I wish I had filmed that.
Going into the fifth inning, things were pretty bleak. We were still behind, and our umpire had suddenly decided that our game had a time limit that needed to be strictly enforced. But when the chips are down, divine providence tends to shine down on me and my motley crew of overgrown kindergartners. Feeling the need for one of our patented rally claps, we tried to make up for lost time. And oh, did we. By the time I came to the plate, we’d gotten another run, and the bases were loaded. The White Team’s pitcher (shockingly, not Miss Thing) was totally rattled, and the wheels came off spectacularly. I worked the count like a pro and that poor son of a bitch wound up walking in the tying run. I trotted on to first base with a shit-eating grin on my face, taking immense pleasure in watching the White Queen’s face turn red.
In the end, we couldn’t produce another run, but our defense was rock solid. And so, the game ended in a tie…again! We now hold the estimable and nearly impossible record of 0-0-2. That’s the Turquoise Team for you. We don’t win games; we just keep other people from winning them.
But wait! The story doesn’t end with handshakes at home plate. After our customary if half-hearted display of sportsmanship, I found myself face-to-face with my nemesis of the evening. Having dropped the facade, more from defeat that courtesy, the White Queen says to me, “You look very familiar. Did you go to Lafayette?”
I replied, “Uh, yes. I did.” Now, I never really like encountering strangers with whom I share such a tenuous connection as having gone to the same college. Two reasons why. First, I admit that I was, quite frankly, a little angry that she was able to recognize me, because I was thirty pounds heavier when I was in college. So, what the fuck, lady? Are you saying that after all these 5Ks, squat jumps, and torso rotations that I’m still the same flabby fat-ass helping himself to another pint of Ben & Jerry’s at WaWa on a Saturday night? My softball-sized biceps disagree with you, madam.
Second, despite having gone to a small college, there were plenty of people who I never once crossed paths with, and playing six degrees of freshman English with a rando like her is never enough to hold my attention. This time, however, I decided to have some fun. Having given her nothing more than my first name and class year, I remained perfectly stone-faced while she tried to figure out how she knew me.
“Were you an engineer.”
“No.”
“Were you in DU?”
“No.”
“DKE?”
“No.”
“Did you play lacrosse?”
“No.”
“Baseball?”
“No.”
Having reached the end of her rope, she laughed nervously and said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you at the bar,” and ran off.
Since we were on the early shift, there was ample time for post-game drinking. We went to the West Five Supper Club, the one-time Lounge 11 and the all-time official ZogSports establishment. Pitchers in hand, we found ourselves a table to play a little flip cup on. While we may have earned a reputation for being an insular group over the years, we also know how to separate our game time intensity from our post-game frivolity. So, with no malice or ill will, we invited the White Team to a friendly game of flip cup. We got one round off before, one by one, they started disappearing from the table. By the time everyone on our team had refilled their cups and regained their focus (there was food and music; we’re easily distracted), we found ourselves facing off against no one. So, congratulations, White Team! You tied in kickball and forfeited flip cup. A stellar night all around for you sourpusses.
Another Zog team, the Brown Shirts, quickly came to fill the void. I only played a few rounds of our table-spanning match before deciding to leave. But I think it’s clear that Week 2 is going to be hard to top.
The action at West Five Supper Club, captured by Laura
Highlights Record: 0-0-2 MVP of the Week: David wins this week’s honors, for his smart play both at and behind home plate. Weekly Not En Fuego Award: This goes to Brandon, for his repeat crime of busting the guts out of a kickball. This back-to-back distinction hasn’t been seen since the days of Josh. Quote of the Game: “Elena. Does that have a D in it?” ~ Brandon, making the batting order
You know that after a lull in posting, it’s almost guaranteed that my return to regular writing will be due to one thing: kickball. Sure enough, here I am with the first post-game report of what looks to be a very exciting summer season.
After our forgettable spring season, commitments for the summer came slowly, even reluctantly. A good portion of the Goddamnit Gerber gang decided to keep their custom-made t-shirts on the shelf this time. Not even Gerber himself, the face of our squad (literally), would return. Kudos, then, to Volpe, who organized the rest of us, ensuring that ZogSports would not be without our special brand of sportsmanship. Yours Truly kept his place on the roster, along with other team elders Jill, Stacy, and Kish. Our more recent acquisitions returned in full force: Amanda, George, Brandon, Tim, and Jeff. Yet this wasn’t enough to field a team, particularly when considering our predilections for tardiness and alcoholism. The Commissioner was going to have to infuse some new blood into this team of veterans. As proven by a conversation I later had with our umpire, this was not a decision taken lightly.
However it was they made their selection, it appears to have been a perfect match. We have eight new members on our unnamed squad. Almost all of them were on hand for the season opener, and they fit right in with our band of lunatics (despite what any umpire may think). I admit that it was a hard and fast introduction for the newbies. A week prior to the game, they were already on the receiving end of a typically overactive and overly informative e-mail chain. They even agreed to join us for the beer and burger special at Green Rock prior to the game, which meant that we would be stuffing our faces during our first face-to-face encounter. This takes guts, ladies and gentlemen. Seriously, it was like when they lowered that cow into the velociraptor pen in Jurassic Park. Well, at least it was at Annie’s end of the table.
So after some friendly chatter, and an exhibition chugging contest between Brandon and Stacy, we marched off to hallowed Momma Johnson Park for our season debut. While the rookies got the lay of the land from the ump, I scoped out the competition. Our opponents were wearing their official forest green t-shirts, which was an appropriate color, since they were all the size of woodland pixies. I suppose our turquoise uniforms were appropriate, too: loud, vulgar, and easily noticed from afar. George made the batting order, and soon it was game on!
It was a tight game for the first four innings. We had a constant rotation of pitchers who did great work. We were doing all right at the plate, too, with tricky bunts as well as long line drives. But somewhere around the fifth inning, we collapsed into our unusual comedy of errors; though I have to say, before we had these rookies around, our failures yielded less bodily harm. Chet, one of the newbies, a giant Wookiee of a man, was determined to make it to home plate from where he waited on second base. With the ball deep in the outfield, Chet rounded third…and then tumbled to the ground. The big guy went down hard, but was able to get back on his feet and score before the Pixies could toss the ball in. He had barely shaken out his strained hammie, it seemed, before Laura, another newbie, followed up an excellently placed bunt by face-planting on the first base line. Further mayhem ensued when Stacy went to retrieve one of those chemical ice packs from the umpire’s bag, and crushed it within her She-Hulk grasp, spraying ionic compounds all over her and the already exasperated official. So, by the bottom of the sixth (our final inning, due to all the time consumed by injuries, rulebook readings, and delicate reprimands), we were a sorry sight: sprained, bruised, and lightly burned, down 11 – 5. But it ain’t over ’til it’s over in Momma Johnson Park, and we weren’t going to let a few additional physical impairments stand in our way.
One after another, our batters made it on base, and before too long we had tied the game at 11. Jill was the last up, with two outs and bases loaded. The winning run, Yours Truly, was on third. I had considered just trucking home on the previous kick, but I know my own strengths and weaknesses well enough to know that such a gamble would have ended in an out, and possibly a concussion. Jill took a swing, but the Pixie pitcher regained his focus just long enough to get her out, and the game was over. Technically, it was a tie, but I kind of think we deserve the win, since we came back from such a deficit. I doubt the league will see it that way.
All in all, it was a wonderful start to the season. Our next game is Thursday at 7:00, so stay tuned to see how it goes.
Highlights Record 0 – 0 -1 MVP of the Week: I’m going to give this to Chet and Laura this week. They both played so hard as to injure themselves in their league debuts. Well done, rooks. Strong first impression. Weekly Not En Fuego Award: I’ll give it to Brandon, because he kicked the ball into the trees with such force that it punctured on a branch and deflated. Although in some circles, this would earn him the MVP of the Week. Quote of the Game: “Oh, wow. That is loud.” ~ Rookie Susan, after witnessing a round of Brandon’s favorite game.
Hello, sports fans! After four consecutive cancellations due to inclement weather (look at us, already setting records), the revised and revitalized Goddamnit Gerber squad took to the field at Momma Johnson Park to kick off kickball season! In an appropriately innocuous return, we were trounced by our opponents, the cleverly crude Balls Deep, 12 – 2. But the game was not without its moments.
There was much excitement in the outfield. To catch a fly ball in shallow right, Volpe ran backwards from first and Brandon ran in from the warning track. Narrowly avoiding a collision, the ball bounced from Volpe’s hands, over his head, and directly into Brandon’s arms for the out. No less impressive was Jenny’s catch in center field, assisted as she was–and always has been–by her boobs.
Our infield was put through their paces, as well. Amanda was always ready for the force play at second base. Volpe covered a number of fouls off the first baseline, giving us some clutch outs. Our pitching rotation of Spitz and Scott was a little shaky in our season opener, though Scott was throwing some heat. If only they had all been over the plate…
In the end, though, we couldn’t match Balls Deep’s deep drives and daring baserunning. We did, however, come away with the moral victory. After all, there was no one on our team who tried to psych out an opponent by shouting in his face when a routine fly ball was about to be caught. What a douchebag.
Our next game is this Wednesday at 8. Stay tuned!
Game 1 Essentials Record: 0 – 1 MVP of the Week: Volpe – For the assist in right field, the crucial coverage of foul territory, and showing that shouting dickhead who’s boss. Weekly Not En Fuego Award: George – For abandoning his team for almost an entire inning to go take a leak. Honestly, George? Were you not there when Referee Ryan taught us all the sneaky pee technique? Quote of the Week: “You aren’t off tomorrow? Who do you work for? Jews?” – Erin, taking note of Good Friday
There’s more than one exciting outdoor sport that starts each spring. I’m pleased to announce that after a self-imposed sabbatical, I will be returning to Momma Johnson Park with my partners in crime for another season of Hoboken Kickball!
Our first game is scheduled for tomorrow. In the past few days, I’ve tried to catch up with my teammates to get their thoughts on some of the finer points of the game, and to see if they would dish on the rest of our stellar squad. Here’s what they had to say…
You have a wild night out in the city. It’s almost 4 AM by the time you find the nearest PATH station. Who is the one member of the kickball team you want with you on that ride from hell, and why?
Amanda, team member since 2010, former Color War captain:
I’d have to pick my fiancé, George. We’d entertain ourselves by making fun of the other passengers’ attire/drunkenness/beer tears. Since it’s 4 in the morning, we’d be starving, so we’d spend the rest of the trip having to face the hard decision of choosing between Taco Truck or Seven Star Pizza.
George and Amanda, in team apparel
Which is worse, a 7:00 game or a 10:00 game?
Jill
Jill, seasoned veteran, still not as old as Josh thinks she is:
A 10 PM game is far worse. Once the game is played, then it’s roulette to see who will man up and go to the bar at 11 PM on what one would call a “school night”. A 7PM game means a hearty happy hour(s) after the game, which usually is cause for more shenanigans than drinking before the game.
Brandon, rookie, recruited from dodgeball: A 7 PM game is far worse. Assuming most people are getting home from work somewhere between 5:30-6:30, this does not leave ample time for copious amounts of happy hour drinks to be consumed before the game. Of course, I have no problem with the obligatory drinking at work either, but I prefer the bar.
George, team member since 2010, too cool for a number: A 7:00 game is way worse than a 10:00 game because I’m the only one who has enough time to get home and get to happy hour.
Erin
Erin, second season recruit, infamous team mouthpiece: I think the 10 PM games are worse because I am getting old and I really need a good night’s sleep. Otherwise the next day is miserable. I just can’t party like a rock star during the week anymore.
Which member of the team will be the first to be ejected from a game this season?
Spitz, original team member, batting order magician:
Scott. We’ll probably be the ones to eject him, too.
Josh, second season recruit, pioneer of failed “jeans = sportswear” movement:
She wasn't kidding!
Stacy. Now that she lives in Hoboken, she won’t mind being thrown out early to get more drinking in!
Stacy, product of West Orange farm system, the artist formerly known as Ol’ Whiskey Lips: Hey, who took the initiative to go SOBER for 6 months and then run a marathon? I have become quite the runner, thank you very much. I’m still planning on dancing during and after our games, despite my lack of alcohol consumption.
Describe the most obnoxious behavior you’ve encountered from an opposing player?
Stacy:
The most obnoxious behavior was from our own Goddamnit Scott Gerber! [Ed. Note: Said behavior redacted due to content standards. But you're invited to use your imaginations.]
I’d be remiss were I not to mention that Cupid’s arrows continue to strike at Momma Johnson Park. Over the Fourth of July weekend, kickball alumni Nate and Julia got engaged in the hills overlooking Lake Ontario. The picturesque proposal was only slightly marred by the fact that when Nate got down on one knee, like a proper gentleman, his lower leg went directly into a shallow puddle, soaking him as well as his phone. So, I waited to post this congratulatory note until I figured ample time had passed for him to get a new one and notify all necessary parties.
So, congratulations to Nate and Julia, two of the first new friends I made when I moved to Hudson County three years ago. They were part of the original band of Goddamnit Gerberites; and though they have since retired, we never miss an opportunity to hang with them. They’re warm, funny, and engaging people–and among the few who have no qualms about crossing the canal into Jersey City! Above all, they are a perfectly complimentary couple, as evidenced by their Halloween costumes from last year.
