Hello, sports fans. Coming to you far more promptly this time with a recap of yesterday’s kickball match. Once again, we were playing under the lights on a saturated field at the completely reasonable time of 9:45 PM. Once again, we were loud, obnoxious, and feisty. But for the first time this season, we lost. It’s been so long since our summer slump that we forgot what it felt like to lose. It’s not pleasant.
The final score was 10 – 5. We played a tight game against our opponents in royal blue. It was by and large a one-run game, until the wheels came off towards the end. We were without our Bash Brothers, Joe and Matt, and Nate is still avoiding us. Even Pete was missing! Now, I’m not using these absences as excuses. Spitz and Scott were once again a dynamic duo on the mound, and rookie Leroy returned. We even picked up two other newbies this week: Tony, a longtime associate of the kickball ensemble who finally decided to suit up, and Eric, a completely fresh face gifted upon us by the ZogSports gods. (Since Eric is the third teammate of ours to bear that name this year, he will henceforth be known as 3ric). Both performed admirably. Tony had a wonderful play at shortstop when he caught a line drive which ricocheted off of Stacy’s chest, and 3ric played with the kind of zeal reserved only for people like, well, Rachel.
Our foes were a fairly nondescript group. No need for them to have personalities when their team captain so much of his own to go around. A good three inches taller than anyone on either team, Commander Crackpot oversaw the theater of battle from the pitcher’s mound, from which he never moved. If you think his baserunning was intense, what with the unnecessary slides and illegal leads, well–let me tell you about his pitching preparation. After cleaning the ball off with the inside of his t-shirt, he’d rotate it a few times in his grip before tucking it under one arm and then repeatedly licking his throwing hand.
I guess this was for traction or something. Frankly, I was too skeeved to solve this particular puzzle. Two major issues here, Sargeant Saliva. First, that ball has been rolling in the mud for three hours prior to our arrival. So, you’ve got a nice sampling of Hoboken park soil traveling from your fingertips to your tongue. Second, the rest of us all have to touch that ball! Keep your spit to yourself! And don’t even give me that faux-offended, semi-challenging, thrust-out-chin and shoulders squared, bad boy of the suburbs posturing when I refuse to shake your hand. Take your swine flu and go home, you big sloppy toolbag.
We have over a week’s lay-off until the next contest. Can we get our mojo back? Will our entire team ever be in one place at once? And will we ever play at an early enough hour to allow for acceptable post-game drinking?
Game 3 Brief
Record: 2 – 1
MVP of the Week: 3ric – For handling himself quite well as a completely uninitiated, unaffiliated, unfamiliar new member of the team. While adapting himself to our shenanigans, he managed some solid baserunning and eager fielding.
Weekly “Not En Fuego” Award: Tie – To Josh, for fouling out at the plate to end the game; and to Mike, for colliding with the other team’s second basewoman, getting out in the process, and then not seeing if she was okay. Classy fella, that one. Oh well, at least there were no police reports this time.
Quote of the Week: “We lost on fouls. Welcome to the team, rookie.” ~ Erin