Happy Hump Day, sports fans! You’ll be getting a double dose of kickball posts this week. We’re in the final days of regular season play, and due to past rain-outs, the schedule has been greatly compressed. As such, we played last night and will play again Thursday. Now, more important commitments (and yes, there are more important commitments than kickball) might preclude me from attending Thursday’s game, in which case I hope one of my teammates will be kind enough to recap the game for me…but we’ve seen how well that arrangement has worked out this season. Anyway, let’s go to the video tape! (No, really, keep reading…)
From the get-go, this was an unusual game. Despite the fickle forecast, we had a full baker’s dozen on hand. Our opponents, however, were less well-staffed. In fact, they were barely able to field a team. They only managed to round out their roster by soliciting the participation of people who had played in the previous hour’s matches. These people were players in a higher division–a truly coordinated, competent, athletic division–and frankly, they had no business playing with jeering, addle-brained slobs like us.
This also raised a pertinent question, which Spitz was sure to pose to the evening’s official at close range: if we’re playing half a team, how will this game be placed on our record? Are our opponents forced to forfeit, meaning that the ensuing game against this multi-divisional mish-mosh is just for shits and giggles? If we win, does it count because they agreed to play on regular terms without the required number of players? If they win, does it count because even though they lacked players, we fielded a complete team? Is the entire endeavor negated by the presence of players not registered to the opposing team?
If we got an answer, I didn’t hear it. I was already out in right field, ready to kick some poorly attended ass!
Of course, it turned out that our asses were the ones that were kicked. The sandbox-like composition of the dirt field tripped up our infielders, including Scott, who walked in a run. Things weren’t much better on the outfield grass, where George was struck by a temporary loss of his depth perception, the only explanation I can think of for the amount of flies he missed. Our offense was a bit stronger, but took too long to rally. For every strategic bunt or line drive to the outfield, there were numerous tag-outs between bases, thus eliminating potential runs. Sometimes they were quick and vicious (see Stacy taking a bullet to the bazooms); sometimes they were committed by nothing more than gravity and kinetic energy (see Jill running into the ball and thus getting out).
We were trailing by at least four runs by the top of the sixth. Given the beating we were taking, and our own typically glacial pace at the plate, the game was dragging on. Since we weren’t the last game of the evening for once, quite a crowd of other Zoggers had assembled in the Momma Johnson bleachers. It was in front of this crowd that controversy erupted.
A fog of confusion settled over the entire field towards the middle of the sixth. We made the second out, but the other team, most of my team, and even the ref seemed to think that it was the third. People started coming on and off the field. No one but Spitz and Yours Truly seemed to be aware of this monumental misunderstanding. When we tried to point it out, no one was particularly alarmed. The other team was too far ahead to care, and my lazy-ass comrades-in-arms were too close to the dugout bench and Amanda’s store-bought cookies to get back on their feet again. Since I was leading off, I decided I’d avenge this clerical error by getting on base. Spitz required a bit more satisfaction from the ump, but I’m not sure she ever got it.
I kept my promise, and began a small rally that sustained us for the remainder of the game. It wasn’t enough for us to take the lead, but it got the team’s spirits back up. It also got me to second base, which put me next to the other team’s shortstop, which got my spirits back up. (I didn’t think your v-neck shirt was douchetacular. Call me?)
In the end, we came up short, losing 6 – 4. Yet as we cleared the field, I was no closer to understanding how the game would be counted (see the team record below). It was an altogether unusual evening. Hopefully it got us sharp for tomorrow night’s final regular season bout. Stay tuned to see how the season ends, and who presents the final recap…
Game 6 Brief
Record: 1 – 3 – 1 – 1?
MVP of the Week: Stacy – Prior to taking that peg to the chest, Ol’ Whiskey Lips made a tag of her own, which you can see below! (Video taken by Amanda, uploaded by George)
Weekly Not En Fuego Award: Spitz and Erin – For taking rides home from Stacy when you live six blocks from the field! Excuse me? I live in another goddamned zip code. Yet you know how I got home? Mass transit and my own two fucking feet, that’s how!
Quote of the Week: “My underwear keeps sliding down.” ~ Jill, likely not realizing she was speaking aloud, while surreptitiously shimmying at my side