How Does I Hit Ball: 29ers 8, Dealers 0

RECAP:  We sucked at baseball today.


PLAYER OF THE GAME: Henry Scott Tuke



Henry Scott Tuke 1858-1929

 

"Henry Scott Tuke was an English visual artist; primarily a painter, but also a photographer. His most notable work was in the Impressionist style, and he is probably best known for his paintings of nude boys and young men. Tuke painted oil studies of young male nudes during a tour of Italy in his early twenties in 1881, but the theme did not become central to his work until after 1885, when he had moved to Falmouth, then still a secluded part of Cornwall and a part of the country with a very mild climate that was more agreeable for nude bathing."-Wikipedia

 

 

Nah but really, if you had to pick one, it was Justin Flowers.

1984-









 

On a day when nearly everyone looked like shit, Flowers was the one who bore the closest resemblance to an actual ballplayer. Despite being so hungover that he barfed during the extremely brief postgame ride from St. Mary's to Rock Bar (ED. NOTE it was also because he drank some skunked Budweisers that had been rotting in John's equipment bin for the past three weeks) he threw a noble and ballsy complete game and really didn't get hit hard by anyone except that sexy dude who dates Mickey's sister and we could have had on our team. We're morons

 

LISA "LEFT-EYE" LOPES DRIVE OF THE GAME: I did this one. I broke up the no-hitter.

Me





,



One of those sad little victories that keep me going through the waking nightmare that is my life ever since Hostess stopped making snack cakes: breaking up Louie's no-hitter in the bottom of the 7th with a clean line drive to RF. As soon as I hit it, I knew, even as the willowy indie rocker playing second for the 29ers scrambled adorably for it as if he had a chance in hell. I got to first base and screamed, "EAT SHIT, LOUIE," and some say I transformed chillingly into a full-fledged bro right at that moment. Like, it was as scary and sudden as Donald Sutherland revealing himself as a pod in Invasion of the Body Snatchers, or Large Marge's scene in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure.

 

DEFENSIVE PLAY OF THE GAME: Crizzle "Jennifer" Puff pretending to catch a line drive to 3rd base with a runner on first, intentionally dropping the ball, then picking it up and firing it to Rob at 2B who then deftly completed a diabolically clever double play. I asked Crizzle if he really meant to drop the ball, and he said "no."  Then he winked at me, flapped his gossamer wings, and disappeared in a cloud of pixie dust.

The universe is a magical place, and Crizzle is a magical guy.

 

LEAST VALUABLE PLAYER: "Peter the Wild Boy (fl. 1725 to February 1785) was a mentally handicapped boy from Hannover in northern Germany who was found in 1725 living wild in the woods near Hamelin (Electorate of Brunswick-Lüneburg), the town of Pied Piper legend. The boy, of unknown parentage, had been living an entirely feral existence for an unknown length of time, surviving by eating forest flora; he walked on all fours, exhibited uncivilized behaviour,  and could not be taught to speak a language."-Wikipedia

 

What I'm trying to indicate here is that Andrew Gomez must have a similar backstory because today he was THE MOST USELESS GODDAMN BARELY-SENTIENT NON-FUNCTIONING DUMB ANIMAL I'VE EVER SEEN TRY TO PLAY FIRST BASE. He made me weep for the sweet sainted soul of Abner Doubleday with his four errors and his wretched 1-for-4 batting line. I'd rather dogpaddle in a lake of boiling shit in Ray's catholic hell for the rest of eternity than endure another second of watching ANDREW GOMEZ PLAY BASEBALL

 

*Gomez asked me to be mean about him in this blog entry

 

PITCH OF THE GAME: Flowers draping a gorgeous curveball over the outside corner of the plate to strike out Craig (aka Boobiewatcher) looking. Craig talked about it obsessively at Rock Bar so at least we're affecting the 29ers in some small way besides not being no-hit by them

 

QUOTE OF THE GAME: Whatever Sicilian curse Vincent Martini placed on the 29er bench before I broke up their no-hitter (I'm seriously curious about this Vinnie)

 

MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: Mark Moss (He hit the ball hard, he glided around the outfield like some freaky apparition, and I don't care if this joke is played out because I like Moss)

 

 

OUR NEXT GAME IS SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE

 

 

 



Comfortably Numb: Oakland Beers 16, Mission Street Dealers 11

RECAP: We've done nothing but lose since this blog was started, but all great literature comes from a place of pain and suffering, as Lenny Dykstra once said. The handsome and lanky Julian Elorduy took the bump despite never having pitched in the PCHL before, and he did damn well, all things considered. I think he's gonna blossom into a scary Steve Carltonesque lefty motherfucker now that he's gotten his debut out of the way. So it was back and forth all day: the jocular Oaklanders would jump in the lead with some flukey two-strike hits, then we would catch up with a smash or two from the likes of Moss or Crizzle or Gomez, then they would crawl back ahead with some of their stupidass bullshit, then we would have a beer, then Spoon would fire us up with Vietnam War stories, then John Segura would do a seductive dance, and we would sorta get back in it, but eventually we just lost. S'okay. Shit happens. We're still only a game out of the playoffs. Let's not become a Lifetime original movie just yet.



PLAYER OF THE GAME: It was this fucking talented freak called Crizzle Puff, or Chris (I'm not even privy as to why he's called Crizzle Puff, so I'm just gonna call him Jennifer) who had six RBIs and came within one hit of the cycle.

Jennifer

 

He's really good. Also, scariest jock-on-nerd prank of the game: Jennifer pretending to swing at my head as I walked by him in the on-deck circle. I POOPED

 

Honorable mention: Gomez

 

RYAN DUNN DRIVE OF THE GAME: The Bash Brothers. Canseco and McGwire. Gomez and Crizzle. The parallels are mindblowing. One's Cuban, one's a redhead. One of them is a rageaholic with a drug problem, the other one is a rageaholic with a drug problem. One of them fucked Madonna, and the other one rides a motorcycle.

I had a a weird internal debate about which home run to award Drive of the Game to. Jennifer's was a beautifully timed, heroic three-run bomb to tie the game at 10 in the later innings, but Gomez's two-run shot came first and I feel like it was hit slightly harder to a deeper part of the field. I also feel like Gomez is gonna twist my head off and eat it like an apple if I don't give him at least equal credit, so I'm calling them the Co-Drives of the Game.

 

DEFENSIVE PLAY OF THE GAME:  Sometimes there aren't a lot of close or interesting plays in the field, and often I try to relate everything to myself, because I have what's known in baseball circles as "Narcissistic Personality Disorder." So the defensive play of the game was definitely Mark Moss (this is the unimportant part) taking a relay from LF and firing a perfect throw to Sam Bull (this is the important part) at home plate to tag out noted career criminal Chad Feagley. He slid into my ankle really hard, but I found the strength to hold on. GIVE ME KISSES

 

NANCY KERRIGAN INJURY OF THE GAME: Eric "Mossad" Rosen went out into shallow right for a popup and was promptly trampled by an overzealous Mexican buffalo who did this to his ankle. (Just kidding, John. We love you. Good pitching.) Ray later reported that Rosen was curiously playing around with his wound and "you could see the bone." BARF

                                                 

                                                  

 

                                                                        Gross.

 

I later demanded that Rosen surrender his bloody sock so that it could someday be displayed in a hypothetical PCHL Hall of Fame museum a la Curt Schilling:

 

History.

 

 

FAN OF THE GAME:

Ray Mason

 

 

He comes to our games. Some say he's just cynically scouting us, but I think he really loves us. He even kept score for us today. Dealers <3 Ray

 

 

QUOTE OF THE GAME: "Thanks for the sweatpants, mom! You didn't have to go all out!"-Adam Stonehouse, making fun of his pitcher. As much as it pains me to give a quote of the game to an opposing player, Stonehouse was bringing the chuckles today.

 

 

Honorable mention: "John Segura's chest is as smooth as a 19-year-old twink's"-Anonymous

 

MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: Mark Moss

 

 

ROB SPECTOR WILL BE SINGING THE NATIONAL ANTHEM BEFORE

OUR NEXT GAME:

SATURDAY 6/29 HOME VS. 29ERS













Sunset Nobles 9, Mission Street Dealers 7: First James Gandolfini, Now This

RECAP: Undersized, windswept, pockmarked concrete field, sun in the batter's face, kickball idiots in right field, a wily and furry soft-tosser chewing gum like a laconic bastard and making us pop out about twenty times, and what the fuck is up with them being called the Sunset Nobles when I don't think any of them live in the Sunset and that little mustachioed Cincinnati Reds baseball head sleeve patch makes me think of them as entitled 19th-century racists for some reason and HOW THE FUCK DID WE LOSE THAT GAME

PLAYER OF THE GAME: David Gardner BARF 

David Gardner

JAMES DEAN DRIVE OF THE GAME: There were a few. Will Cornyn got us on the board in the first inning with a two-run rip. Andrew Gomez hit a goddamn moonshot to center that stunningly found its way into the glove of some serendipitously located Noble. In a crucial moment in the later innings, Julian "the Greyhound" Elorduy crushed a 200-mph RBI line drive through the left side. Sometimes I gaze at him when he's quietly sitting cross-legged on the ground. Julian would you like to go to Vermont with me? You know over there they'll let you marry whoever you want.

DEFENSIVE PLAYS OF THE GAME:  1. Crizzle in CF fielding a base hit and firing a SEED to home plate to nail Vince Petersen by such a wide margin that he did that defeated coasting-to-a-stop thing of baserunners who know they're doomed. 2. Flowers to Moss to Gomez for our first double play of the night. 3. Moss pulling off an unassisted double play (ED. NOTE Sam Bull doesn't know what "unassisted" means but he likes to use language incorrectly) which included a spectacular lunging grab+swipe tag at first by the Cuban Assasian, Andrew Gomez

Andrew Gomez

I'd also like to give a shoutout to Eric Rosen who played some electric infield D, bailing me out more than once.

LEAST VALUABLE PLAYER

Hey guys you should let me pitch I'm a good pitcher

1 2/3 innings of walk-laden 45 mph shit pitching to put us in an early hole, a muffed play at the plate, a terrible baserunning decision in the 9th that would have ended the game if the Nobles catcher hadn't been drunk, and the worst swinging strikeout in the history of pre- and post-Columbian America. I mentioned this last one to Ray and he looked at me with his face all scrunched up and said "I didn't even recognize you." Before our next game on Sunday I will be ceremonially drawn and quartered and fed to the needy children of Oakland

QUOTE OF THE GAME 1: "Sorry"-Pat Lennen, umpire

QUOTE OF THE GAME 2:: "GET THE FUCK BACK TO THE BAG VIRGIL"-everyone

QUOTE OF THE GAME 3: : "All your base are belong to us"-Dave Gardner

POSTGAME QUOTE 1: "The base is not a sanctuary"-Andrew Gomez

POSTGAME QUOTE 2: "I love me some Andrew Lloyd Webber"-line umpire Ray Mason

MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: M. Moss

BEERS ON SUNDAY LET'S THINK ABOUT

NOT FUCKING THIS UP

The Agony, The Ecstasy, The Entropy: Dropkick Murphys 20, Mission Street Dealers 13 (Special Vincent Martini Edition)

RECAP: Where do we start with this one? That game made no sense. It was David Lynchian. I think I hallucinated it. The last time I experienced such a wide gamut of emotions was in September of 2001, when Barry Bonds broke the single-season home run record, my cat died, terrorists blew up the Empire State Building, and I lost my virginity to Barry Bonds. I'm sayin: it was bittersweet. A lot of you were heroes today, Dealers. Perhaps in the same way that there were a lot of heroes on 9/11, or during the sinking of the Titanic, but the point is: we are better people than the Cleaners.

We fell into an 8-0 hole against a competent pitcher who upheld the unfortunate Cleaner tradition of tucking one's t-shirt into one's pants, then clawed our way back like amazing sexy lions to take an 11-8 lead. It was 13-10 Dealers going into the ninth, and then a bunch of stuff happened that I've been trying to destroy my frontal lobe with alcohol in order to forget. I do remember seeing a hawk. A beautiful, majestic hawk that swooped across the field and took a shit on my head. Literally, this happened. I was checking my phone at the time, in left field, in between batters, and while most of it landed on my Giants hat, some of its spiteful grayish-brown shit splattered onto the screen of my BlackBerry. I'm typing this into that same BlackBerry right now, and there's still a crusty stain on it. I hate the Cleaners.

PLAYER OF THE GAME:  Yeah, it was Vinnie. He reached base in every at-bat. I don't know what else to say. Vinnie is a simple man who enjoys the good things in life: Andrew McCutchen, amyl nitrate, bunting, his girlfriend, and orange-shirted suburban jocks who try to throw 80-mph fastballs by him.

Honorable Mention: John and Vinnie brought a polite and gracious young man named Rob to help fill out our lineup today, and despite his unassuming manner, he turned out to be a fucking BEAST. Got on base about a hundred times in six at-bats, and played some serious lockdown defense at 2B. I've seen grotesquely muscled jocks who played high school baseball for the Serra Padres who didn't do nearly as well as Rob in their PCHL debuts. He's on some Robert Redford Natural shit.

Mention Honorable Deux: Pitcher John Segura rising to the occasion and keeping us in the game for seven-plus gutsy innings, throwing at least 150 pitches then going home to raise his daughters. HE IS A MAN

FIAT DRIVE OF THE GAME: A certain impish Italian-American ripping an RBI single to center on an 0-2 fastball from one of Boof's demonic menagerie of hard-throwing ringers. I like Vinnie.

DEFENSIVE PLAY OF THE GAME:  Rob spearing a line drive at second to deliver us from the horrific purgatory that was the top of the 9th inning.

Honorable defensive mentions: Will Cornyn was damn solid at 3B as per usual (are third basemen usually seven feet tall? He's such a delightful anomaly) and Julian (another long-bodied alien from Planet Supermodel) played a graceful outfield. I am drunk.

QUOTE OF THE GAME:  "Come on Mickey, come on Mickey"-Virgil, incorrectly identifying Will Cornyn

MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: Julian Elorduy

STATS

 

STATZ

Big big thank you to Wiggles Cornyn for compiling these. These don't include the Beers and Nobles games because he didn't have those scoresheets (I think John framed them). There will be more complete stats to follow in the future (I know everybody wants to know their WAR) and let me emphatically state for the record that Andrew Gomez is a Cuban assassin, not a Cuban "ass asian." What does that even mean Will

D.C. Brians 12, Mission St. Dealers 7

RECAP:  In keeping with our bizarrely bad luck, the Brians decided to notch their first win of the year against us today, and they did so by trotting out some pitcher named Vinnie I've never even fucking heard of.

pictured: Vinnie

 

He was tough, and we lost. To be honest, I have no idea why those guys were 0-8, because today they were scrappy and feisty and tenacious and all of those dumbass baseball clichés. Their uniforms still look like pretentious Web 2.0 shit, though.

 

 

PLAYER OF THE GAME: Sam Bull

pictured: Sam Bull

 

 

I write these things, why not? Flowers hit me in the face with a 55-foot bouncing curveball, I caught all nine innings on a hot day despite being warned by doctors my heart would explode if I walked up stairs, and I had two infield hits. I also participated in a successful rundown (Thank you for your tutelage, Spoon). The 29ers no longer call me "pickleboy." I am now known by that exalted honorific, "faggot."

 

DEFENSIVE PLAY OF THE GAME: Andrew "Toesy" Hamilton steadfastly backtracking on what initially seemed to be a sure home run to deep LF and eventually hauling it in mid-collapse like an adorable tired puppy. He's the best.

 

Honorable Mention: Vincent Martini ranging to his left and making a deft one-hop cutoff of a hard-hit single that surely would have been a double if the slowest runner in the league hadn't hit it, and if Vincent Martini hadn't been born in 1987. When you think of the great sports moments in history-The Shot Heard 'Round the World, Dwight Clark's catch, Secretariat at the '73 Belmont, Miracle on Ice-does anything really stick in your mind as much as THE CUTOFF?

 

VOLVO DRIVE OF THE GAME:

pictured: Chrizzle

 

Chrizzle is basically a fucking Haitian voodoo legend at this point. With two outs and two on in the 9th, he took a 3-0 pitch and buttfucked it clear onto the roof of the Potrero Hill rec center, right by the weirdly preserved painting of O.J. Simpson (another notoriously unpunished public menace). I don't know where Chrizzle came from. I don't want to know. Like with Rambo, just be grateful he's on our side.

 

FIGHT OF THE GAME: The Brians' starting pitcher causing a major game delay by taking a lengthy and leisurely shit in the rec center bathroom in between innings, which provoked skipper John Segura to legitimately ask "what the fuck?" which led to Brian Woods arguing that since we failed to start at 1:00pm we should obviously be tolerant of any time delays on behalf of the Brians. The fight was settled when John and Brian murdered each other with knives.

 

GOLDEN SOMBRERO: Sorry, Doc Rosen. You've been tearing it up at the plate all year but that Vinnie guy played you like a Stradivarius.

 

QUOTE OF THE GAME: "Ay Mickey come on"-Virgil

 

DAD OF THE GAME: Chrizzle's. What a world it would be if they were all so present and supportive.

 

BASERUNNING FLOURISH OF THE GAME: Will Cornyn scoring from second on a single while carrying his own batting helmet at arm's length like a disdainful English butler

 

MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: Mark Moss

 

 

RICHMOND CLEANERS @ M.S. DEALERS NEXT WEEK

 

WHO EVEN FUCKING KNOWS?