Dealers 7, Brians 6: "I Didn't Come Here to Fucking Umpire"

RECAP: The DC Brians are a scary team who were bullied for a long time but have recently been asserting themselves, like that boy in Taft who brought a shotgun to his high school. This was a must-win game for us (they pretty much all are at this point); our "BACKS WERE AGAINST THE WALL," to use an insufferable sports cliché (have any of you guys actually been in a back-alley street fight situation where your back was against a wall? Cornyn, put your hand down), and like men of true grit and character, which most of us aren't, we came back from an early deficit to pull off a hair-raising 7-6 win. We had a sloppy first inning, which shouldn't surprise us anymore, and I think it was 4-0 in something like the fourth inning when we mounted a kickass rally for three runs. Then (this is the beauty part) we continued to score in the subsequent innings. Calm, collected, smart, nobody trying to murder the ball (well Crizzle was, but asking him not to murder things is like asking John to lay off the internet porn); just stringing together walks, base hits, and even the occasional extra base on a bad pickoff throw (thank you, yes I do run like the majestic springbok). So it was 7-4 going into the 9th, and I think we all foolishly expected the door to slam shut uneventfully, but, uh, it didn't. Did I mention, for those of you who weren't there, that the Brians failed to bring an umpire, so the team at bat umpired themselves for the entire game? It SUCKED. The Brians staged a weird rally, aided by the officiating of THEMSELVES, to make it 7-6 with the bases loaded and only one out. At this point I was already thinking about how to rig a rubber tube from the exhaust pipe of Gomez's Rav4 to my mouth for a quick 'n' painless death. We drew the infield in and agreed to go to home in the event of a ground ball. Of course, we forgot we had a wild card on our team.

Batting 6th and playing third base

 

The Brians' leadoff hitter (Vinny, definitely not the slowest guy on that team) hit a chopper to Will at 3rd, and while everyone's stomachs simultaneously fell out of their asses, Will stepped on third and whipped a 105-mph fastball to first base for a GAME-ENDING DOUBLE PLAY. A small child was umpiring for the Brians at the time (it was that kind of day) and he incorrectly called Vinny safe, but we just walked off the field like dicks. NO REGRETS. TWO-GAME WINNING STREAK, BITCHES

 

PLAYER OF THE GAME: You.      

   You

 

It seemed weak and unimaginative to give it to Flowers for three weeks in a row, so I'm going to use this section to honor the whole team. Everyone contributed today. Cornyn made the play of (possibly) the year. Jimmy had a crucial RBI smash. Rosen was an absolutely top-flight postgame drinking buddy, dispatching avuncular advice and encouragement in my efforts to get laid (none of it worked). Gomez had that awesome broken-bat single; rest in peace, axe bat. You were too beautiful and avant-garde for this world. Crizzle made an improbable, extremely athletic running catch on a tailing fly ball to the left-center gap. Spoon built our confidence and made us feel loved by spooning with each of us individually before the game, and Toesy is just fucking CUTE, there's no other way to say it. Have you seen how much that dog loves him? Sammy whimpers heartbreakingly whenever Toesy wanders more than five feet away from him. (The dog does the same thing.)

 

Oh and John didn't even get to play, but he showed up at the end of the game and took it upon himself to listen to the Brians' complaints about the umpiring controversy. He is the most selfless guy around. WE LOVE YOU SKIP. Thank you for telling me about that website.

 

AL COWLINGS DRIVE OF THE GAME: Flowers helping himself out with a bases-loaded opposite-field line drive, knocking in two huge runs (to put us ahead I think?) Look at this vision of  loveliness:

  

Photo stolen from Elias Perez

 

PLAY OF THE GAME: Duh. After Cornyn made the play I charged straight towards him with my arms outstretched and for the first time, I saw primal fear in his eyes. He ended up escaping into the dugout.

 

 

 

STUPID CONTROVERSY OF THE GAME: Yeah, yeah, "respect the umpire." When you find one, we'll respect him.

 

MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: Toesy

 

 

STATS WILL BE A LITTLE LATE BUT YOU'RE USED TO THAT

 

NEXT: SUNDAY, AUGUST 4TH VS. CLEANERS (HOME GAME)

 

 

DENNIS FARINA 1944-2013







 











 













STATS FOR YOU HEP CATS

My next goal is pitching stats, then maybe fielding stats, then who knows. Hat sizes? SAT scores? Total Liver Cells Destroyed? (I win.) Sorry the run column at the end is so fucked up-looking, it's a long story.

 

Team totals:



ST. MARY'S, WHERE WINGS TAKE DREAM: KOOKY AND UNPRECEDENTED MISSION ST. DEALERS VICTORY EDITION: WE BEAT THE NEWS 8-0 AND THEN I TOUCHED BOOBS

RECAP: Anemic. Feeble. Broken. Despairing. Disconsolate. Cirrhotic. Incompetent. Sexually undesirable. Pick your description of the Mission Street Dealers at the All-Star Break. I was lurching through my so-called "life" in an anguished, alcoholic fugue state, moaning and bumping into furniture and writing cryptic insults to various 29ers like a bitterly neurotic but ultimately nonthreatening ghost. We hadn't won in nearly two months. Seven losses in a row, some of them to teams that could generously be described as "horrible." Facing the two-time defending champs on Saturday, I really kind of expected to eat shit again.

Then Flowers came down from the heavens and we kicked ass.

Study the background of this image for subtle symbolism

 

The first four innings comprised a tense pitcher's duel between our beloved,

eccentric, gaily-socked Southerner and the News' crafty, cerebral and oh shit this description of Brian Huey is already racist. It was a classic power-finesse matchup, like Clemens vs. Maddux, or Mike Tyson vs. Barbara Walters. The spiritual and psychological crux of the game occurred in the fifth inning: the News loaded the bases with no outs, but Flowers proceeded to strike out the next two batters on full counts (which was terrifying and exhilarating) and then got David Blanco to pop out harmlessly to Toesy at short. After that emotional victory we started to eke out some runs, while Flowers attained a fearlessly confident state of grace that sort of reminded me of Keanu at the end of the first Matrix when he figures out that he's The One. It was still close going into the bottom of the 8th, when the life force began to visibly ebb from Brian Huey and we pounced on him for five runs to make it 8-0. Flowers came back out and easily completed his 157-pitch, four-hit shutout, and we all sort of spazzed out like confused, overstimulated rabbits. "So, wait...We scored eight runs and they scored zero runs...and we just played nine innings...They're saying the game is over...Is there a word for this? I'm scared, man. Should we call the cops?"

 

 

This guy knew what to do.

 

PLAYER OF THE GAME: For the second week in a row, it's Justin Flowers, the best ballplayer to ever relocate from Leesburg, GA to San Francisco.

Fuck you



He was ON. Talking trash, shoving his fastball up Berkeley asses, twirling beautiful breaking balls that elicited little murmurs of admiration from ex-MLB pitcher Danny, and never losing his nerve no matter how hairy the situation. Speaking of hairy: body hair. He doesn't have any. He's like a dolphin wearing a blonde wig. I don't know why I felt the need to work that in here.



Honorable Mention: Newcomer Jimmy (aka "Evil Ray"), who we picked up on waivers from
the Beers and who proved to be absolutely crucial to our success. I'm going to go ahead and give him the Gold Glove of the Game for his involvement in two beautiful double plays (Mickey Thoms, I love you too) and for that popup to no-man's land in shallow center that he somehow ended up catching. He had a big RBI base hit, he smokes Pall Malls, and he has a palpable aura of danger that some unstable women find irresistible.



1955 LE MANS DRIVE OF THE GAME: In the eighth, local huge person and all-around standup guy Andrew Gomez walloped an RBI double over the left-fielder's head for our only real-deal power hit of the game. I was on first base and I wanted to score for Gomez and give him the extra ribeye, but the 180-foot journey from first to third ended up taking me longer than it took that Nazi to walk across Tibet. At one point I think I was actually moving backwards. Sorry, man.




BASERUNNING EXTRAVAGANZA OF THE GAME: Will Cornyn scoring from first on a
GROUNDOUT. Talk about taking the game into your own hands. Also, I am fascinated by the way Will moves. When he runs I always think of the 1929 animated Disney short "Skeleton Dance."

Cornyn family reunion



MOM OF THE GAME: Lana Volk bringing snacks and that kickass futuristic cooler full of beer and non-beer refreshments. (What did we do to deserve this? You think anybody brings treats for the Nobles? No. Nobody loves them.) As always, she kept an immaculate scorebook for us, and if that wasn't enough, she can point you in the right direction if you ever need a good, reasonably-priced hotel room in Norway.





QUOTE OF THE GAME: An oldie but a goodie: "He looks like a monkey trying to fuck a football"-Flowers watching Sam Bull struggle to put on shin guards for the first time. Later re-used when he accidentally walked in on me and a lady friend in the storage room at the Knockout




LEAST VALUABLE PLAYER: Chris "Jennifer" Adams scoring a hat trick of strikeouts with his unhinged Mark Reynoldsian/Adam Dunnish style of swinging as hard as humanly possible no
matter the count. Crizzle attacks baseballs like those mobsters attacked Joe Pesci's head in the cornfield scene in Casino. Can you imagine Crizzle's lovemaking style? Thirty seconds of terrifying, frenetic pounding and then all you're left with is a crushed pelvis and screamed fuckwords ringing in your ears

From L-R: Crizzle, Sam Bull, Toesy, Mark Moss

after they read this blog entry

 



MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: Spoon. He doesn't get enough attention on this blog. I guess because he just quietly gets the job done in an upright way that doesn't lend itself to mockery. Hon. mentions: Sammy (dog), Mark Moss


ALSO: TIM FUCKING LINCECUM. Yeah, that was a perfect day.

ENJOY YOUR BYE WEEK BOYOS

 

STATS WILL BE COMPLETED AND POSTED

BY TUES. NIGHT