29ERS BEAT DEALERS 8-0, POLAR ICE CAPS CONTINUE TO MELT

RECAP: After our grotesque self-immolation in front of the 7-10 Oakland Beers last week, it wasn't like we were going into this one with our heads high and our chests puffed out. They're the 29ers. They're the PCHL incarnation of stage-four cancer. Considering that we were missing our four best players (Moss, Gomez, Crizzle and Mickey), we figured we'd be lucky to finish five innings before darkness interrupted the scarlet gangbang. Making matters worse, the diabolical prettyboy who manages the 29ers failed to inform us of the game's location until the last minute, which left all of us discombobulated and ill-prepared, and probably contributed to the absence of Jimmy and Will. Only seven players showed up; fortunately, Ricky Rein, the honorable and munificent 29er shortstop, supplied us with substitutes in the form of his friend Aaron and his dad Rick Sr., and we were able to play a proper game. The game sucked, but it went by quickly.

Like our last game against the 29ers, it was a waste of Justin Flowers's arm. He pitched well, allowing only one extra-base hit, but we did virtually nothing at the plate to indicate that we were able-bodied multicellular organisms. Bobby Renz, a creepily handsome 1950's dance show host who has a suspiciously polished delivery, threw a complete game shutout. After the last out, the 29ers doused each other with champagne, as their win officially clinched a first-place finish and playoff bye. Awesome.

The heartwarming anti-underdog story of a talent-rich team

that easily dominated a beer league.

 

 



PLAYER OF THE GAME: The Player To Be Named Later

 

Previously known for his awe-inspiring ability to fly out to center field in every fucking at-bat, the artist who occasionally answers to Spector (possibly related to that other insane genius, Phil) reached base three times and filled in beautifully at shortstop. The sexy mystery man had two hard-hit singles and participated in a robust double play. It is rumored that he leads a second, doubly secret life as an envelope-pushing rock 'n' roll pervert, which only adds to his mystique. Someday I'll get the full story about the strapon incident.

 

Honorable Mention: Our overworked and underpaid manager John Paul Segura, fatigued from raising two delinquent daughters and sending hundreds of texts to Ray, somehow managed to patch together a full squad and then, as if that wasn't enough, went 1-2 with two walks. I'm pretty sure his foot was on the bag on that one play, but what can you do when the Boobiewatcher is umpiring the game.

 

DICK TRICKLE DRIVE OF THE GAME: Rick Rein, Sr., pulled hamstring and all, yanking a hot shot over the third base bag in the 9th inning and heroically hobbling to first like Kirk Gibson or, if you prefer, disabled Canadian national hero Terry Fox. He would be replaced by a pinch-runner who promptly fucked everything up and helped seal the 29er shutout, but it was a beautiful moment.

 

PLAY OF THE GAME: Aaron, gobbling up a sharp grounder from Big "Large Michael" Mike and feeding it to The Player To Be Named Later for a 4-6-3 double play. We might be seeing more of Aaron.

 

Honorable Mention: Spoon was a one-man outfield. Amazing instincts. He played with the serene confidence of a man who knows he's about to be knee-deep in trim in the Nevada desert.

 

BULGE OF THE GAME: Vinnie and his white jeans. Jesus.

 

PITCH OF THE GAME: That slider to Louie. Eat shit, Louie.

 

MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: Spoon

 

STATS



 

 

SEND YOUR THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS TO LANDO

 

 



Oakland Beers 25, Mission St. Dealers 9: The Inadequacy of Language

RECAP: When I started writing this blog, the Dealers had just embarked upon what would eventually become a seven-game losing streak. As a member of the team, it was a hellish experience, but as a writer, it produced a lot of juicy material: failure, self-reproach and internal conflict are inherently more interesting than unremitting triumph (29ersbaseball.blogspot.com). Then we started winning again, and I became nervous; I don't know how to deal with success. Fortunately, that ceased to be an issue last Saturday, as a shitty team from Oakland took our playoff hopes and smashed them like so many watermelons underneath the dread hammer of Gallagher.



Holy SHIT, we were bad. It was 18-0 by the middle of the fifth. Our pitchers walked 24 batters. Vinnie Martini almost earned Player of the Game honors with what was essentially a joke appearance in the ninth inning. This is not to deflect the spotlight from our hitting or fielding: we sucked at EVERYTHING. For instance, this route taken by Vinnie Martini on a routine fly ball to right field:





Other complaints: Stonehouse bringing a pitcher of margaritas onto the field; Rob Spector having about as much luck as that park ranger who got struck by lightning seven times; the Dealers falling behind in the standings to the Richmond Cleaners, who don't seem to care at all. Now, on to the positive:

PLAYER OF THE GAME: Vinnie. Really. He had good at-bats, and his pitching experiment taught us all to feel joy again.

1997 FULLY LOADED DODGE VIPER ORIGINAL OWNER DRIVE OF THE GAME: Chris is starting to make extraordinary accomplishments look mundane, as he parked yet another home run out of Potrero Field in the bottom of the 7th. If we don't make the playoffs, at least we got to see a lot of moon shots this year.

Honorable Mention: Justin Flowers with the bases-clearing 3-RBI triple/near home run in the bottom of the sixth. Not only is he our Cy Young; he might also be our Adam Dunn.  

PLAY OF THE GAME:  Will Cornyn cutting off a tough chopper to the 5.5 hole and then calmly firing one of his trademark 120-foot fastballs to first base to nail some dude. I remember myself and umpire Ray both saying, "whoa."

MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: Eric Rosen (three hits)

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I BEAT MY FACE AGAINST MY KEYBOARD: IUUHFRIOUW208G42998GR599GELSPSJKLWPWPLJP4OIVCTFXSEAasrdf

STATS!



 

Sunset Blueballs: Dealers 14, Nobles 13 (pp'd)

RECAP: Riding a three-game winning streak with visions of the playoffs flickering in our chemically imbalanced heads, we traveled to the cold and dark environs of Crocker Amazon last Wednesday to try to dispatch the Sunset Nobles, a respectable-but-not-particularly-terrifying baseball team. I, like many of us, thought we were going to win. We had momentum, and delusional self-belief; they had customized hoodies from Zazzle.com. Alas, our pitcher (I use the term "pitcher" in the 19th-century sense, when teams carried only one pitcher, because face it, that's our situation) was off his game, and we were in a 12-2 hole after four innings. The Nobles drew several walks with the aid of a thoroughly ungenerous home plate umpire, and also got key hits from the likes of Dave "Frodo" Gardner and Shane "Lil C" Crosby (twitter.com/lilcmurder44), which left us all feeling confused and miserable. But then...WE RALLIED. Taking advantage of the parsimonious strike zone, we chipped away at the hard-throwing but oft-wild Bill Sandberg, and with some bad Nobles defense and a monstrous night at the plate from Crizzle Puff Adams, we came all the way back (and then some) to make it 13-12 in the 7th. The Nobles tied it in the bottom of that frame with an RBI single by Craig "Lumber Pimp" Matoes, but we reclaimed the lead in the top of the 8th when Crizzle doubled off of Dave "Pippin" Gardner and then scored on an error. We had the bases loaded with one out and Justin "Three True Outcomes" Flowers at the plate, but then the fucking lights went out.

All you see is this, and all you feel is

Crizzle's heavy breath on your neck. Then

Will steals your wallet, and the next morning

you're pregnant with Spoon's child.

 

Because the game was tied at the end of the last completed inning, it's a suspended game that may or may not be completed, depending on possible playoff ramifications and however many people share the fundamental belief that THERE ARE NO FUCKING TIES IN BASEBALL. We'll see. I hate night games.

 

PLAYER OF THE GAME: CRIZZ

Google Image result for "Chris Adams"

 

Five hits, four RBIs, and what might have been the winning run if God didn't hate us as much as He apparently does. I tend to play badly in night games. My eyes have weakened irreparably after almost two decades of squinting at computer screens, and I don't see the ball well. Crizzle has no such problem, because he spends his nights tracking and eating small nocturnal animals.

 

PLAY OF THE GAME: MICKEY THOMS, unhappily relegated to the outfield, rushing in on a shallow fly ball with the bases loaded and one out, making an obscene diving catch, and then firing it in to third base to double off the runner. God, that was cool. Let's make this blog even gayer, as if that was possible:

 



 

DRIVE OF THE GAME: Eric Rosen's beeeyootiful 2-RBI line drive in the bottom of the fifth that sailed just over the shortstop's glove, capping off a six-run rally that elevated us from "dejected losers" to "manic fantasists."

Queens.





 

QUOTE OF THE GAME: "A good compromise is when both parties are dissatisfied"-Henry Clay

 

MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: Mickey Thoms

CHAD GAUDIN, HIGH ON BATH SALTS, SAWS SELIG'S HEAD OFF, FACES POSSIBLE LIFETIME BAN

Not really, but I have fantasies of turning this place into the next Deadspin. In preparation for our game against notorious gopherballers The Sunset Nobles, watch and study this compilation of stylish Japanese bat flips. Then devise your own!

WELCOME TO THE SPECIAL SUNSET NOBLES EDITION. MAY OUR TWO GREAT ORGANIZATIONS ALWAYS COEXIST IN HARMONY AND PROSPERITY. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BUY SOME DICK PILLS?

RECAP: Every boy dreams of playing for the Sunset Nobles. I remember lying awake in my Lisa Frank-themed bed at home in Menlo Park in the early '90s with a '50s-era transistor radio in my ear, listening to pirate broadcasts of Nobles games. To someday share a dugout with this cast of characters and soak up the dense pop culture references of a Dave Gardner, or the abstruse political-insider knowledge of an Adrian Covert, or even just to surreptitiously stare at Charlie Ansanelli's body... I knew it was a pipe dream, and I would often shed a single tear, which would roll down my cheek and onto my pillowcase, which depicted a neon pink unicorn frolicking on a tropical beach.

So naturally, when I got the call from Dave Gardner some two decades later that the Nobles were short a guy and needed me to fill in for them against the 29ers, I screamed, threw the phone across the room, and spent the next few hours flapping my hands rapidly while jumping up and down. It was all coming true. 24 hours after that fateful phone call, I was at Potrero Hill Rec, encased in a snug #66 David Gardner alternate jersey, ready to take right field for the honest-to-God Sunset Nobles.

Of course, the game turned out to be a thriller. The 29ers put up an early lead, which is sort of like reporting "the sun came up that morning," but Craig Matoes settled down and held them in check until the fourth, when we finally got to the 29ers' Dodger-hatted pitcher, Ryan Gantz. I had been told the night before by an unreliable source within the 29er organization that Louie would be starting because Gantz was on some sort of cross-country traveling meth binge with his floozy girlfriend, but  this turned out to be false intelligence. Anyway, Ryan started walking guys in the fourth, probably because of my intimidating presence, and eventually was replaced by Louie, who also walked some guys, and gave up some key hits. To be honest, my memory of our rally or the game in general is not exactly photographic. Before the game I had gotten about two hours of sleep on Ray's floor, and it was not quality sleep; more like a "vodka coma." Anyway, what I do remember is that by the middle of the fifth, we had roared ahead to a 9-5 lead, and it looked like we were actually going to beat the 29ers (the self-labeled "Friendly Neighborhood Juggernauts" BARF). I was feeling confident in my new teammates, and the 29ers kind of looked like shit. By their own standards. By league standards, they looked "average to above-average." We were up 9-6 in the sixth when (of course this happened) Mike from the 29ers hit a 400-foot, three-run home run that landed in a palm tree. I like Mike; he's a really nice guy, but he has the physical presence of a man who'd sew your ass to your face outside of a TSOL concert. I really feared and hated him at that moment. That shit pretty much killed our mojo. The 29ers gouged out additional runs in the seventh and eighth, Louie kept us contained for the rest of the game, and we dropped it, 11-9. God DAMMIT I would have loved to win. A Noble win actually would have been bad for the Dealers and our playoff chances, but what can I say, you guys won my heart. For a little while. It'll clear up by August 14th.

PLAYER OF THE GAME: Bill Fucking Sandberg. Other possible nicknames: Bill "Backhand" Sandberg, Bill "Skyy" Sandberg, Ol' Blue Eyes, Bill Iceberg, Willie Soft Hands, The Sunset Strangler, Mr. Showmanship, The Plague.

He had three hits and he put on a goddamn CLINIC at shortstop. Spearing one-hoppers backhanded, ranging out to shallow left for tricky windblown popups...throwing the ball to first in a timely and accurate manner. Sorry, sometimes I run out of baseball terminology. Sandberg was awesome.

DRIVE OF THE GAME: Kind of fucked up to award it to yourself, but the Noble hit I remember most clearly was my opposite-field liner with the bases loaded to knock in two runs and give us the lead. I really hope I'm not forgetting a Dave Gardner home run or something.

PLAY OF THE GAME: I've already mentioned Sandberg's obscene shortstoppage skills, so I'd like to give a shout-out to Charlie Ansanelli's frightening ability to teleport across vast swaths of outfield. There were two hilarious incidents: The fly ball to center that Charlie ran over and caught even though he was playing left, and the bomb that Louie hit over my head in right that he came heartbreakingly close to catching. Ansanelli's combination of size and speed is nonsensical and Bo Jacksonesque. I should also probably mention Craig "I Don't Slide" Matoes bumping into Brandon "Lunchbox" Smith at home plate, eliciting a reaction from the 29ers that at first I thought was absurdly overblown, but now realize was legitimate, because Craig has clearly been trying to murder Brandon all season. I mean, look, we've all thought about it. Craig's just been the only one who's dangerously amoral enough to try it. The man smokes Havana Ovals. He's probably iced more people than Vasili Blokhin.

I also liked Shane Crosby playing "Baby Got Back" as a rally song.

 

THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME PLAY AND FOR VISITING MY BLOG.

I LIKE MONEY.

Dealers...EXPLODE! Mission St. 22, Richmond Cleaners 14

RECAP: The 2001 Arizona Diamondbacks were a team of mostly unremarkable, half-competent journeymen who rode two dominant, possibly steroid-enhanced pitchers all the way to a championship, in front of a fanbase that probably consisted of tweakers and racists.

 

Not pictured: Jeremy, Matt

 

The 2013 Cleaners are trying to pull of the same feat, but their little house of cards is starting to quaver and collapse. Today, their overworked starter lasted only four innings before we torched their weak bullpen for 18 runs. A lot of the "torching" involved standing calmly in the batter's box while their pitchers failed to throw strikes, but that's nothing to be ashamed of. We just scored one of our biggest victories of the year. We are now only a half-game out of the playoff picture. Time to start believing, my little atheists.

 

 

Left, flashing the victory sign: Mickey Thoms. Right: Jeremy from the

Cleaners, wondering where it all went wrong.

 



 



PLAYER OF THE GAME: This one's difficult. You guys were brilliant today. Mickey "Mouse" Thoms reached base five times. Will, Eric, and Spoon, four. The unlucky Rob "Robbed" Spector played a great 2B and padded his league-leading total in the "hard-hit outs to CF" category. Gomez was a fucking beast, obviously. We'll get to him later. But for sheer grittiness and comprehensive baseball success, it's gotta be the skipper, John Paul Segura.

 

 

Second from left, 1987

 











Three hits, two walks, FOUR RBI,  a respectable (and absolutely necessary) pitching performance that was marred only by cheap wind-aided bloop hits and a tight strike zone from the umpire, and a GORGEOUS diving catch in RF that will be honored shortly. The guy's amazing. This one's for you, John:

 



RUSSELL PHILLIPS DRIVE OF THE GAME: In the top of the 6th, Jeremy from the Cleaners hit a deep drive that somehow landed *on top* of the chainlink outfield fence at Potrero and then bounced over for a home run. Then, in the bottom of the frame, our Andrew Gomez did the exact same thing. Is that possible? Did I hallucinate it? Fuck it, who cares? Gomez hit a ball out of Potrero, and it was a spectacular momentum-shifter. He now has four home runs on the year, which has got to be some kind of league record. 

Shortly after Andrew Gomez joined the team, and I realized we

were both dysfunctional children of mass media, we devised a

home run celebration based on the ending of  Terminator 2. You

hit a home run, then pretend to sink into a pool of molten

steel while giving a thumbs-up. Nobody got it.

 

PLAY OF THE GAME: John Segura's FULL-EXTENSION DIVING CATCH on a slicing liner to RF. Obviously. If you saw it...you came.

 

Honorable mentions: Mickey Thoms's bullseye relay from Spoon to nail Boof at third base in the 6th; Andrew Gomez to Sam Bull for the seldom-seen 3-2 double play in the 3rd.

 

QUOTE OF THE GAME: "Hello, hello, I'm back again"-Gary Glitter

 

MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: Mickey Thoms

 

STATS