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