Squaring off against the meaningless assemblage of unfamiliar faces that are the 2013 Richmond Cleaners, we knew that we'd be without our star pitcher, who was ill with food poisoning. (Ed. note to Flowers: cocaine is not food) Nevertheless, we reasonably expected to have a chance; the Cleaners are unpredictable. The entire team consists of guys who were looking for the bathroom at Boxing Room and mistakenly wandered into the kitchen while Boof was working. Some of them are monsters; most of them are shitty. In the first inning, John Segura neatly twirled himself out of a jam with a 3-2 curveball to strike out that nice guy with a goatee whose name I forget, and after Jimmy lead off our frame with a base hit, it was shaping up to be a real nice ballgame.
Like how this was shaping up to be a real nice marriage
Then everything kind of went to hell, as it so often does for us, with the Cleaners racking up runs and the Dealers failing to string together hits against a fairly unremarkable pitcher. (It was that guy of theirs. Not the monster guy with the Sharks hat or the monster guy with the beard or one of their crappy guys, but a sort of medium guy. Robby?) We had a few standout performers: Andrew Gomez (playing with a shattered wrist and no regard for his own health and well-being) raked three hard base hits, including a double. Jimmy did the same. Mickey's cousin Chris, an enormous Aryan ubermensch who was just visiting on a day trip from Krypton, had three singles and scored from first on Gomez's double in the bottom of the 3rd, an awe-inspiring display of speed that I hope to replicate when I get my first Rascal scooter. At 3rd base, Will Cornyn put on the most incredible defensive spectacle I've seen since Rafael Palmeiro's first congressional hearing. (More on Will later.) Despite all that, it's hard to dig your way out of an early ten-run hole, and by the sixth inning it was 17-4 Cleaners and we were pretty much done. There was, however, a completely awesome and hilarious coda to the game: Vinnie Martini pitched three scoreless innings, using his revolutionary technique of tossing balls over the plate with no windup and no neurotic impulse to impress anybody with his velocity. It was great. The little yinzer has the PCHL completely figured out.
PLAYER OF THE GAME: Will Cornyn, with NINE putouts at 3rd base. Cornyn was basically one third of an entire baseball team. He demonstrated his balletic range and coordination by cutting off several shots to the 5.5 hole, but my favorite play came on a Baltimore chop that bounced about twenty feet in the air. For what seemed like an eternity, Will serenely gazed up at it like an ornithologist on Valium, betraying no eagerness or anxiety whatsoever, and when it finally fell into his glove, he instantly whipped a frozen rope to first to nail the runner by a step. (ED. NOTE: It was actually an overthrow but this is how Sam chooses to remember it) He also went 2 for 5 with a double. After the game, I ran up to him and invited him back to my place to listen to Italian disco music and share a gelato. His face turned kind of green and he politely declined.
PLAY OF THE GAME: Tragically, I was peeing against a tree with my back to the field when it happened, but in the midst of his bravura pitching performance, Vinnie apparently snared a line drive comebacker. CATLIKE speed and reflexes, that boy. I also have to mention the fly ball that John initially misjudged in left field but then chased down and snagged like Torii fucking Hunter. Even when we're wrong, we're oh so right.
MATTHEW BRODERICK DRIVE OF THE GAME: For fearless, unbowed defiance, I'd like to recognize the back-to-back line drives Gomez and Jimmy hit off of Sharkhat Jockface in the bottom of the 8th. That shit was LOUD. I promptly stranded them with a strikeout. I don't know how they did it.
Gomez
Jimmy
SHOUTOUTS: I'd like to thank Xavier Sotela for helping us out with his great, upbeat attitude, and for taking over catching duties when I got depressed and wandered off. And I'd like to thank our umpire, the guy who stayed and did his duty throughout this whole torturous, tedious game, my best friend in the world, the man I'd take a bullet for: Burt Reynolds.
(I think your mustache is sexy)
MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: Is Mark Moss dead or something?
STATS (CTRL+ TO ENLARGE)
I'm not sure if this was the same play mentioned above (probably not, as I recall him icing the runner, not throwing it away), but there was a high chopper that Will nabbed that he first marveled at like a hillbilly being beamed aboard a UFO, drawling"Whoaaa-ow, that's hiiiiigh." Thought he was phoning this one in until he snatched the ball out of the air and whipped it to our very own Hitler Youth poster model at 1st. Nondescript cleaner #8 was out by a step and a half. I had never shit my pants while clapping & laughing until then.
ReplyDeleteAlso, Vinnie putting away the final out of the 5th (?) inning in right field before he went in to pitch warmed my heart. Perhaps this is when the mescaline really started to kick in, but I saw a heavy-lidded, young penguin catch a fish like he's done it a thousand times before and heard Sir David Attenborough's velvety voice in my head describing the whole thing in wonderful detail. For a moment there, I believed & a single tear ran from my eye.
Notable mention to JP Segura for "shit!"-ing and "fuck!!!"-ing during the first strike of every at-bat. Does his backswing somehow connect with his helmet, causing him to forget he gets two more? Is he thrust into a sort of amnesic hulk rage whenever he swings and misses? I'm not sure, but I do respect a man who isn't afraid to curse with such abandon around his own child. Seeing a parent scream expletives at an uncaring God creates feelings of wonder, respect, and terror in children, which is important for their sense of humor and humility.