"If a tie is like kissing your sister, losing is like kissing your grandmother with her teeth out."
---G. Brett
"Once I had a little game
I liked to crawl back in my brain
I think you know the game I mean
I mean the game called 'go insane'"
I liked to crawl back in my brain
I think you know the game I mean
I mean the game called 'go insane'"
---J. Morrison
With playoff hopes dashed, we faithful Dealers rolled our old bones to Raimondi field with no other competitive incentive than to spoil the Oakland Beers' playoff aspirations, which honestly kinda felt like an afterthought compared to the meticulous plans we made to get properly & elegantly shithoused. Handcrafted ales in artisan bottles were emptied in the haze of marijuana smoke; corn whiskey was passed around as coolers overflowed with cheap beer; talk of psychedelics tickled our ears, and the game hadn't even started yet. There was even a keg hanging out by home plate that nobody even seemed to notice until it was time to play. By the end of the game, we were passing around a half-full bottle of Prosecco, because, dammit, we have class, and there was nothing left to drink.
Deciding to "pull a Joe Torre," John Segura proudly appointed Vincent Martini as acting manager for this game. In his first stroke of brilliance, Martini made himself the starter, a move I'd been insisting should've been made ever since seeing the kid pitch a shutout inning against the Beers a few games ago armed with nothing but moxie, chutzpah, and some get-up-and-go. How do you not put this guy on the mound?
Vinnie
Starting Vinnie could've been a brilliant move had the rest of the Dealers decided to play a little defense. Strikes were thrown, balls were hit, errors were made, and a manageable 1-0 first inning gave way to an avalanche of scoring. It wasn't just The Beers, either. As the game progressed, just about every Dealer got a hit, I think. Tough to say, as this scorebook was clearly filled out by someone slowly changing into a werewolf. Numerals give way to tally marks, strange runes appear in lieu of the standard symbols, and upon further inspection, bite marks & urine stains are the only evidence that the later innings even existed. The metamorphosis was complete by the 7th inning, as indicated by the frantic, incomplete scrawls in that inning's "runs" column, and thenceforth any hope of sane scorekeeping was abandoned.
Guess which inning the mushrooms came out.
Anyway, like I said, there was lots of scoring. The Beers just scored more than we did, which is how winners are determined in sports except in baby sports like Candyland, competitive finger painting, and soccer. The McMicks (Crizz, Moss, and Toesy) had 7 singles, 5 RBIs, 2 doubles, and maybe one functioning liver cell between them. These wily, dirty, dirty Irishmen had all the RBIs according to the scorebook, which makes no sense, considering we scored 18. Furthermore, I'm not even sure Crizz, Moss, and Toesy are even Irish, but all white people look the same to me, so that's what we're going with.
Crizzle, Toesy, and Moss backstage at Dave Matthews Band
To the best of my recollection, soon the game was out of control, mushrooms were hastily ingested, and things got weird. At some point Stonehouse came out to pitch. He did alright, but not great, I think. Who knows? All I remember is he hit me with the first pitch of my at-bat when I was peaking, and it's probably because I was grinning at him like a crazed asshole. I regret nothing. It's not every day you get to go head-to-head with an animated monster.
Stonehouse (as seen by me in the 7th inning)
In the 8th & 9th innings, the Beers put in their closer, that Eaton guy. Filthy sliders were served up with a side of smugness, fastballs zipped over the plate holding their upturned noses, and before long our season came to a close. It's not exactly how we planned to go out, but the simple truth is that we like to drink, we like to talk shit, and we like to play baseball. In that regard, this season was rife with victories of the good-time variety. You guys buying any of this?
Eaton, moments before giving up a knock to yours truly
PLAYER OF THE GAME: Vincent Martini; he pitched well, he got a knock, and he managed this team to one of the funnest losses of the season. Add the fact that he looked like the Raisin Bran "Two Scoops" Sun to me by the end of the game, and I'd vote for the guy for Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Seas and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular. Haha. Just kidding. That's a position you get not by acquiring the popular vote or the majority of the electoral college, but rather by assassinating your rivals, raping their wives, and stomping on the genitals of their children. I guess what I'm getting at is: if Vinnie deems it so, no child's genitals are safe from my size 13 boots.
Vinnie (shortly after the game ended)
PLAY OF THE GAME: Anybody remember any sweet defensive plays? I don't, but I do remember John Segura popping out to the Beers' catcher two at-bats in a row. Is there anything more frustrating? He didn't throw his bat and only cursed God for putting him in such a soft, frail body once! I was impressed with his restraint.
SHANE MACGOWAN DRIVE OF THE GAME: This one's tough. There were three doubles off of the bats of Crizz, Moss, and Jimmy. All were impressive, especially Crizzle's, which initially looked like it was going out. Then, there was Mickey's triple, which was fun if nothing else because of how rare triples are in this league, what with all the beer guts, arthritic knees, and bloodshot eyes. It's close, but this one goes to Hehewuti, Mickey's spirit animal, who decided to delay Mickey's trip until well after the game was over and he was home eating dinner.
Nice job, Hehewuti!
QUOTE OF THE GAME:
"That grass sure is moving."
---Eric Rosen
It sure was, E. It sure was.
MARK MOSS OF THE GAME: I'm going with Jimmy, because he's another goddamned Irishman and could be part of the McMicks if only he had lighter hair. I'm guessing wildly here. I just see pointy noses and a lack of melanin when I look at most of you. Jimmy had a solid pitching performance, I assume, because he pitched a few innings. I dunno. I was staring at the different gradations and subtleties in the infield dirt during much of that time. I saw the nature of time & space, the impermanence of all things, and the majestic interconnectedness of all living things, leading me to recognize the futility in desire and conflict. He also had two singles and a double, which is a very Mossy thing to do. It's really nice that Jimmy finds the time to come out to the park, taking time out of his busy schedule scaring teenagers with blocks of cheese carved in the shape of his own head.
Jimmy (pictured here with a young terrified teenager)
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