Sometimes, the saying goes, a minute can seem like an eternity (or is it a lifetime? Both are kinda long). For the Oracles, the bottom half of the first inning against the Navy's Loose Cannons seemed like several eternities, with an encore performance of "Free Bird" thrown in for effect. The Loose Cannons' pitcher, by all accounts a very pleasant and upstanding member of society, stubbornly threw the exact same pitch over and over again, a pitch that, without fail, landed on or short of the plate. In a fast pitch game, the poor girl's arm would have fallen off after her pitch count broke 40 in the first inning alone. It was a test of the Oracles' patience. Oddly enough, despite such frustrations, Roy was STILL able to hit the first pitch thrown to him, proving that there are some things in the lives of the Oracles that just resist all outside influences.
During that inning, Tim kept up the steady patter that has shock jock radio stations begging for his services, like this gem while he was patiently waiting for a ball he could hit after yet another ball dropped at his feet:
Pitcher: "That was my sinker"
Tim: "That was just short"
Really, the whole game was the Tim and Brian show. Why, you may ask, does Brian get to share the glory? Because Brian is the writer. And because Brian was really awesome, except for that one moment where he threw high AND inside on the Loose Cannons' grandfather, only to see the man bash the ball over the right field fence. EXCEPT for that moment, Brian was awesome. More on that later ...
Later being now. Also in that first inning, Brian drilled a grounder up the middle that somehow was misplayed badly enough that Brian ended up on third. At that point, an overthrow from the outfield left the ball dribbling slowly between 3rd and home. Seizing the opportunity to show off, Brian scampered home for a weird inside the park, ground ball 2-run homer. Any port in a storm, or something like that.
In the second, the Oracles temporarily forgot how to catch and field for a few minutes, allowing one-run to score. But then the defense re-learned its ABCs and remembered how to count 123, and the inning was over, with the Oracles leading 3-1.
In the third inning, the aforementioned, totally awesome Brian replaced Lucinda for one inning of pitching gnarliness. And it was gnarly, except for that home run we aren't going to talk about anymore. Instead, we'll focus on Tim's reaction as he walked out to catch. Cup in hand, he strolled to the plate to take his place as catcher. As he neared the plate, his head rose up to look at the mound, and a look of shock and disgust passed through his face as he noted that Brian, not Lucinda, was pitching. All he could choke out was a loud, long "WHATTTTTT?!!" Brian almost asked for a different catcher at that point, particularly when Tim alerted the other team that "He has never pitched before; he has no idea what he is doing." Whatever.
In the bottom of the third, with the game tied at three, and the sun already setting thanks to the long-ass first inning, Brian again came home to score with opportunistic baserunning. Did he get a ticker-tape parade? NOOOOOOO. Though, it should be noted that the Oracles were very short-handed at the game, with no substitutes, so maybe they didn't have time to plan the parade. The inning ended with the Oracles up 4-3.
The fourth inning was an ugly affair, as both teams began to be affected by the creeping approach of nightfall. Even the neon yellow ball was not a guarantee that catches wouldn't be dropped or throws muffed. Each team scored one run, and the inning ended with the Oracles leading 5-4. For the game to be official, five innings had to be completed, so there remained one dark, treacherous inning to be played.
In the fifth inning, with Tim calling for "three up, three down", the Oracles started playing like what they really were, a bunch of people who couldnt see shit in the darkness. The opportunistic Loose Cannons jumped all over the ball with multiple doubles and smart baserunning, and threatened to blow the game wide open before the Oracles' defense cracked down and got out of the top of the inning down only 6-5.
And thus, we come to the bottom of the fifth inning, the moment when we learn who is a player, and who is just getting played. A time when heroes are made and villains soundly beaten with a big stick. A time when nations crumble but the Oracles' stick together. A time ... for bad decisions, apparently. Sean "Still not an IRA terrorist" Ryan came to the plate with the game resting on his shoulders, and walloped the ball into the outfield. Equipped with wheels of fury, he tore around the basepath, ignoring Tim's cries to "Stay" at second. The ball and Sean arrived at third base at the same time, and despite his beautiful, textbook, dirt-disturbing slide, he was out. Later in the inning, Brian, He of Great Importance to This Story, came to bat, and picked up his third hit of the game, making it to 2nd base on an overthrow. With one out, Brian advanced to third on Kristen "Totally Makes it Worth Having Roy Around" ground out to the pitcher, and here we come to the defining moment. Brian at third and two outs, when Britt steps to the plate (if our memory serves us right). Britt grounds the ball up the middle, and the Loose Cannons' fielder scoops it up. Brian dashes to home, sure the run won't count, but wait! An overthrow, an overthrow! Oracles tie the game, 6-6!
Unfortunately, the Oracles were unable to take the lead, but we all, except for maybe Tim, decided that we could accept a tie in the days leading up to our weekend tournament appearance. Tim, disgusted with the lack of a victory, announced that "a tie is like kissing your sister." Which led to this unfortunate reply, a stab at humor that just made everyone uncomfortable, by Brian: "doesn't everybody kiss their sister?"
In fact, after the game, many humorous or otherwise awkward statements were made that really must be shared with everyone. At one point, when Brian was mocking Tim, Tim turned to Brian and announced: "You don't talk, I talk."
When Tim was talking about his younger sister used to try to set him up with younger girls when he was growing up in WV, Brian interjected to note that "so when you were growing up in the backwoods of west virginia, you could put a little makeup on anything, even your dog, and it would look good".
Tim continued with his stories, including a comment about how he "was watching the Olympics," leading Sean to interrupt him and point out that he "hates the Olympics. I want to watch real sports", ignoring the fact that nearly every sport known to man is played during the Olympics. Oh, but Sean is, despite his Irish terrorist origins, as American as they come, and clarified that he was in need of "football. not soccer football, but football football."
Finally, to cap off a night of awkward moments, Brian made a very understandable mistake and threatened to give Kristen, a very nice, wonderful person, a "nookie." For the record, and just to head off any potential lawsuits, he meant "noogie." That is "noogie," spelled "n" "o" "o" "g" "i" "e".
MVP of the game: If you didn't see this one coming from a mile away, you need glasses. Brian. He rocked.
Howard Stern award for Achievements in Talking: Tim. It's more of a lifetime achievement award than a recognition of any single statement.
Don't forget everyone, we've got at least two tournament games on Saturday afternoon. Brianne is bringing the mimosas and Jason is bringing the bloody marys. We've also got leftover beer. Everyone who is in town must come.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Oracles Answer Question, Pew's Your Daddy, With Resounding "WE ARE"
At certain points in history, a few special individuals come together to right the wrongs of society, and to bring happiness to the masses. Everyone knows such individuals: King Arthur, the Allied Forces, the Beatles, and Rachel Ray. On Thursday night, the Oracles brave players were those special individuals, defeating Pew's Your Daddy, 14-7.
On a day when stormy weather threatened to sink the game before it began, the Oracles refused to bend to early fears, and showed up at the Field of Dreams en masse in time to take up the banner of Freedom, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Unfettered Happiness While Wearing Beer Goggles. The game started on a low note, as the pitcher for the oddly named Pew's Your Daddy couldn't seem to distinguish the plate from the broad side of a barn. Balls sailed over heads, away from bodies, and in general the pitches seemed to take on a life of their own as soon as the Pew's pitcher released them. It was almost like those old Calvin and Hobbes comic strips where the ball comes alive and chases after Calvin with fearsome teeth. What, no one else reads the Sunday funnies? Bah.
While the Oracles and the Pew's were playing a teeny-tiny game of defensive baseball early in the game, Lucinda "Crocodile Dundee" Lessley was fighting off the local flora and fauna. One dog-walking Washingtonian took a fancy to Lucinda's fedora, and began pestering her about where he too could purchase such a fine hat ("Hey pitcher ... hey pitcher ... HEY PITCHER, WHERE'D YA GET THAT HAT?"). Eventually, her resolve weakening, Lucinda admitted to the man that her had came from Filene's Basement, leading to this rather amusing exchange:
Lucinda: I bought it at Filene's Basement.
Man: Can Filene come to MY house?
Lucinda: I don't know, can you find her basement?
As the game continued, the Oracles, bolstered by the return of Andrew "West Virginians don't follow no calendar" Stasiowski and Sean "No longer in the IRA" Ryan, plus the introduction of Mrs. Roy, the inimitable Kristen, began to conjure up magic like cows make methane. Except, the Pew's weren't tipping over as easily as cows. In the 4th inning, the Pew's hit every single ball to right center, angering the writer of this recap, who was patrolling that area with a ferocious sense of territoriality, and probably leading to future karmic retribution (plot spoiler!).
While the Pew's were coming back and threatening to take the lead, Andrew lost track of Molly's dog, Stella, and became slowly and inextricably caught in Stella's leash, eventually sloshing his beer over everything around him as he desperately ducked under the leash as the life was about to be choked out of him by an overeager dog. At the same time, a fascinating conversation was occurring on the sidelines, as Molly and Nelson began a deep and serious discussion about providing condom dispensers that were shaped like balls and a penis, but that, when lifted, dispensed valuable, valuable condoms. A regular Aristotle and Plato, those two.
Around the same time, Tim's pep talk reached new, mildly inappropriate heights, as he urged the team to "drive it all the way in," leading certain jokers to comment that the team had never heard him talk that way before. Something about this game was absolutely, positively Freudian. Oracles are troubled individuals.
But back to the game! On a day when the Chicago White Sox hit four consecutive home runs, the Oracles made a little splash of their own, breaking, for the first time this year, the three home run barrier. While, for the life of me I cannot recall who hit the last roundtripper, I do recall that Chase was the proud father of at least two solo shots, and that Andrew gave birth in the 5th inning to a beautiful baby three-run dinger.
But despite the pyrotechnic displays of the Oracles homegrown Hans and Franz, the bottom of the 6th inning came with the Oracles at bat, holding on to a tenuous two run lead (9-7) as the sun was lazily drifting below the rooftops. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a rusted, dull butter knife from pre-World War II Britain. It was that thick. But magic pixie dust must have settled on the Oracles at that point, for their bats lit up like a gaudy Christmas tree, and the Pew's Your Daddy fielders could only shake their heads in dismay and disgust as not one, not two, not three, not four, but five Oracles runs trotted across the plate. With 2 outs in the bottom of the sixth, and the Oracles still sending batters to the plate, Pew's Your Daddy had had enough, and in the deepening night, called for an end to the game. After the poor showing of August 11, the Oracles needed, nay, HAD TO HAVE that win. Nothing less, no "well we tried our best" would do. Victory, or die trying! (for the record, we never took a vote on the dying part, so thank goodness we won).
After the game, the Oracles cracked many ice cold "ice teas" while Molly's faithful companion Stella was in doggie heaven, trying to chase three softballs at the same time. It is impressive that she didn't get whiplash.
Newcomers or Old Faces Seen Once Again: Props to Andrew for reuniting the Bash Brothers (though everyone on the Oracles was a Bash Brother/Sistah last night), Sean Ryan for not pulling any Irish terrorist shit on us (I've seen Patriot Games!), and Kristen for being the clear better half of Roy, while also wielding a wicked bat and a small cannon for an arm. She can patrol our right field any day.
MVP: The MVP goes to Chase for his home runs and his defense, Andrew for being Big Bat Deux, Lucinda for taking crap about her hat and not going postal, and everyone else for contributing to the Oracles best win of the season. Smell that? That's what victory smells like ... or that may be the bacon in my sandwich. Either way, good job!
Golds Gym membership goes to: Adam. Learn to bend with the knees!
Tall tale of the game: Nelson's fish was thiiiisssss big (12 inches... AROUND). Oh wait, he really was talking about a fish.
Drinks of the game: Busch Light + Miller Light + Yuengling + Jack Dan + VO = hijinks!
On a day when stormy weather threatened to sink the game before it began, the Oracles refused to bend to early fears, and showed up at the Field of Dreams en masse in time to take up the banner of Freedom, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Unfettered Happiness While Wearing Beer Goggles. The game started on a low note, as the pitcher for the oddly named Pew's Your Daddy couldn't seem to distinguish the plate from the broad side of a barn. Balls sailed over heads, away from bodies, and in general the pitches seemed to take on a life of their own as soon as the Pew's pitcher released them. It was almost like those old Calvin and Hobbes comic strips where the ball comes alive and chases after Calvin with fearsome teeth. What, no one else reads the Sunday funnies? Bah.
While the Oracles and the Pew's were playing a teeny-tiny game of defensive baseball early in the game, Lucinda "Crocodile Dundee" Lessley was fighting off the local flora and fauna. One dog-walking Washingtonian took a fancy to Lucinda's fedora, and began pestering her about where he too could purchase such a fine hat ("Hey pitcher ... hey pitcher ... HEY PITCHER, WHERE'D YA GET THAT HAT?"). Eventually, her resolve weakening, Lucinda admitted to the man that her had came from Filene's Basement, leading to this rather amusing exchange:
Lucinda: I bought it at Filene's Basement.
Man: Can Filene come to MY house?
Lucinda: I don't know, can you find her basement?
As the game continued, the Oracles, bolstered by the return of Andrew "West Virginians don't follow no calendar" Stasiowski and Sean "No longer in the IRA" Ryan, plus the introduction of Mrs. Roy, the inimitable Kristen, began to conjure up magic like cows make methane. Except, the Pew's weren't tipping over as easily as cows. In the 4th inning, the Pew's hit every single ball to right center, angering the writer of this recap, who was patrolling that area with a ferocious sense of territoriality, and probably leading to future karmic retribution (plot spoiler!).
While the Pew's were coming back and threatening to take the lead, Andrew lost track of Molly's dog, Stella, and became slowly and inextricably caught in Stella's leash, eventually sloshing his beer over everything around him as he desperately ducked under the leash as the life was about to be choked out of him by an overeager dog. At the same time, a fascinating conversation was occurring on the sidelines, as Molly and Nelson began a deep and serious discussion about providing condom dispensers that were shaped like balls and a penis, but that, when lifted, dispensed valuable, valuable condoms. A regular Aristotle and Plato, those two.
Around the same time, Tim's pep talk reached new, mildly inappropriate heights, as he urged the team to "drive it all the way in," leading certain jokers to comment that the team had never heard him talk that way before. Something about this game was absolutely, positively Freudian. Oracles are troubled individuals.
But back to the game! On a day when the Chicago White Sox hit four consecutive home runs, the Oracles made a little splash of their own, breaking, for the first time this year, the three home run barrier. While, for the life of me I cannot recall who hit the last roundtripper, I do recall that Chase was the proud father of at least two solo shots, and that Andrew gave birth in the 5th inning to a beautiful baby three-run dinger.
But despite the pyrotechnic displays of the Oracles homegrown Hans and Franz, the bottom of the 6th inning came with the Oracles at bat, holding on to a tenuous two run lead (9-7) as the sun was lazily drifting below the rooftops. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a rusted, dull butter knife from pre-World War II Britain. It was that thick. But magic pixie dust must have settled on the Oracles at that point, for their bats lit up like a gaudy Christmas tree, and the Pew's Your Daddy fielders could only shake their heads in dismay and disgust as not one, not two, not three, not four, but five Oracles runs trotted across the plate. With 2 outs in the bottom of the sixth, and the Oracles still sending batters to the plate, Pew's Your Daddy had had enough, and in the deepening night, called for an end to the game. After the poor showing of August 11, the Oracles needed, nay, HAD TO HAVE that win. Nothing less, no "well we tried our best" would do. Victory, or die trying! (for the record, we never took a vote on the dying part, so thank goodness we won).
After the game, the Oracles cracked many ice cold "ice teas" while Molly's faithful companion Stella was in doggie heaven, trying to chase three softballs at the same time. It is impressive that she didn't get whiplash.
Newcomers or Old Faces Seen Once Again: Props to Andrew for reuniting the Bash Brothers (though everyone on the Oracles was a Bash Brother/Sistah last night), Sean Ryan for not pulling any Irish terrorist shit on us (I've seen Patriot Games!), and Kristen for being the clear better half of Roy, while also wielding a wicked bat and a small cannon for an arm. She can patrol our right field any day.
MVP: The MVP goes to Chase for his home runs and his defense, Andrew for being Big Bat Deux, Lucinda for taking crap about her hat and not going postal, and everyone else for contributing to the Oracles best win of the season. Smell that? That's what victory smells like ... or that may be the bacon in my sandwich. Either way, good job!
Golds Gym membership goes to: Adam. Learn to bend with the knees!
Tall tale of the game: Nelson's fish was thiiiisssss big (12 inches... AROUND). Oh wait, he really was talking about a fish.
Drinks of the game: Busch Light + Miller Light + Yuengling + Jack Dan + VO = hijinks!
Friday, August 8, 2008
Oracles Fall to Canons, 13-7
Not since Casey struck out to end the game had Mudville been so depressed. The rumors began to spread from villager to villager soon after dusk on Thursday, rumors so horrible that many considered them to be sheer blasphemy. “The Oracles have lost,” cried one old man before he was set upon by an angry mob of soccer moms. “I hear the score was 13-7 in the other team’s favor,” whispered a little girl to her friends, before a bully buried her in the sandbox. Everywhere, dinners ended abruptly and telemarketers chose to wait to call until a more reasonable hour. Could it be true?
One intrepid TV reporter ventured out in the street to ask for peoples’ reactions; it was a fool-hardy move. He is now in traction at the local hospital. Yet, despite all attempts to suppress discussion, it soon became clear to all but the most stubborn that the Oracles had in fact seen their three-game winning streak come to an abrupt halt.
Let us know look back in time and review how this game, this game that tore a small town apart, came to end in such a tragic manner.
The day of the game, the Field of Dreams was looking a bit shabby. The grass was long, very long. In fact, grass seemed to have grass growing on top of it (R-rated grass on grass action?). Hippie grass, one person called it. Additionally, the field was billowing dirt particles whenever a player took a step; during base-running, clouds of dirt would drift lazily across the field. In contrast to the field, both teams look sharp, very sharp.
It was the Oracles versus the dreaded Tax Court’s team, Colvin’s Canons. While their record was not good, their recent three-game winning streak indicated that they were locked and loaded, ready to deliver opening statements and cross-examine the witness … with a vengeance. The stage for a tough fight was set early, when Tim “I may need someone to run for me, but I do ALL my own talking” O’Neill decided to strike a low blow, telling the Oracles (in a rather loud voice) that tax lawyers were not just scum, that they were the lowest of all scum. And the fight was on …
It was a beautiful night, and the beer was flowing freely. Unlike previous games, the Oracles (and their opponents) remembered how to use their bats to create plays; after the first few innings, Tim was floating in the space between happiness and euphoria as the Oracles hit single after single, marred only by Adam “Ball and Chain” Morgan’s selfish grand slam (way to break up the band, big guy).
After the Oracles fell behind on a Canon’s 3-run dinger, they came back through smart base-running and a little luck to load the bases with 2 outs and Adam stepping to the plate. After one epic swing merely knocked the ball into the dirt at his feet, Adam tapped his bat on his shoes, pointed as if he was calling his shot, and proceeded to swat a monstrous grand slam that cleared the batting cages and put the Oracles back in the lead. After that, the two teams cracked down on defense for an inning or tow, until, it is painful to admit, Colvin’s Canons opened a small can of whoop-ass with a grand slam of their own, taking a 7-6 lead, a lead which they would never give up.
As team captain and token elected official Brianne sadly reported via e-mail later that evening, a report that set off a panic in Mudville, the Oracles eventually lost 13-7 to a solid Colvin’s Canons. It was a respectable loss, but a loss nonetheless. And the toll, oh the cost, of the loss to the citizens of Mudville. Hours after the game, the town’s widespread discontent translated itself into a series of small, pointless brawls that soon turned into a massive fight that left five dead, 32 wounded, and a town torn apart by the agony of defeat.
Luckily for the Oracles, they missed the violence, as they were out at the Pour House, doing what they do best, drinking. They will live to play (and win) again.
Thumbs up go to: Brittani. She doesn’t get to play with the Oracles that often, but when she does, she makes the most of it. Special recognition and Web Gem status for her over-the-shoulder snag of a line drive while playing shortstop.
Thumbs down go to: Amy, for confusedly remarking that Brittani was Adam’s girlfriend, while Sam stood next to Amy looking confused.
Thumps up go to: The beautiful Delicia to Adam double play. There was magic in that relay.
Thumbs down go to: The team comedians. The tax jokes were atrocious. No jokes should ever be made in a sports context about audits or missing filing deadlines.
Thumbs up go to: Nelson, for bragging about his unwashed clothing (3 months and counting, he claims).
Thumbs down go to: Nelson, for wearing unwashed clothing.
MVP: Adam. The man hit a selfish grand slam, and we can’t condone that sort of “me me me” spirit, but hell, he’s engaged!
One intrepid TV reporter ventured out in the street to ask for peoples’ reactions; it was a fool-hardy move. He is now in traction at the local hospital. Yet, despite all attempts to suppress discussion, it soon became clear to all but the most stubborn that the Oracles had in fact seen their three-game winning streak come to an abrupt halt.
Let us know look back in time and review how this game, this game that tore a small town apart, came to end in such a tragic manner.
The day of the game, the Field of Dreams was looking a bit shabby. The grass was long, very long. In fact, grass seemed to have grass growing on top of it (R-rated grass on grass action?). Hippie grass, one person called it. Additionally, the field was billowing dirt particles whenever a player took a step; during base-running, clouds of dirt would drift lazily across the field. In contrast to the field, both teams look sharp, very sharp.
It was the Oracles versus the dreaded Tax Court’s team, Colvin’s Canons. While their record was not good, their recent three-game winning streak indicated that they were locked and loaded, ready to deliver opening statements and cross-examine the witness … with a vengeance. The stage for a tough fight was set early, when Tim “I may need someone to run for me, but I do ALL my own talking” O’Neill decided to strike a low blow, telling the Oracles (in a rather loud voice) that tax lawyers were not just scum, that they were the lowest of all scum. And the fight was on …
It was a beautiful night, and the beer was flowing freely. Unlike previous games, the Oracles (and their opponents) remembered how to use their bats to create plays; after the first few innings, Tim was floating in the space between happiness and euphoria as the Oracles hit single after single, marred only by Adam “Ball and Chain” Morgan’s selfish grand slam (way to break up the band, big guy).
After the Oracles fell behind on a Canon’s 3-run dinger, they came back through smart base-running and a little luck to load the bases with 2 outs and Adam stepping to the plate. After one epic swing merely knocked the ball into the dirt at his feet, Adam tapped his bat on his shoes, pointed as if he was calling his shot, and proceeded to swat a monstrous grand slam that cleared the batting cages and put the Oracles back in the lead. After that, the two teams cracked down on defense for an inning or tow, until, it is painful to admit, Colvin’s Canons opened a small can of whoop-ass with a grand slam of their own, taking a 7-6 lead, a lead which they would never give up.
As team captain and token elected official Brianne sadly reported via e-mail later that evening, a report that set off a panic in Mudville, the Oracles eventually lost 13-7 to a solid Colvin’s Canons. It was a respectable loss, but a loss nonetheless. And the toll, oh the cost, of the loss to the citizens of Mudville. Hours after the game, the town’s widespread discontent translated itself into a series of small, pointless brawls that soon turned into a massive fight that left five dead, 32 wounded, and a town torn apart by the agony of defeat.
Luckily for the Oracles, they missed the violence, as they were out at the Pour House, doing what they do best, drinking. They will live to play (and win) again.
Thumbs up go to: Brittani. She doesn’t get to play with the Oracles that often, but when she does, she makes the most of it. Special recognition and Web Gem status for her over-the-shoulder snag of a line drive while playing shortstop.
Thumbs down go to: Amy, for confusedly remarking that Brittani was Adam’s girlfriend, while Sam stood next to Amy looking confused.
Thumps up go to: The beautiful Delicia to Adam double play. There was magic in that relay.
Thumbs down go to: The team comedians. The tax jokes were atrocious. No jokes should ever be made in a sports context about audits or missing filing deadlines.
Thumbs up go to: Nelson, for bragging about his unwashed clothing (3 months and counting, he claims).
Thumbs down go to: Nelson, for wearing unwashed clothing.
MVP: Adam. The man hit a selfish grand slam, and we can’t condone that sort of “me me me” spirit, but hell, he’s engaged!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)