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!
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