Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Mssrs. September

Well, although hearts are heavy at the prospect of the hastening dusk, turning leaves, and the twilight of another Summer of Buttermilk Softball, we have reason to cheer. After a long and bitter feud, the Brooklyn Bodegas and the Blue Jeans on Fire, NYC were finally reconciled and united against one common enemy: this one church on 5th ave. Yes the forces of God took on the forces of beer in Buttermilk's first ever extramural contest and received a sound 15-2 spanking. It was a stellar effort in all aspects of the game from Team Friendship: mammoth dingers, clutch pitching, and sparkling defense were all the orders of the day, and more than one observer could be overheard commenting that it was Buttermilk's most impressive showing yet. Roll the highlights:
--A courageous two-out rally in the bottom of the first.
--David Roth striking out a 12-year-old boy.
--A consecutive homer-triple-homer combo by Dan, Jesse and myself to seal the deal in the bottom of the sixth. Pat yourselves on the back fellas, the Twins are lucky to do that in a week.
--Young Steven looking sharp in both a hat and belt. Still can't understand a word he's saying.
--Samantha heroically battling crutches, a bum knee and her inner demons to manage the squad from the bench.
--Smoking pot in the infield during batting practice. You gotta work hard, you gotta play hard.

We all held our breath when Jeff, brazenly ignoring his younger brother's sage advice against making the final out at third base, took a nasty spill and lay motionless for a little longer than was comfortable. Things got even more hairy when his only response to his friends' entreaties was to smack his lips together and make some gurgling noises. But when Jeff finally got up the energy to sound exasperated, we knew he'd be ok, and that even my bumbling efforts at medical attention would not hinder his recovery. Don't worry, fans: Jeff later returned to make a fine catch in the outfield, and later still to eat hot dogs and laugh at fart jokes in our backyard.
Dudes, my final thoughts are thusly: though we are losing a founding member in our good friend and benefactor Jim, though we did battle with the heat, sparse-ish attendence, and some sharply dressed and unbelievably angry tackle footballers, though we perhaps did not play enough Big Buck Hunter at the bar, this Buttermilk season totally ruled. We played sounder defense, hit for greater power, and drank for cheaper than ever. This young blogger could not ask for finer companions, either on the diamond or in front of the jukebox. Thanks pals.

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