NOTE: There is now a "League News and Notes" tab in the BLOG. If something happens of interest or you want to post the score of your game, let me know by EMAIL and I'll be sure to post it quickly!
Now, Paul Piellusch likes shorter BLOGs so out of respect to him, I'm really going to try and keep it quick. You could all help me though by reading a little faster!
I think putting out the schedule of upcoming BLOGS was a good idea. Suggesting topics and asking for input has been a bit of a help to be completely honest. However, to all those people who emailed me with jokes about Paul Piellusch’s stomach, you should really be ashamed of yourselves. In all seriousness, how can you even suggest this line of comedy? It's not funny. And believe me, I KNOW FUNNY. In fact, Readers Digest is strongly considering publishing one of my jokes.
No, it's not funny, this is just crass. It would be like poking fun at a blind guy or defenceless rookies. I mean, who does that kind of stuff. It’s completely inappropriate and unwarranted. Frankly I'm a little embarrassed to even get those kinds of suggestions. Shame.
Now with that bit of boorish behaviour is out of the way, let’s talk about Paul’s hair.
Being somewhat follicly challenged myself (only on the top) I have no difficulty in saying that I completely resent Paul’s hair. Oh, and it’s just not thickness and texture that has all the women swooning. No, It’s also the colour, you know the mostly pepper with just a hint of salt. Chicks dig that. Or so I’m told. Then you have the Dougie Gilmour ‘hockey hair’ length. It’s not quite a “Joe Dirt” full on mullet. No, it’s more of a business on top and just a hint of 'party in the back'. I think that its the essence of party instead of the “rock on baby” look that just adds to the whole Rico Suave image that he personifies.
Yep, Paul has it made in the shade with that lid. Personally, if I had that helmet, I'd have nothing left to aspire for. (or is it aspire to?)
Separated at birth? Paul and Starsky?
Anyway, I was waiting to bat tonight against the Torn Ligaments’ and I could hear some of the MANY female fans (as there always are for Torn Ligaments' games) nattering on in the stands. Of course, I was FULLY focused on hitting so I didn’t pay too much attention. But my fierce concentration was shaken when I heard one of the women say “isn’t that Starsky?”
Woman 2, "it looks a little like him, but he's aged a little bit hasn't he?"
Woman 3, "nope that's not Starsky."
Woman 1, "Oh, I'm sure its Starsky, I mean look at that hair!"
Woman 3, "definitely, definitely, not"
Woman 2, "what makes you so sure its not? I'm on the fence - that could totally be Starsky. I'll bet you that if I yell 'Zebra-3, Zebra-3 we have a 2-11 in progress'; he'll turn turn around and look!"
Woman 1, "Oh My God, if Huggy Bear walks around the corner right now, I WILL JUST DIE!!!"
Woman 3, "that's NOT Starsky for the love of god!"
Woman 2, "Okay 'miss People Magazine', why are you so sure its not him?"
Woman 3, "Well, everyone knows that Starsky carried a Smith and Wesson Model 59, 9MM semi- automatic that had a double column magazine clip, a 7.55 inches barrel length and a 4 inch girth, right."
Woman 2, "yeah, of course, everyone with a 1976 tiger-beat subscription knows that!'"
Woman 1, "Duh, so what?"
Woman 3, "Does that guy look like he's packing a 9MM Semi?"
Woman 2, "ahhhhhhh.....now I see.....you're right, he's not Starsky".
Woman 1, "sigh, not even Hutch".
The Speech
Just when you thought that Rob had fallen into a predicable pattern, he steps up and amazes us AGAIN! To the tune of Alanis Morrissete's Ironic. As much as the weekend offering of "we didn't start the fire" was good, this one might be his best work! We done Robbie!!!
Easiest tune EVER, but you can click the song title to hear the harmonica, accordian and drum machine in action!
An old man turned sixty-eight
Threw out a 35 year old on a bang-bang play
It's like a high pop fly on a really sunny day
It's an easy ground ball, but you didn’t put down the gate
And everyone's a critic... don't you think
It's like rain on your playoff game
It's a grand slam but the games been delayed
It's the good advice that you pretended to take
Who would've thought... it figures
Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to slide
He watched Dave Polny and figured it was time to try
He waited the whole damn game 'til the time was right
And as the bruises came up he thought
"Well isn't this nice..."
And everyone's a critic... don't you think
It's like rain on your playoff game
It's being late and the game's already played
It's the good advice that you pretended to take
It's the good advice that you pretended to take
Who would've thought... it figures
Well the game has a funny way of sneaking up on you
When you think everything's okay and everything's going right
And the game has a funny way of knocking you back when
You think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up
In your face
A terrific grab when you really needed that hit
An empty bottle of wine when you just wanted a little bit
It's like a thousand left gloves when all you need is a right
It's like getting the best hit of my life
And then Donnie calls it foul in the twilight
And everyone's a critic...don't you think
Everyone's a critic...and, yeah, it really does stink...
It's like rain on your playoff game
It's a free pass when the games been delayed
It's the good advice that you pretended to take
Who would've thought... it figures
The Game
The Torn Ligaments got out to a quick start. Typical.
The Grisslies gave up three in the first. Typical.
The Torn Ligaments were relaxed and never in any REAL danger of losing. The Grisslies were missing their 2, 3, 4, 5 and 10 players. Our subs were great and missing people isn't an excuse, we just never really felt settled.
Then there was the Starsky conversation when I was in the on deck circle. Listening to that and making notes instead of concentrating caused me to pull something when I was doing my 9.79 sprint down the line to first (too bad its about 15 meters, not 100).
Actually I'm not sure if I came up lame because of that or if its actually the ball that Henry Lukassen hit still working its way through my leg. This one was kinda funny (not Readers Digest funny, just a little funny) because I subbed against Henry last week and completely understand that he's hitting the ball great, this year, but I'd still want to cheat a little in with the outfield rather that have our backs against the fences. But that's just me.
So, no sooner had I turned around (playing 3rd) from waving the outfield in, than Henry rips as hard a shot as I've ever seen about 6 feet in front of me. I was going to say that I have normally have "cat-like" reflexes, but I think that will just leave that to the catwoman. Anyway, Henry's ball went straight up in the air after breaking my freaking femur and rupturing my quad. Okay, it didn't QUITE break my femur and my quad is really more of a tri or a duo, so its not all bad. But as I write right now...it really hurts! So, Henry ends up with a triple on the play.
Oh, how exactly does Henry get a triple you ask? That's a really good question!
So as the ball is straight up in the air off of my leg, I have time to make a splint and a field dressing for my wound before the ball comes back down. I then grab it and go to first with the throw. Well, sort of. I PURPOSEFULLY threw it up the first base line into right field.
WHY? Again, glad you asked.
I did it to demonstrate that the outfielders were playing Henry FAR TOO DEEP. And I was right.
I will go to the ends of the earth to get these guys in the right defense position.
Okay, kidding. We were pretty listless. The score was 3-3 after an inning and we were never really out of it and never fully in it.
I firmly believe that there are wins out there for us. Its like a puzzle with a piece or two missing. Robbie and I still have half a year to figure it out and we will. Until then....we play.....we drink....we walk home....
Tune in tomorrow around this time to hear about Ingo Bartens. A true story you won't want to miss!
1 comment:
I think people should stop making fun of Paul P's stomach. It is mean, low-down, and dirty. I mean making fun of it is...not it is if you get my meaning. I say this as a fellow Intestinally Exaggerated Person Named Paul...at least we can stand proud, our tummy's out-thrust and comb our full heads of hair with pride. Paul, If you are reading this, I know your pain, your anguish, and I also ate the extra wings. Sorry 'bout that. Nonetheless you, sir are not alone, never...alone.
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