Dale is pitching, because they must want my strong arm out there in right.
The following is another installment in a series of articles based on the real life sports exploits of our gallant protagonist, the Weekend Warrior.
A man stood, undaunted. He held an old wooden bat (it was more table leg than bat at this point in its sad, sad career) like a cane in one hand; a dusty cooler in the other. A bat bag, with newer aluminum bats, dangled from his shoulder. It was early, just past dawn, on a Sunday morning, but while the masses went to church, the Weekend Warrior stood upon the hallowed ground that would soon become his pulpit. He would allow his ‘game’ to deliver that day’s sermon. He sipped luke-warm Gatorade from a paper cup, the sweet holy water of his Sabbath.
The weather was warm, as he laced up his spikes, pulled up his knee high socks, fidgeted with his wristbands, adjusted his cup, applied his eye black, tinkered with his flip-down shades, stretched out his batting gloves, spit in his mitt, donned his cap, and shoveled nearly half a bag of David sunflower seeds into his mouth. Sunlight gleamed on the left field wall. It was a new day; His day.
He looked forward to a tough double-header in the men’s thirty-five and over community softball league. He brimmed with confidence as he stretched out, threw a few warm-up tosses, and gingerly swung his teammate’s bat. “Gimme that, asshole… that’s my new double- wall!” his anxious teammate piped. “Sorry man… just wanted to test my new swing before the game,” he retorted.
He was more of a competitive eating-type than an athlete, more a couch potato than a man, and his gut ran wild, concealing a proud view of his new metal spikes. He planned to slide into second “spikes up”, if it meant breaking up a double play. He scanned the manager’s line-up card, wondering when and where he would have the opportunity to affect the game. He knew everything would be different. He didn’t have to meticulously prepare for a possible pinch-hitting assignment; for on this day he would be in the starting line-up, due to several teammates being on family vacations. He would bat tenth in the order and would play right field. Although disappointed he wouldn’t be pitching on this day, the Weekend Warrior remained upbeat. “They must want my strong arm out there in right,” he quietly thought to himself.
It was this type of focus that had earned him such accolades as Junior Cy Young/ Pitcher of the Year Award as a nine year-old in T-Ball, and the honorary These Boots are Made for Walkin’ Award his senior year as a pitcher on the JV team (he still proudly holds the school's record for most walks in an inning with thirteen). On this day he would pursue a new award: Sunday Morning MVP, and although he wouldn’t have a trophy to commemorate such an accomplishment, he would receive a worthy coupon for a free hamburger at Blazin’ Bill’s Hamburger Ranch.
C'mon, pick me up three-eight!
“Play Ball” the umpire bellowed, and the Weekend Warrior trotted out to his place in right field. He played a shallow right field, even against left-handed batters. He was undeterred by conventional baseball and softball wisdom and a growing number of teammates who suggested that he “give that dude a step”. He knew that he preferred going back on the ball versus coming in and would play to his strength. The Weekend Warrior knew of two outfielders who played that way. One was Tris Speaker. The other was himself.
Unfortunately, our Hero should have heeded his teammates’ advice. Several ‘routine’ fly balls sailed over his head in a first inning that seemed endless. The Weekend Warrior refused to come off the short porch. “C’mon man. Back the fuck up… you’re killing us!” yelled the shortstop. Finally, the Warrior, after realizing he had misjudged the other team’s power up and down the line-up, found the worn-out patch of grass where many a right-fielder before him had played and set himself in a ready position, akimbo, his right hand and gloved left hand on his knees.
Mercifully, the third baseman caught a pop up in the spacious foul territory of Gork Slavorski Memorial Park for the third out. The score stood at 8-0 through a half inning of play. “Tough inning” said the Weekend Warrior as he casually strolled back to the dugout. His teammates ignored him. He had lost them; the clubhouse had turned on him. He now knew he would have to win back their confidence via his work in the batter’s box.
His first plate appearance would come in the bottom of the second. After a lengthy, Nomar Garciaparra/ Mike Hargrove-like routine in the on-deck circle, he hit his bat on the ground, dropping the ‘donut’, and our Legend stepped in the box. After taking a ball high and a strike, the count stood at 1 and 1. His lips tightened and his soul quivered as he awaited the next pitch. With all the might he could muster, he took a fierce, Balboni-like cut at a knuckleball only to miss and nearly, in the words of one spectator, “screw himself into the ground like a damn… ummm… ahhh… screw”. Moments later he repeated this spectacle, striking out as he again attempted to go deep. “Nice job, asshole” barked a teammate as he returned to the bench.
Possible candidate, from the other team, for Sunday's MVP and a free burger at Blazin' Bill's.
It would be a day full of heartache and sorrow. He would misplay several more balls in right field… going Buckner on a few, dropping at least two very catchable fly balls, missing the cutoff man several times, and even catching one off the dome, a-la Jose Canseco, only this one hit the fence and stayed in the yard for a triple. Many on the team lamented him, and suggested using their sixty year-old Vietnam veteran catcher, who had two artificial limbs, out in right and moving him behind the dish, but it didn’t happen. His futility only continued at the plate, where in two games, he could only manage a swinging bunt-like base hit because the third baseman seemed to think the ball would roll foul, only to have it hit a small rock and stay fair.
In the end it was the Weekend Warrior’s wife that would have to listen to the assorted tales of unfair calls from the umpire and the team of Benedict Arnolds that had turned on their best player. He would recount the entire afternoon over lunch at home in his kitchen… for there was no Sunday Morning MVP for our Man, and there was no free burger at Blazin’ Bill’s Hamburger Ranch either.
Weekend Warrior Final Stat Line: Games Played: 2 At-Bats: 9 Hits: 1 2B: 0 3B: 0 HR: 0 RBI: 0 RS: 0 SO: 2 Errors: 6 AVG: .111
to my man bumbaclot Posted: 6/9/2005by: M.Thomas L. Holy shit... whiffleball Weekend Warrior is probably even better than softball Weekend Warrior! Thanks for the post and the kind words. We play whiffleball all summer, outdoors, and we play for the same reasons you do (ie- the beer-in-hand-fifth, where every player is required to, well you get it). If you live in Northeast Ohio, e-mail me, we're always looking for more players and teams. That goes for the rest of ya'll. Happy reading! Whiffleball Posted: 6/9/2005by: Bumbaclot I played against a guy like this- wristbands, batting gloves, eyeblack.... in a fucking indoor whiffleball league. The whole purpose of the league is just to get drunk and fuck around. This guy played like it was game 7 of the world series, and he was awful.
I really do enjoy the weekend warrior and I cant wait for the next installment Oh yeah... Posted: 6/8/2005by: MEH And I LOVED the piece. Keep the WW coming!! Looking forward to his continuing adventures! No, wait.. Posted: 6/8/2005by: MEH Everyone who is criticizing Joe's site must have missed this:
"...[the blame goes to] Yehoshua Hebrew for giving GM Paco Lopez such a miniscule budget that he couldnt afford to put anything better on the field. This Israel native was quoted saying, 'Live by the penny, die by the penny.'"
Get it? I think I do. I think the implication is that Jews are cheap. But he dosn't come right out and SAY it. See? Get it? I'ts subtle.
Oh, wait never mind...later on he does say "To say that team owner, Yehoshua Hebrew, is a cheap Jew is an understatement." So there isn't subtelty at all, just racism. Oh well, I tried, Joe, sorry... Awesome Posted: 6/8/2005by: Jesse L. M. Thomas,
Another outstanding job, man. The Weekend Warrior never gets old.
You can't f--k with Phat Phree Sports. You can read the f--k out of it... but you can't f--k with it.
Changed my tune about the SHINE Posted: 6/8/2005by: Z Cav Shine is fucking awesome, I've changed my outlook completely and for you boycotters and naysayers, here's why:
-There team magazine is called the 'shine tribune great name! Do you know how hard tis to create a name like that? Just try: Shine Sun? Daily Shine? Not even close. - Apparently Mike "Leagan" Kne tore his sac. Very hard to do. - Some quick team stats, keep in mind this is softball. 0HR .242 avg. That's zero home runs!!! -Did I mention they beat the bejesus out of team Todd Douglas??? -With names like Bitas, Winner, Foran and Z how can you not want to adopt these (k)noble, brave adults? -Finally, they all have shit eating grins on their faces in the team photo. I think they have found the meaning of life; that true happiness comes from within no matter how debilitating their afflictions are (Down syndrome, rickets, paranoid schizophrenia)
These goofy bastards are a team. And I want in Goddammit!
If Possible Posted: 6/8/2005by: kyle Joe, can I possibly get that 40 second span of my life back that was just fucking wasted on that GOD AWFUL website? I hope to God that you were just hypin up, what you knew to be very unfunny. Even so, you're retarded, so is that website. Shine means Homo in some languages...I think..Suitable for a team name though. ??? Posted: 6/8/2005by: Royals fan Holy crap... Was the "Shine" web site for real? If so, it just gave a Royals fan hope. Hope that there are bigger losers out there than my boys in blue. I noticed a faint audio coming from the "shine" site, I think it was a subtle sucking sound...
The Challenge Posted: 6/8/2005by: M.Thomas L. First off, thanks to all ya'll for reading. But second, and more importantly, I'm laying down a challenge to Joe and his boys to a softball game... you and your homies vs. as much of the Phat Phree staff as I can assemble. Loser links. What do you say? A lot of us live between Cleveland and Kent, so we can face off somewhere between C-bus and C-town. Keep on readin' readers. No offense Joe, but I will not visit your site... until we win! Thanks again for reading. Leave the funny to us and we'll leave the softball (Weekend Warrior style) to you. WOW! Posted: 6/8/2005by: z-man Wow Joe, you're site is AMAZING! I will start spreading the word about it right now! There is no question whatsoever that our readers would love your site.
