Tim Moungey and the Octopus League

[Izulde]

The First Turn: Quarterly Analysis of the Octopus League

We're one fourth of the way through the inagural season of the Octopus League and with that in mind, we here at the Tentacle are providing you, the fans, with a quarterly update of leaders, standings, and happenings around the Octopus League.

Standings:

First up is the most obvious, that of the present standings:




As you can see, the West Division is currently right in line with our preseason predictions and in the precise order we think the final standings will be. Also correct from our preview was that the East Division would be a close race between two teams and that Boston would be close behind, but not have enough to keep pace with them. The suprise? While Miami is one of the East co-leaders as we expected, the Octopus League's most loved/hated team, the Memphis Rebels, is the one tied for first, a complete reversal from our thinking before the season started. Also shocking is expected East Division title contender Racine's bumbling start to go 1-5 in the first quarter of play.

Leaderboards:
If the standings held a couple of major suprises, the early leaderboard will be even more suprising. Here are the current top 5 players in selected significant statistical categories:

Batting Leaderboards:

Average:
.522 RF Roido "Pokemon" Hachemon (Minneapolis Lumberjacks)
.476 1B Neal Penney (Miami Vices)
.458 1B George Marconi (Seattle Coffeemen)
.455 C Daniel Alvarez (San Diego Bishops)
.409 1B Jeremy McCleery (San Diego Bishops)

None of these players was expected to be a league leader in batting average. In fact, the only distinction any of these players was expected to have in terms of league leading was in the homerun category, where some speculated Hachemon and Alvarez would show up. A shocking early leaderboard, to be sure. Also worthy of note is that the Bishops, expected to have one of the weakest lineups in the league has two of the top five hitters for average in the first quarter of the season.

Homeruns:
3 1B George Marconi (Seattle Coffeemen)
3 1B Jeremy McCleery (San Diego Bishops)

We've only included the top two here, since too many players are tied with 2 homeruns to list them. Marconi and McCleery at the forefront are part of the continuing surprise of the first leaders, as neither was expected to be the total package batter that they've shown themselves to be at the start. A caveat to insert here, however: All three of Marconi's homeruns came in one game against the New Orleans Mardi Gras, suggesting an anamoly that will correct itself as the season goes on.

RBI:
12 1B George Marconi (Seattle Coffemen)
10 RF Estanis Rodriguez (Memphis Rebels)
09 RF Glenn Reed (San Diego Bishops)
08 C Wayne Dewitt (New Orleans Mardi Gras)
08 3B Edward Mauldin (Memphis Rebels)

This section makes a little more sense in terms of its leaders, though Marconi and Rodriguez both come with their asterisks: 11 of Marconi's RBIs came against two games against the Mardi Gras and 8 of Rodriguez's RBIs were courtesy of two games versus the Secrets. In our opinion, by the time the season is over, Dewitt and Mauldin will move up and supplant the early leaders. There's also this to note: A large part of the Rebels' surprising initial success has come because they've been able to score runs.

R:
8 3B Bernardo "Saint" Rosado (Boston Burgundys)
8 1B Jeremy McCleery (San Diego Bishops)
7 RF Chris Foster (Boston Burgundys)
7 1B George Marconi (Seattle Coffeemen)

Finally, a stat leader that holds water according to our first thoughts. The Saint is blessed with amazing speed and he's managed to use it to tie for the lead thus far in the season in runs. After these four, a bunch are tied with 5 runs a piece.

Doubles:
7 1B John Bahr (Boston Burgundys)
4 SS Erik Aitken (Memphis Rebels)
4 C Wayne Dewitt (New Orleans Mardi Gras)

One of the slowest players in the Octopus League the current leader in doubles by a wide margin? That's a testament to Bahr's ability to drop hits in just the right spots in the outfield to leg out two-baggers.

Walks:
7 3B Edward Mauldin (Memphis Rebels)
6 3B Bernardo "Saint" Rosado (Boston Burgundys)
6 C Wayne Dewitt (New Orleans Saints)
6 CF Darrick "Superman" Carson (Seattle Coffeemen)
5 SS Deon Maya (Miami Vices)

In our dispersal draft position preview, we made a lot of the first four players on this list, calling them among the best batters available, both overall and at their respective positions. One of the reasons was their exceptional plate patiences, illustrated here by their leadership in walks.

Strikeouts:
8 LF Mariano Ruiz (Memphis Rebels)
7 CF David Goddard (Boston Burgundys)
7 SS Carlos Rivas (Boston Burgundys)
7 C Trevor Lucas (Seattle Coffeemen)
7 1B Patrick Poulos (Minneapolis Lumberjacks)
7 2B Bryan Prioleau (San Diego Bishops)

These are the worst of the Octopus League eyes in the early phase. Most particularly offensive is Poulos who has yet to draw a free pass against his 7 whiffouts. The Burgundys seem to be having problems with seeing the ball properly, which likely contributes to the losses in their present .500 record.

SB:
4 CF Darrick "Superman" Carson (Seattle Coffeemen)
3 RF Chris Foster (Boston Burgundys)
3 CF Timothy Chesson (San Diego Bishops)

A slew of others are tied at 2 SBs. While Carson and Chesson were expected to be here, Foster is a major suprise. It seems as though the Octopus League managers aren't very big on base stealing so far, but that may change as we progress further into the season and see the true speedsters break away from the pack.

Pitching Leaderboards:

Wins:
3 SP Heriberto Perez (San Diego Bishops)

Too many others with 2 wins to bother listing here. What can we say? Though Allen Davidson was viewed by many, including the staff here at the Tentacle as the best available starter, Perez is outdueling Davidson in the early set.

Losses:
2 SP Gary Yusuke (Memphis Rebels)
2 SP Mario Troyer (Minneapolis Lumberjacks)

It's tough enough being the ace of your staff. It's even tougher when you're the only starter on your team with any losses. Yusuke's had it rough in the early going, but the consensus here is that he'll rebound. As for Troyer, the whole Lumberjacks rotation is horrendous, so his appearance should surprise no one.

Saves:
2 CL Charles Thole (San Diego Bishops)
2 MR Mark Seawell (Seattle Coffeemen)
2 CL Tony Jacquez (New Orleans Mardi Gras)
2 CL Anton Arispe (Miami Vices)

Our early pick for most valuable reliever and most potent shutdown man is Arispe, who also has a win to go along with his 2 saves. Seawell, while dominant in his first few appearances, has been banged up pretty badly in his last few outings, likely from overwork. The Coffeemen need to use him more sparingly and put their designated closer in more often if they want to keep winning games.

ERA:
0.00 SP Lee Estes (Seattle Coffeemen)
1.29 MR Dan Pino (Memphis Rebels)
1.42 SP Tobias Beall (San Diego Bishops)
2.14 SP Allen Davidson (Miami Vices)
2.16 SP Omer Houseman (Memphis Rebels)

The Rebels' rotation has been profoundly dominating in the first quarter, as Pino, Houseman, and 6th best league ERA starter Toney Kittleson all boast earned run averages in the low 2s. A caveat to Kittleson, Estes, and Beall, however. They're all third slot pitchers who have only had one game. Thus, the true leader in ERA in the early going in our opinion is actually Davidson, whose proving that the other seven teams made a mistake passing him up in the dispersal draft.

Walks:
10 SP Heriberto Perez (San Diego Bishops)
08 SP Gary Yusuke (Memphis Rebels)
08 SP Johnny Silk (Racine Secrets)
07 SP Carlos Ramos (New Orleans Mardi Gras)

Control problems seem to be an issue for Yusuke in his early struggles, as he has only 9 K's to go against those 8 free passes. That Perez leads the league in walks isn't as great a concern as one might think, as he leads the league in wins and has impressive K numbers as well (See below). The worst control in this group actually belongs to Secrets number three starter Silk, who has his 8 walks in 2 games, as opposed to the others who have totaled their numbers over 3 games.

Strikeouts:
26 SP Heriberto Perez (San Diego Bishops)
23 SP Allen Davidson (Miami Vices)
16 SP Cristian Cortada (Racine Secrets)
14 SP Johnny Silk (Racine Secrets)
14 SP Christopher "Lobster" Lobdell (Boston Burgundys)

No surprises here as all of these guys were considered contenders for the title of strikeout king before the season began. What's interesting to observe here is that the Secrets clearly rely on strikeout pitchers, yet they haven't translated those into wins.

Team Batting Report:



Team Pitching Report:



Team Fielding Report:

[Izulde]

The early hours of the morning now... or is it the late hours of the night? "In some dark night of the soul, it is always 3 o'clock in the morning." Thank you, Francis.

It's a time of everything and nothing, these ambigious hours. The world that you most intimately know is sound asleep, leaving you with the sensation that you are one of the last people alive.

And yet, there's a certain peace in this. Emotions acquire a flavourful texture, frequently framed in clothing of the Nostalgia style and coloured in memory's favourite hue of amber.

To be sure, my recollections of the past spent in this mildly bustling Middlewestern metropolis and invocations of Laura's image have something to do with the dark gold tone that everything presently holds.

A stray thought, connecting back to the aforementioned nostalgia. Some would claim that the most beloved colour is in fact not amber, but rather sepia. There are grounds for making such a claim, however, I would argue that it is not so in these modern times of bright tints and crisp shades. Sepia is a frozen beast of the past and is now considered archaic even by those who romanticize earlier epochs. No, it is the sharper, clearer, more vivid colour of amber that deserves the spot of representation. It is more immediate... more striking.

And yet, in the next breath of thought, I contradict myself with the passing notion that sepia, by its connotative virtues, is expressive of timelessness, a quality that relative neophyte amber lacks.

It does not matter in the end, I suppose, but to go down the road of such thought process will inevitably lead to a mixture of depression and disrupting, jarring panic attacks that will leave me short for breath and running through the hotel's halls, screaming inside for someone, anyone, to come and hold me, embrace me with their tangibility and reality.

Let me know I'm still here! Let me know I'm still alive!

I don't want to die! I don't want to die!

Forever life!

Immortality, I do seek thee!

[Izulde]

Stepping out of character and returning to the present, this spate of posts carries us up to the 1/4 of the Octopus League's inagural season and also has us at the last post of page 4 in the Dynasty's original form, so I think it's a good stopping point for now

After all, I don't want to overload people with *too* much to read all at once.

I'll do the next run of postings some time tomorrow.

[Izulde]

I have no clock on this hotel room desk and I am too lazy to turn around in my chair and check the time reported by the neon red digits on the table next to the bed.

So it is that I am unaware as to the exact time now. All that I know is that some slice of minutes has gone by since I smoked a cigarette to calm my nerves from the looming bogeyman of mortality's fright.

Though it would be my assumption that I still have a ways to go before tonight's game, I decide to pull up the Excel sheet where I have been keeping track of my team's statistics and study it, in order to see what changes I should make to preserve our newly found winning ways. First, I shall look at our atrocious batting. A team hitting below .200 is a travesty. This must be rectified. Pardon my disjointment of thought, invisible observer. Too little sleep and too many cigarettes are the culprit. The stats retrieved:

[IMG][/IMG]



..... Only four of my players are batting above .200?

After staring at the lineup card for a while, I finally make adjustments for the versus R/H lineup. The lefties opposing lineup hasn't had a large enough sample size to be properly evaluated yet.

New Lineup Versus R/H:
1B Melvin Letendre (Unchanged)
RF Bennie Taylor (Unchanged)
DH Scotty Harper (Unchanged)
SS Josue Grandison (Formerly #7)
C Katamor Mito (Formerly #4)
CF Delbert Cook (Unchanged)
LF Miguel Salinas (Formerly #5)
3B Evelio Olivares (Unchanged)
2B Jaime Gutierrez (Unchanged)

All right, so maybe I didn't put in a large a shakeup as I originally planned. Bennie nearly lost his spot to Carmelo Velez, which would have meant a tradeoff in defense for a better bat, until I found out that Carmelo actually hits worse for contact against righties than Taylor does. If Bennie doesn't improve soon, though, I'll be making the change.

Josue was the best slugger not presently in the heart of the order and he's been hitting okay, so I plugged him in the cleanup spot and moved Katamor down a slot in hopes of taking pressure off our catcher. Salinas drops a huge 2 places, but with his eyebleeding average, he needs the lowered stress level to have a chance to rebound.

My pitching staff is one that I play by ear with regards to the bullpen, but I'll take a look at their stats as well, just for the hell of it:

[IMG][/IMG]

...I'm not seeing any reason to change the starters or the order. Still, this is looking pretty bloody ugly.

There's a knock on the door that turns into my mother when I look through the eyehole outside.

Time for breakfast.

Pancakes, I am craving.

[Izulde]

In a few more minutes, it'll be time for us to defend our infant win streak. I just hope we can do so successfully, or else our reign will be shorter than Napoleon III's.

The dugout is much more active than on former days, with the players chatting away eagerly between themselves. Lost in my own thoughts, I don't pay much attention until Delbert's voice shoots its way into my ear in conjunction with his elbow smashing into my side to get my attention.

"Hey Coach! You missed it last night! We came up with a theme song *and* a nickname for Evelio!"
"....This I've got to hear. What is it?"

Cook grins at the other players further down the dugout and Josue runs forward, leaping up on the bench to stand alongside of us, the two immediately breaking out into a duet:

"Too alarming now to talk about
Take your pictures down and shake it out
Truth or consequence, say it aloud
Use that evidence, race it around
There goes my hero
Watch him as he goes"

Applause breaks out in our sheltered area, accompanied by a few catcalls and whistles of appreciation to our singers. I, on the other hand, am suffering from even greater permanent ear damage than I already have from the horror of Tweedledum and Tweedledumber singing.

"Guys, you should go on American Idol. I'm sure Simon would say you're phenomenal talents."
"You hear that, Josue? Coach thinks we're that damn good that we should be on American Idol!"
"I'm down with that, but only if I get to bang Kelly Clarkson... I'll show her what a moment like this is *really* all about!"

Before I can make a cutting remark in reply, the plate umpire pokes his head in and informs us that it's time to get the show on the road.

Here we go. Silk versus Garcia.

...I knew it was too good to last. In the bottom of the 2nd, a Hachemon single followed by a Silk wild pitch that advances Roido is the start of a chain combo finished by Noodle Arm Sak who hits a single to bring in the run. 1-0 Minneapolis.

Poulos hits another single a few batters later to send Sak home and it's 2-0 Minneapolis. I'm beginning to think I need a new starting pitcher.

We get on the board in the top of the 3rd when Mr. Doubles, our first baseman, hits a double to score Our Wannabe Rickey after said secondbaseman stole second following his single. 2-1 Memphis.

Hooray! Tied game! The Exceptional Glove in Left hits a double that allows That Japanese Guy to cross the plate, Mito having hit a single in his at-bat. Suddenly I'm feeling like a genius for making the changes to the lineup I did. 2-2 Tie in the top of 4th.

... That didn't last long. A Sucky Hitter Named Hayes blasts a two run homerun in the bottom of the 4th and just like that, we're down 4-2. ...Damn it.

Okay, I don't give a flying **** how many people Flea Market Silk strikes out. He gives up a homerun in the next at bat. I'm trading his high ERA ass. ****ing ridiculous. 5-2. Jesus H. ****ing Christ!

...All right, maybe he can stay on the team, since he strikes out Biggest.Asshat.Ever.

The Tentacle made a big to-do about the power of the Those Damn Axemen in the preseason and I'm starting to believe it. Another air ball, this one good for 3 runs, comes in the bottom of the 5th, courtesy of Hinds. 8-2 Minneapolis.

You know what? I don't give a **** anymore about the strikeouts. I'm pulling Silk and trading his gopher ball shooting ass... tonight! Sax the Pitcher, who hasn't been in a game yet this year, finally gets a chance to play when I send him out to the mound.

As if my mood weren't already bad enough, *THE* Asshat gets a single in the bottom of the 6th to bring his average back up over .200, to .231.

Midway through the bottom of the 7th, some guy named Cioffi comes in from the Lumberjacks bullpen. Looks like this is his first appearance of the year, too. Hi Cioffi. Hope we blow your ass apart!

It's 8-3 now, as The Ungodly Hitting Pokemon Master makes a wild throwing error that assures Gutierrez gets home. In the process though, Bonds. Scotty Harper Bonds. gets jipped out of an RBI. I think I heard on the Internet about some obscure fellow named Eckstein 4 Prez of Anaheim of Los Angeles complaining about the statkeepers in professional baseball these days. Guess he's right.

The Saviour plates someone in the top of the 9th to make it 8-4, but I don't really care too much at this point.

...What's this? A 2 RBI single by Mito the next at-bat you say? It's 8-6, you say? Dare I say rally?

...No. Some Guy Of No Relation To Ariel Sharon gets sent in to put out the fire, and despite a single by I forget who now, it ends with the next batter grounding out to the shortstop to end the game.

Damn... I was hoping we'd at last have a come from behind victory and a true winning streak going.

I should have known we aren't that lucky. After all, this is my team we're talking about here.

[Izulde]

Darling, so there you are
With that look on your face
As if you're never hurt
As if you're never down
Shall I be the one for you
Who pinches you softly but sure
If frown is shown then
I will know that you are no dreamer

Why I listen to a video game song now, I do not know. What I do know is that sitting here in the corner, of not a tiny little bar, but my hotel room, I long for the murderous beggar's ecstacy of a cigarette.

...But I shouldn't. My acid reflux has been visiting me again since that bitter loss and my chest always cries out in protest when I smoke under such condition. That my throat hates me the mornings after smoking, particularly when I chain smoke, is of no concern. I never will be a singer, though I do well enough on certain songs.

Enough. Email I must check. The day's reports:

Sunday May 15, 2004

Racine 6
Minneapolis 8

WP: Alvin Garcia (1-1)
LP: Johnny Silk (0-2)
S: Andrew Sharon (2)

A furious rally by the Secrets was stopped by Sharon, preventing a disasterous collapse on the part of the Lumberjacks. Racine starter Silk was reamed for 8 runs over just 4 and 2/3 innings, the greatest damage done by Minneapolis SS Kenneth Hinds, who had homeruns in the 4th and 5th innings to ring up 4 RBIs that proved to be the difference in the game.

Boston 1
New Orleans 7

WP: Joshua Jones (2-1)
LP: Gabriel Perras (0-1)

Home cooking proved a good meal for Jones, who pitched an amazing complete game, the third in the Octopus League this season, allowing just 1 ER and 1 walk versus 5 strikeouts. The explosion of the Mardi Gras offense was highlighted by RF Ovidio Rico who launched a 2-run cannon to the moon in the bottom of the 3rd inning that proved to be the knockout punch for Burgundys starter Perras.

Miami 5
Seattle 6

WP: Mark Seawell (1-1)
LP: Anton Arispe (1-1)

A tale of two ace bullpen pitchers was the ending to this 12 inning marathon and the result was the reverse of most would have expected. Seawell picks up his first win of the season and told reporters afterwards, "I've been reading the commentaries lately saying the Coffeemen have been overusing me and that I've been getting rocked lately. That made me mad, Allen Davidson mad, and I was determined to get the win today to prove you guys wrong. I did, so now you guys can all eat your words."

Arispe, upon hearing of Seawell's words, overturned an empty ice bucket and shouted, "Mark Seawell has no business comparing himself to the greatest pitcher in all of baseball! He may have won this time, but after shooting his mouth off and disrespecting the press like that, this means war. He's damn lucky there's the DH in this league, or I'd plunk him the next time he faced me at the plate!"

Could this be the start of another rivalry within the Octopus League? It remains to be seen, but it seems as though the Vices are a team of short-tempered men. Manager Bob Costas declined comment when asked about the issue.

Memphis 0
San Diego 5

WP: Jose Leyba (1-1)
LP: Omer Houseman (2-1)

The House of Cards fell today as the Bishops shut out the Rebels. Leyba pitched a very nice 7 and 1/3 innings, with 0 ER and 4 BB hand-in-hand with 8 K's. Houseman, on the other hand, was shelled for all 5 San Diego runs, all earned, over just 4 and 1/3 innings pitched. Leading the way for the Bishops offense was 1B Jeremy McCleery, who hit a 2 RBI homer in the bottom of the 3rd.

***End Email***

...I almost wish I was managing the Vices. Damn talented team and passionate like me to boot.

Oh well. Florida has too many old people for my tastes anyway.

Time to hit the phones and see if I can get rid of that ****ing homer loving jerkoff Silk.

[Izulde]

It is done.

The Silk that once clothed our team's body, however poorly, is now gone, banished to another town, another team.

Where are the details of it? In my mind, soon to be released to the mediums of email and hard copy paper, once word is officially sent out. The other manager agreed to fax in the necessary legal documents; all that will be needed is my confirmation on the other end of it.

Why the brevity this night? I did not really wish to make this exchange in all actuality, I do not think. That hateful contagion of buyer's remorse is seeping through me, poisoning the air of optimism my mind tries to breathe.

Nietzsche might have hated being an -ism. Certainly he was neither atheist, nor anarchist, nor nihilist, nor facist, though all of those groups would claim certain excerpts of his philosophy as evidence for his induction into their memberships.

Ahh, poor Fred! To die, insane and beset by syphillis in an asylum, misunderstood in your own time and even centuries after your death!

Is this then the necessary price for becoming one of the exalted? To sacrifice happiness in order to achieve a kind of posthumous acclaim? If there be no afterlife, what then the point? What if everything that we do, in the end, means absolutely nothing?

Or is it the playing of the game that matters? To be able to cast what ripples one may when one's pebble self is dropped into the ceaseless, frenzied rushing river of Time?

I feel old, old and alone.

Let me go and smoke. Death will come a little closer, but perhaps in trade, my frame of mind shall be appreciably improved.

I will not count on such, however.

To have expectations is to be forever disappointed.

[Izulde]

Five minutes later I am still in my hotel room and the remains of a cigarette corpse is sitting in its temporary grave before me. While there is the trace of a subliminal pleasantry skimming along my nerves, it is not enough to overcome the deep dents of my depression.

Too, do my lungs send up a note of complaint concerning the invasion of General Nicotine's chemical-weapon armed army, the body of the letter in the shape of a cough that rattles my body and steals away what miserly amount of warmth the ironically named Lucky Strike has given me.

When you love a woman you tell her
That she's really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one
Cuz she needs somebody to tell her
That it's gonna last forever
So tell me have you ever really
Really really ever loved a woman?

Oh, Mr. Adams, I hate you! Hate you for the beauty of your voice and hate you for the falsehood of your lyrics! Women, fickle and selfish creatures that they often are, only desire to be told they are loved when they are able to entertain notions of romance towards the confessor. If they find themselves incapable of that kind of tenderness, of that type of affection, then they flee... Run away to their happy, sunlit worlds where everyone adores them on a superficial plane, where they may find, in that enchanted garden to which the vulnerable hero of just spoken vulnerability has no access, the creature to whom they will quite eagerly surrender, the sensitive man of the past but a distant memory.

It is true that nice people are last and least. To succeed in love, to succeed in work, to succeed in life period, there needs be something of the prick there. If not the actual abrasive ass, then assertiveness at least. For nice people are invertebrates in the main and this, I feel, is their greatest downfall. The sole exception is if they have elements of physical comeliness to them. Beauty and handsomeness, feminine and masculine denotations respectively, are, along with wealth and power, the king and queen makers of this sordid, existential world.

Enough! Think of the Secrets! Think of how much our rotation shall be improved now, how it will be possible to still put together a strong showing the rest of the season and still grab that coveted division crown!

...No. I am not Pangloss's fool student.

I will not believe.

Thomas Covenant was an Unbeliever and a leper.

I, too, am a leper, a shunned pariah of every world I travel in.

Why else the damnation of our 1-6 start?

Never mind. I shall attempt sleep.

Come to me, O Morpheus, but give me not the pain of the dreaming!

[Izulde]

Secrets Swap Again

The second trade in Octopus League history transpired last night and once again, the Racine Secrets were involved in the dealings. SP Johnny Silk, heavily criticized by GM/manager Tim Moungey for giving up too many homeruns was traded to the West Division leading San Diego Bishops for MR Wenceslao Martinez. Silk is 0-2 in 3 starts this season with a 10.21 ERA, third in the league with 19 strikeouts. Martinez has pitched in 2 games thus far and sports a 3.60 ERA to show for it, with 1 walk against 5 strikeouts.

Squidly Sam's Trade Analysis:

Boy, howdy! Moungey in Racine just can't seem to find a combination that's to his liking so he pulls the trigger on another deal! Then again, when you're the worst team in the entire league, anything to shake things up is going to be an improvement. With that in mind, let's take a look at this trade's particulars and impacts.

San Diego Bishops

Curious trade by the Bishops here, as they give up the guy they view as one of their better relievers for one they instantly plug in a little-used mop-up role. Maybe they're just trying to rebuild Silk's confidence by starting from the ground up. Strang move, but then, people have been questioning the Bishops from their very first pick in the dispersal draft and they've got the best record in the league right now. God works in mysterious ways, indeed, or at least who I think would be his favorite team does.

Racine Secrets

Martinez, who like many of the bullpen pitchers in the league, has more than enough endurance to be a starter and so that's what he's going to be, penciled in as the end rotation guy. He's got some major control problems, but better to give up a few more walks here and there than to give up the longballs is apparently Manager Moungey's thinking. We'll see how it pans out for them.

Final Analysis:

I'm having a hard time picking a winner in this one. To me, it seems as though each team took a significant gamble here. Call it a wash, though if I had to pick, I'd give the Secrets the slight nod here, since it addresses what their stated game plan was. That and I'm feeling a little leery about going against them, after Capra has just fizzled for the Lumberjacks and Lecompte has quickly turned into one of the Secrets' most dependanble relievers.

Advantage:
Racine, but barely.

[Izulde]

Another day, another game, this the last in the Minneapolis-Racine series.

As we mill about in the dugout, making our individual preparations, I find my mind drifting the way of the conversation held only an hour or two before on the phone with the newly excommunicated Secret, now elevated to the status of Bishop. Johnny had actually sounded quite cheerful.

"Tim, I just wanted to say thank you for this trade. I loved playing for you in Racine, but my wife is originally from California and she's always talking about moving back there. This gives us the perfect opportunity to do that and it'll allow my kids to see my home games."

Here he paused, and I was about to respond with something appropriate to the situation when he broke in again before I could get the chance to speak.

"Truth is, Tim... my wife and I.. last couple years our marriage hasn't been too good. In fact, that's part of the reason why I put my name in for the draft... so I could have a couple months away from her and let things cool down for a while. When I got the call last night about the trade, I called my wife immediately after and told her about it... Told her I'd been doing some thinking and that it's time that we packed up and headed back there like she's wanted all these years."

I told him that I was glad that I could help and wished him well in restoring his marriage and in rejuvenating his career in San Diego... just to not pitch all that well when he plays us, if he could help it. Then we said our mutual goodbyes and hung up.

My ruminations are disrupted by the loud, Donkeyesque voice of Delbert. Delbert "Donkey" Cook. I think I've a new nickname.

"Hey Coach! We never did tell you what our new nickname for Evelio is!"
"You're right...All right.. what is it?"

Grinning, Delbert and Josue jump down from the bench to stand on either side of chestpuffing Olivares, the two prankster bookends bowing deeply with flourishes that are both surprising and sychronized. Josue is the one to speak.

"Your Majesty, Lord Timothy of House Moungey, may we present to you the hero of the people and the Secrets... Evelio "Super Boy" Olivares!"

Spontaneous applause sounds from the other players in the dugout and even from the first few rows of fans in the stands behind us, the ones that can hear the conversation. Chuckling, I shake my head and rub at my temples.

"Cute guys, very cute. All right, so we've got Superboy Olivares and Donkey Cook."

Another round of laughter at the unveiled sobriquet for Delbert, who joins in on the laughter. Scotty pipes up just as the minor moment of mirth begins to die away.

"All right, boys. Let's go out and win this game for the Donkey and the Superboy! We're going to take this damn series and show that jerkoff Capra who the most superior jackass is!"

The War of the Asses. It has a nice ring to it...

In any case, round 3. New Secret Martinez versus Troyer.

...Oh wait. We're actually playing a LH? I rush out to the plate umpire and explain that I turned in my righties lineup card by mistake and hand him my lefties card, which he takes in exchange, albeit grudgingly. Here it is:

RF Bennie Taylor
2B Jaime Gutierrez
1B Scotty Harper
DH Carmelo Velez
C Katamor Mito
LF Miguel Salinas
CF Delbert Cook
SS Timothy Sabin
3B Evelio Olivares

....****! The Dark Lord of Jackasses just hit a solo homer in the bottom of the 1st to draw first blood. 1-0 Minneapolis.

Grandmaster Clutch in his versus lefties position of the two hole, ropes a double for an RBI in the top of the 3rd that brings Taylor home and ties it all up at 1-1.

The Grand Harpist follows that one up with a single to zoom Gutierrez home and give us the lead. Hallejuah! Hallejuah! 2-1 Racine!

Insurance time! Sabin rewards me for giving him starts against lefties by popping off a top of the 4th RBI double that notches The .069 Average Left Fielder a run. 3-1 Racine!!

Velez finally breaks out of his hitting slump with a a single in the top of the 5th that's good for an RBI and a run by He Who Is Clutch In All Things. 4-1 Racine!!!

In the top of the 7th, the Lumberjacks finally decided that Troyer has had enough and summon Some Guy With A 22.51 ERA That Will Pwn Us in relief.

After two stolen bases by The Personification of Clutch in the top of the 9th inning, Caramello Bar sends him home with a single. 5-1 Racine!!!!

Wow, talk about a game of players facing their former team. Desperate for help, the Free Falling Bunyan Wannabes send in none other than original Secret Mercurio, who promptly gets Salinas to pop up for the 3rd out of the inning.

Bottom of the 9th. We have a 4 run lead and are three outs away from our very first series win. The Shiniest New Secret has thrown 110 pitches and indicates with a wave for the mound that he's tired. Do I leave him in and see if he can get our first complete game? Or do I play it safe and look to my pen?

...I'm a sucker for special stats like the complete game. I wave him off and leave Martinez out there. Besides, he's facing the bottom of the lineup. It's not like they're going to do anything.

Hayes flies out to Cook in center field. 1 down.

Clutch By Definition robs The Synonym For Asses of a hit in the next at-bat. 2 down....

YES!!! YES!!!! Cook catches a fly ball from Poulos for the final out!

We have our first complete game in Secrets history and our first series win thanks to a guy we just traded for last night!!!

SECRETS WIN THE SERIES!!! SECRETS WIN THE SERIES!!!

The rather sizeable minority that is our partisan crowd roars its approval, all of us that are in the dugout and on the field rushing forward to mob Martinez and haul him up on our shoulders.

It's a glorious moment for all of us, even sweeter than our first win. San Diego didn't believe in Martinez as a starter, but we did and now he's a part of history. As for me, I consider the Lumberjacks our archrivals both in terms of geography and of team makeup, so that makes this new accomplishment all the more wonderful on a personal level.

In the midst of our riotous celebration, Cook breaks away to point and yell at Capra, whose flipping us off from the dugout.

"You may be *the* Jackass, but I'm Delbert the Donkey and I'm here to say that *I* am the Ass King! You, on the other hand, are a mere peasant's ass hat! And one more thing..."

Everyone in the stadium stops and looks at the confrontation. Cook grins and wheels around to wink at the portion of the crowd in his line of sight when his back is to Sinatra. With cinematic slowness, he then turns back, his grin wider as he stares Capra down with a double handed finger gun point.

"Who's the bitch now?!"

Best.Question.Ever!

[Izulde]

The lamplit streets of Minneapolis tonight are witnessing the Dionysian celebration of twenty-five quite drunk men in baseball uniforms. Make that twenty-six, for I forgot momentarily that I, too, wear one.

After dinner with my family, they retired to the hotel to go swimming and just spend a relaxing night before going home the next morning. The Secrets, as the casual observer can ascertain, decided to go bar hopping.

Oh what a glorious and fun time it was! From Delbert's getting us thrown out of one tavern for mooning the waitress to Scotty forcing us to run for our lives after cracking a Rolling Rock bottle over the head of a man he said "Looked just like that jerk Capra" but who turned out instead to be a pistol packer, we've had our share of thrilling escapades. Sad thing is, I'm too drunk right now to try and think clearly about them. Maybe later I will or something.

The colours are so pretty tonight, pretty like the U of MN girl that somebody from our team, I don't know, who is trying to pick up. Why is the world so dizzy all of a sudden? It's spinning... it's spinning...

I vaguely feel myself falling and my head hitting the concrete.. and then, everything becomes oblivion.

[Izulde]

In the dawning hours of the morning, just as the sky is beginning to turn its strangely sensual shade of Secrets pink, I awaken in my hotel room to the sound of a battalion of dwarves holding a full combat exercise on the top and in the interior of my skull.

Fortunately, I have brought along Herr Doktor Advil for occasions such as these and two of his orange-clad nurses are dropped down my throat, the lubricant of water used to send them sailing on their way to the destination of rescue mission.

I could never date a nurse. In fact, when I discover that a girl has that noble profession as her career and calling, I instantly drop any romantic notions I might have been entertaining towards her. While many men, particularly a certain kind of fetishist, would accuse me of insanity of the highest degree, I hold firm to my line. For you see, for me, nurses smell of death and, being thanatophobic as I am, such a thing is to be avoided.

With the grip of liquor induced illness firmly upon me, I crawl over to my laptop, turning on all the lights in the room beforehand to reduce the intensity of the computer screen glare, and check my email. Woeful addict that I am, my compulsion requires that I must find out the scores and summaries of the day, even if I prove to be not much in the mood for it.

Monday May 16, 2004

Racine 5
Minneapolis 1

WP: Wenceslao Martinez (1-0)
LP: Mario Troyer (0-3)

Maybe there *is* a method to Secrets GM/Manager Tim Moungey's madness. The day after he's traded for, Martinez pitches a complete game victory in his Racine debut, giving up only 1 run despite allowing 5 walks versus 4 strikeouts. The Secrets win their first series at the hands of the hated rival Lumberjacks and former Racine 3B George Capra. In charge of the offense for the victors was 2B Jaime Gutierrez, who set a new Octopus League record with 3 doubles in the game and swiped 2 bases.

Boston 8
New Orleans 6

WP: Timothy Wickline (1-0)
LP: William Reed (0-1)
S: Darrell Fish (1)

An extra-innings affair that was decided in the top of the 10th with DH Sabino Noriega's 2 run HR to break the 6-6 tie. Mardi Gras starter Victor Purifoy continues to struggle as he allowed 5 ER in just 1 and 1/3 IP, to give him the ghastly season ERA of 18.69 after 2 starts.

Miami 8
Seattle 4

WP: John Yun (1-0)
LP: Charles Creighton (1-2)
S: Anton Arispe (3)

While there was no additional chapter written in the Arispe-Seawell saga, what did transpire was Arispe's third save of the season with an absolute shutdown of Seattle's offense: 0 HA, 0 BB, and 0 R in 1 and 2/3 innings as the Vices defeat the Coffeemen. SS Deon Maya was the catalyst for the Miami offense with 5 RBI including a 3 run all arounder in the 1st inning.

Memphis 4
San Diego 6

WP: Tobias Beall (2-0)
LP: Toney Kittleson (1-1)
S: Charles Thole (3)

All scoring ended in the bottom of the 5th inning and it was the Bishops who had the final word with 4 runs to make the game the 6-4 score it would end up as being. San Diego C Daniel Alvarez would provide most of the offense in that half frame with a 3 RBI rocket off of Rebels starter Kittleson. From then on, it was the story of the beauty of the bullpens as both relief staffs engaged in flawless lockdown mode.

***End Email***

Timmyland got a mention! Hooray!

I go now to pass out in the bed some more.

Sleep will be necessary to the crushing of this contagion.

[Izulde]

The south moves north, the north moves south
A star is born, a star burns out
The only thing that stays the same
Is everything changes, everything changes

Indeed, everything does change. Beginning leading to end to beginning and back again in a ceaseless wheel of spinning.

Spinning is what my head is doing as I fight against the recurrence of nausea sweeping through my body. Since returning home to Racine, my evenings have been spent in drunken revelry at various bars about town with Delbert, Josue, and faded but not entirely forgotten Mike, the lone non-relative, non-ballplayer I still make association with.

These nights have traditionally ended in Delbert and/or Josue charming a drunken girleen of varying attractiveness, the difference in beauty attributed to the variable x, how comely she would look in so-termed normal circumstances, and the variable y, namely how much and how potent the alcohol we have drunk to that point.

This, as one might expect, inevitably leads to situations of absurd comedy and discomfort, such as the horror our centerfielder experienced the morning he woke up next to, in his own words, "A girl who was so damn ugly, she made my 94 year old grandmother look like Tyra Banks in a string bikini."

Tomorrow is our next game, part of a three-game homestand against... well, I forget in my booze-blossomed haze just now who it is that we are to contest, but let's hope we win at home... Winning on the road is nice and everything, but it does not excite the local fans, least of all the female parts among them.

Somewhere along the way of recent days, the second Player of the Week was announced, starter Joshua Jones of the New Orleans Mardi Gras who had a 2-0 record with a complete game and a 0.52 ERA to his accounting. Don't care about him? Neither do I.

Time to go drink some more.

[Izulde]

New series, new team. Not a new city though, as we're at home against the San Diego Bishops. This means we'll probably get swept as that team is inexplicably the best record in the Octopus League right now despite not having the best talent. Maybe God *does* smile down on certain teams.

I'm sitting on the bench, feeling green around the gills from last night's drinking session. Most of the rest of the team looks equally haggard, except for Katamor, who isn't a drinker, the night in Minneapolis excepted. As a result, it's up to him to get us going.. and he tries, clapping his hands softly so as not to disturb our headaches, his voice kept low.

"Come on guys.. It will be tough, yes, fighting the mighty Bishops when we are weak and tired, but we can do it. Yes, we can win! Be the ball, the bat, and the glove, and we will win!"

At any other time, I might have wondered about the physiological logistics of splitting one's spirit into three parts and parceling off each section into a different entity, but for now I simply nod dully my agreement along with the rest of the squad.

...****ing great. We've up against none other than Heriberto Perez, the league leader in wins with 3. Against him is Cortada, who has yet to get a decision. Say hello to number 4, Heriberto.

...I can only stare numbly as, in the top of the 3rd, Birmingham races for a double and gets hurt when he crashes into Macdaddy C. Lutch. They bring on for a pinch runner none other than Some Guy With A Speed Rating of 12! 12 speed, PINCH RUNNING?! The mind boggles at the insanity of it all.

And of course the very next at-bat, Reed, Not Jeremy, but Glenn hits a ****ing triple to make it 1-0 San Diego. The pounding in my head triples in intensity.

Luckily a strikeout and an amazing defensive stop by Superboy get us out of the inning without allowing the second run that I'd feared we'd give up.

The pitcher's duel continues until the top of the 7th when Aitken hits a solo shot to make it 2-0 San Diego. I'm too numb right now to notice or care much, though. One thing I'll say though, thus far watching Our Decisionless Ace go up against The One Pappenfuss Hates has been thrilling baseball if you're a fan of the K like I am. The strikeout scoreboard right now: Cortada 7, Perez 10.

In the top of the 9th, Cristian signals that he's tired, but I don't care. The K count reads: Cortada 8, Perez 10 right now, and I want to see him get 10 strikeouts if he can manage it, even if it means we lose this game.

...And in the end, 2-0 is what the final score is.

Curious thing, though. Instead of depression, our hung over asses are happy and all of us in the stadium, the Secrets, the Bishops, and the people in the stands, get up and applaud, giving both complete game pitchers a standing ovation.

They deserve it. What an amazing game. I grab the complete box score before I leave:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 R H E 
San Diego 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 2 6 0 
Racine 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 2 




San Diego AB R H RBI BB K AVG HR RBI 
T. Chesson CF 4 0 0 0 0 2 .333 0 2 
B. Prioleau 2B 4 0 0 0 0 0 .188 1 3 
D. Alvarez C 4 0 0 0 0 0 .412 2 7 
D. Stine 3B 4 0 0 0 0 2 .278 1 8 
J. McCleery 1B 4 0 2 0 0 0 .353 4 7 
E. Chavarria LF 4 0 0 0 0 2 .231 0 0 
E. Aitken SS 4 1 1 1 0 1 .219 1 2 
T. Birmingham DH 1 0 1 0 0 0 .130 0 2 
B. Barren DH 3 1 1 0 0 0 .300 0 0 
G. Reed RF 3 0 1 1 0 1 .281 3 12 
Totals 35 2 6 2 0 8 

BATTING
Doubles: T. Birmingham (1, 3rd inning off Cortada, 0 on, 0 out.) 
Triples: G. Reed (1, 3rd inning off Cortada, 1 on, 0 out.) 
Homeruns: E. Aitken (1, 7th inning off Cortada, 0 on, 1 out.) 
Runs Batted In: E. Aitken (2), G. Reed (12) 



Racine AB R H RBI BB K AVG HR RBI 
M. Letendre 1B 4 0 1 0 0 3 .281 0 1 
B. Taylor RF 4 0 0 0 0 0 .176 0 2 
S. Harper DH 3 0 0 0 1 2 .265 1 5 
J. Grandison SS 3 0 0 0 0 1 .103 1 3 
K. Mito C 3 0 0 0 0 3 .118 0 4 
D. Cook CF 3 0 1 0 0 0 .375 1 1 
M. Salinas LF 3 0 0 0 0 2 .057 0 1 
E. Olivares 3B 3 0 0 0 0 0 .280 0 1 
J. Gutierrez 2B 3 0 0 0 0 1 .212 2 5 
Totals 29 0 2 0 1 12 

BATTING
Doubles: D. Cook (4, 5th inning off Perez, 0 on, 1 out.) 

FIELDING
Errors: J. Gutierrez (1), E. Olivares (2) 



San Diego IP H R ER BB K HR PI PS ERA RECORD 
H. Perez W 9 2 0 0 1 12 0 111 73 1.72 4-0 

PITCHING
Batters Faced: H. Perez 30 
Ground Balls-Fly Balls: H. Perez 8-7 
Game Score: H. Perez 94 



Racine IP H R ER BB K HR PI PS ERA RECORD 
C. Cortada L 9 6 2 2 0 8 1 126 85 2.63 0-1 

PITCHING
Batters Faced: C. Cortada 35 
Ground Balls-Fly Balls: C. Cortada 9-11 
Game Score: C. Cortada 75 



GAME INFO
Time: 2:50
Attendance: 36419 (45000) at Old League Park
Weather: Partly cloudy (72 degrees), wind blowing out to left at 8 mph
PLAYER OF THE GAME: Heriberto Perez
Game Notes:
Tommy Birmingham was injured while running the bases. Erik Aitken hit the longest homer of his career, it went 419 feet. Heriberto Perez sets a career high for K's in a game! Delbert Cook extends his hitting streak to a career high 8 games!

[Izulde]

For once, I opt out of the drinking shenanigans that have become part of the Secrets lore and instead settle in for an evening in the privacy of my bedroom watching raunchy teen comedies on my laptop.

What I wouldn't give to have a Helenic beauty such as are in some of those films by my side! And yes, Helenic is what I mean, not Hellenic. I am preferential to blondes and not the darker colours and curls often found in Grecian women. Indeed, though I also have prediliction for onyx-haired females, their provinces where the citizens that attract my interest dwell are limited to two in number: Oriental girls and so-called Gothics.

Ah, I suppose that I should check my email and provide the day's updates. But no, I will save that another period.

For now I shall watch, I shall dream, and I shall fantasize.

Beauty, be mine!

[Izulde]

My email whimpers from its feminine veil of soft blue light, imploring me to check it. 'Come, come, let your records know of the day's events!', it cries. I, heartless prick that I am, do not listen, my mind too awash in the lavender haze of introspective memory. It will be noted that it is not amber mentioned here. There is reason for such.

Amber is strictly the reminescence, the savouring of experience suspended and fixed forever in time. Lavender, by virtue of its varied connotations, carries with a certain timelessness, a representation of the collective wisdom of the ages, and in that invocation of wisdom, the mulling of thought I have termed introspection is inherent. Furthermore, by way of such intense internal investigation, lavender's body of knowledge is added to.

This room, formerly bedroom, then library, now hybrid betwixt book sanctuary and sleeping place, holds within it innumerable memories of my childhood, my teen years, and my young adult years.

Here is the chalkboard on which my sister, ten years my senior, and I engaged in drawing wars, frequently over the merits of the clawless Chicago Bears versus the magical Miami Dolphins. Even now, I have enshrined in squares of white chalky protection two sketches of the mascots done by my far more artistic sibling, the Bear naturally coming out better than the Dolphin, but both far better than anything I could ever hope to accomplish. For those of later years who may stumble upon this and deride the notion of anything positive associated with the Dolphins, it must be said that the years the board covers are those of the 80s, when Marino and Shula were king, and a pair of Marks were simply Super Duper.

Scattered on the shelves that line entirely two of the four walls of the room are texts of wide-ranging difficulty and subject material, from the stressed spine Ramona series books of my elementary years all the way to scholarly investigations into Taoism picked up during my college wanderings and everything in between. They, too, have recollections affiliated with them. Point to any one of them and I could tell you a story in my life related to it in some way.

A random thought. Is the self I was back in my boyhood days linearly and historically connected to the alleged man I am now? Or is this manic-depressive male of hairy limbs that I presently am incommensurate to that wide-eyed little dreamer who dared to believe anything possible?

It is a question I must answer another time. For now, the bathrobe of exhaustion that I wear, riddled by the moth holes of fragmentary thought as it is, compels me to sleep. And so I shall.

Morpheus, bless me with beauty in the dreaming.

[Izulde]

I awaken sometime near the traditional lunch hour of the day, the sunlight streaming through the cheap, plastic faux wood blinds of my window and demanding that I throw off my blankets and get up.

Reluctantly, with all the enthusiasm of a stoned slug, I do so, slogging my way to the laptop to at long last check the e-mail from the games of the day before:

Saturday May 21, 2004

San Diego 2
Racine 0

WP: Heriberto Perez (4-0)
LP: Cristian Cortada (0-1)

Quite possibly the best game to date in the infancy of the Octopus League. A real pitchers' duel that ended up with both starters tossing complete games and accumulating a phenomenal amount of strikeouts: 12 for Perez, 8 for Cortada. RF Glenn Reed got the only RBI needed for the Bishops with a triple with 1 on in the 3rd and SS Erik Aitken provided the insurance with a solo homer in the 7th. Perez adds another bullet to the ongoing debate as to whether he or Davidson is the best pitcher in the league by getting the Octopus League's first-ever shutout.

Seattle 2
Boston 10

WP: Christopher Lobdell (3-1)
LP: Lee Estes (0-1)

An absolute massacre as Estes is reamed for 5 runs in just 2 and 2/3 innings that came as a result of hitting a lot of singles, thus proving the importance of having a lineup that hits consistently for average. All is not roses in Boston, however, as Lobster Lobdell was vehement in his complaint about being taken out of the game with just 1 out remaining: "That's just a load of (expletive). We were up by 8 runs and they only had 1 out remaining. If (Burgundys manager) Frank Lee doesn't have the faith to keep me in there in a situation like that where I'll have no problems getting the complete game, I want out!" Is a trade brewing in the future? We'll see, but it's another interesting dramalet in this young season.

New Orleans 2
Miami 3

WP: Allen Davidson (3-0)
LP: Joshua Jones (2-2)
S: Anton Arispe (4)

Davidson wasn't going to let Perez's sterling accomplishment go unchallenged as he pitches a solid 7 and 1/3 innings, good for 1 ER and 6 BBs against 8 Ks. While the control problems surprised many in the stands, it was good enough to down the Mardi Gras and extend his perfect winning streak. 20 year old 3B David Bailey nailed home all 3 RBIs for the Vices, most from a 2 run homerun in the 1st inning.

Minneapolis 9
Memphis 2

WP: Julio Rosado (3-1)
LP: Omer Houseman (2-2)

When the Lumberjacks' offense gets going, it really gets going, as evidenced by this blowout of the fastly fading Rebels. While Rosado was pulled with 1 out remaining, much in the same way that Lobdell was, he offered nothing in the way of complaint, instead saying, "Hey it's good for guys in the pen to go out and get some practice pitching. Statistics are just statistics. It's the ring that matters in the end." LF David Hayes provided most of the offensive spark for Minneapolis with 2 2-out doubles with 2 men on (say that three times fast) in the 4th and 5th innings, good enough to rack up 4 RBIs. Like his team, Houseman seems to be fading after a fast start. He's been chased early out of the last two games he's pitched and it's looking as though his early success was just a fluke.

***End Email***

Lunch time. I hunger.

[Izulde]

It's later in the day now, midafternoon in point of fact. Game time is at last here after the past 24 hours seemed to go on forever.

Chapa versus Beall. I have a feeling we're going to get destroyed again. Maybe I should try trading for the Lobster.

...****. This is going to be a long game. Top of the 2nd, Chavarria smacks a 2 run boomtown blast that makes it 2-0 San Diego. I really should trade for Lobster.

.... Chapa's getting traded after this game. Another damn homerun given up, this time in the top of the 3rd to Prioleau. 3-0 Bishops. Damn it!

Our Weakly Ranging Right Fielder closes the gap for us in the bottom of the 3rd with a 2 RBI double that brings across the plate Superboy and Divine Holy Saviour. 3-2 San Diego. Maybe we can pull this out. I'm still of a mind to ditch Chapa and actually, while I'm thinking of it, Katamor is like ice with the bat and I'm not so certain his defense is good enough to justify keeping him around like with Salinas.

Maybe I should think **** about my players more often and mull over trading them, because in the bottom of the 6th, our Employment Endangered Easterner pops off a solo diamondrunner to tie it up 3-3.

Holy ****! Holy ****!! Macdaddy Pimp Cook fires off a follow-up force beam to make it 4-3 Racine! Hey, guess what there Delbert? You just may have helped saved your teammates' asses!

In the bottom of the 7th, Robichaud of the 54.05 ERA comes in. You know what that means... we'll be iced out from here until the end of the game, since God hates me and is just toying with me by giving my team the lead. I'll get crushed in the 8th and 9th innings and end up gnashing my teeth. Watch.

...Damn it. Chapa though he insists he isn't tired, is melting in the top of the 8th... men on 1st and 3rd with no outs. I yank his ass from the mound and send in Valderrama, who has the stuff to strike these guys out and the movement and control to keep from ****ing up too badly.

And he gives up a ****ing double to ****ing Chesson! 4-4 tie and still no outs. **** YOU FRANCIS VALDERRAMA! YOUR ASS WILL BE GONE!

**** **** **** **** **** ****! A 2 RBI double by Their Insanely Brilliantly Hitting Catcher I Should Trade For later, and it's 6-4 San Diego. May you both burn in Hell, Valderrama and Chapa!

That's right. Just keep piling on the ****ing runs, you asshats in funny ****ing hats. The Grossly Underachieving Stine loops a single to drive in another run and make it 7-4 Bishops. Yeah, what a time for a guy scouted as having 100 contact rating but with a present .275 average to break out of his slump.

Francis begs for mercy and motions to be taken out of the game. I give him the Glare of Steely-Eyed Doom. **** it. The game is lost. Let him feel the pain of my unholy wrath!

In the top of the 9th, they bring their closer, Thole of the Holy Trinity of Saves. Evidently they want him to keep pace with Anton Arispe. Not that he'll have any problem with how ****ing pathetic our team is in clutch situations outside of His Holiness of Clutch Gutierrez.

...And we go out not with a bang, but with a ****ing crybaby whimper. Not even a man on-base.

Score this one a 7-4 loss. ****ing A.

I can't even stand to look at my dejected players. Instead, I grab one of the cheap as **** practice bats recently bought from Target and smash it against the outfield fence on my way out the park.

It shatters and splinters slide their slender selves in my the flesh of my hands, drawing forth quite a lot of pain and what will probably end up being infection, but I don't give a ****.

Easily the worst damn collapse we've all had ****ing season.

Somebody will pay for this travesty.

Oh yes, someone will bloody effing pay.

[Izulde]

Well east coast girls are hip
I really dig those styles they wear
And the southern girls with the way they talk
They knock me out when I’m down there

The mid-west farmer’s daughters really make you feel alright
And the northern girls with the way they kiss
They keep their boyfriends warm at night

I wish they all could be California
I wish they all could be California
I wish they all could be California girls

The west coast has the sunshine
And the girls all get so tanned
I dig a French bikini on Hawaii island
Dolls by a palm tree in the sand

I been all around this great big world
And I seen all kinds of girls
Yeah, but I couldn’t wait to get back in the States
Back to the cutest girls in the world


A full three hours later, I have pulled all the splinters from my skin, stigmataesque holes left in their wake. While initially perverse lovely in their minute dotting of the flesh, their clarity was marred the moment that my hand slid over an object, in this case the steel handrail leading up to a bar near the park. Its name is not important.

No, what matters is that, after ascertaining the place was vacant of any Secrets, I slid my way into a stereotypically shadowy corner booth, whereupon I started ordering alcohol in the midst of chain smoking.

Two hours and forty five minutes after entry, I am not only considerably drunk, but am amplified in the pleasantly melancholy detachment common to liquor by way of pairing with it tobacco and nicotine. It needs only the caffeine and sugar of a mocha to make the triad of alterants complete.

Even as brief as a few months ago, it was my intention to have firmly secured my way out of this town, to escape the chafing chokehold that the Upper Midwestern world places upon the creative spirit. This northcentral region, with its unaccented speakers, drab Protestantism, and rustic, ruggedly individualistic mindset ill suits me. Give me the vitality and history of the East Coast, the rejuvenating air and balmy temperatures of the West Bank! Either extreme will do; in fact, anything at will far surpass the ennui of my home area, save for perhaps the crawling cockroach tedium of the Deep South, with its slavish fundamentalist Christianity and the girls of voices that I can not stand, even if other men hold their tonalities in highest esteem.

There is a difference in women as well, according to geographic divide. While the Beach Boys have succintly described this in an earlier decade, my neurotic mind feels the desire to provide a contemporary update.

I begin with my native section. The Middle West is, by and large, composed of obese women who lose their beauty and thinness around the age of 23, if not sooner. Even among those who do not acquire the approximate width and circumference of Jabba or the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man (or should it be Woman?), there is a diminishing of attractiveness that is appalling to witness. Too, these central females tend to, by and large, be either quite conservative or simply psychotic if they are liberal.

Contrast this with the East Coast, where, by and large, beauty is preserved well into the third decade and even beyond. Similarily, there is a refreshing continuation of intellect and capability on the part of the women of the former colonies. Is it any wonder that many of the best universities in these Divided States are on our earliest of shores? Ah, Nassau Hall, had I but applied to be within your borders! But no, I was cowardly and fled ere I stepped up to battle... and have paid for it ever since.

From East we swing down to the South where, as I have noted, the speech patterns are strictly a matter of acquired taste. Here, loveliness lasts until about the age of 18, whereupon they acquire a used look not uncommon to those of hookers on the streets of New York and Las Vegas. It is no suprise to me that the lowest ages of majority are found in these states. After all, the window of opportunity for enjoying a pretty girl is much narrower than in other regions of the country. In terms of intellect and disposition, they tend to be much the same as this slice of America.

Outward we go, saving the best of regions for last, that of the West Coast. While much has been made of the NoCal/SoCal divide, I will here submit that the most beautiful, most intelligent, and most charming women are found in the State of the Golden Bear. Much like those Boys of the Sands alluded to in song, there is something indescribable and mystical about the girls born in or living in this state. Out of all the girls that I have loved or been very much attracted to, a good three-quarters of them have had affiliations with California. I could expound for hours on this subject, but let me hold it and explore it a little more fully on a night when I am not so inebriated, not so divergent in the stream of my thought. Oregon and Washington will no doubt angrily protest their exclusion in my analysis of the Coast, West, but that is too bad. California is simply too great a giant to allow those dwarven states any share of the spotlight.

Any mind readers in the vicinity will note that I do not include any of those Western states that sit betwixt Midwest and California Coast. There is reason for that. Firstus, there is too small a sample size to deal with. Secondus, there is such disparity in the personality of the states in that area that to try and assign definitive characteristic to the women of the region would be a futile and foolhardy task.

The train of my thought is interrupted by the realization that the room is spinning. Let me now go home, while I still can make it without blacking out in some filth-ridden gutter.

Filth, indeed. My team, my life, my very being... all trash.

I depart.

[Izulde]

My calendar and clock conspire to inform me that it is early Monday morning. Appropriate, for these dawning hours carry with them the tedium and depression that always come with the beginning of an official workweek.

Garfield, your pain I feel.

It is with a considerably degree of lethargy and apathy that I retrieve my email. Another day, another loss to see.

Sunday May 22, 2004

San Diego 7
Racine 4

WP: Michael Robichaud (1-1)
LP: Cristian Chapa (0-2)
S: Chad Thole (4)

Though the loss was officially accorded to Chapa due to the 2 inherited runners he left RP Francis Valderrama to deal with, in our opinion it is the Secrets bullpen that blew this game. Thole continues to suprise as a dominant closer and it was DH Edgar Chavarria's 2-run homer in the top of the 2nd that drew first blood.

Seattle 4
Boston 1

WP: Alberto Avalos (3-1)
LP: Joe Dryer (1-1)

It was a tale of two divergent performances by the starters in this game, as the Coffeemen's Avalos was excellent in allowing just 1 ER over 8 and 1/3 innings, with 2 BB opposing 7 K. In contrast, Dryer was taken apart for 4 ER in 6 IP with a dreadful 4 BB to 2 K. 3B Anthony Dilworth was the differencemaker for Seattle on offense with 2 RBI, one of which came on a sacrifice fly.

New Orleans 6
Miami 7

WP: Anton Arispe (2-1)
LP: William Reed (0-2)

Arispe showed again why he's one of the most dominant closers in the Octopus League by finishing off the Mardi Gras in the top of the 9th to win the game. The victory for the Vices was secured in the bottom of the 9th, when 2B William Canterbury hit a solo rocket to pick up his second RBI of the contest and break the 6-6 tie.

Minneapolis 2
Memphis 5

WP: Toney Kittleson (2-1)
LP: Alvin Garcia (1-2)
S: Luis Soriano (2)

The Rebels finally snap out of their losing funk with a win over the Lumberjacks. Garcia was reached for all 5 Memphis runs over just 3 and 2/3 innings, 4 of them earned. By comparison, Kittleson surrendered only 2 ER and 2 BB against 6 K over 7 and 1/3 IP. The batting hero for Memphis? DH Mariano Ruiz, who had 2 RBI to go with 2 SB.

***End Email***

...I sure hope we can win today. I don't want to get swept at home... again.

[Izulde]

Afternoon now and game time is scant minutes away.

The dugout is quiet to the point of being sombre. Still, we have some measure of hope in winning this game.

Why? Because Martinez, the former Bishop who pitched a complete game victory for us, has his turn up in the rotation and we're all hoping he can continue his magic against his old team.

Countering him will be Leyba.

Let's roll.. and please God, if you don't hate me, let me at least win one game against your chosen team.

Jesus H. ****ing Christ! Okay, it's official. God bleeping hates me! The gem of a pitchers' duel continues until the top of the 5th, when quite naturally, we're the first ones to get bitten. Our Once Upon A Time Pitching God gives up a 2-run moonshot to The Grand Chessmaster and we're down 2-0.

...Well, we're drawing closer at least. The Infrequently Used Caramelo Bar snipes a sharp single, sending to safety Superboy. 2-1 San Diego.

In the top of the 7th, The Excommunicated Bishop is gasping for breath, and since we've got a shot at this one, I pull him, choosing Our Relief Hero, The Former Lumberjack as the cavalryman.

With 1 out in the bottom of the 7th, The Guy Who Iced Us Last Night comes on in relief. He'll likely shut us down again, knowing our crummy luck.

Hooray!!!! In the bottom of the 8th, Slumping Secret Agent Man finally cracks some of the ice that's been accumulating off his bat and hits a complete circuit! Tied score! 2-2!

...Top of the 9th. Leave Lecompte in or pull him for Moody? The one and only time I yanked Lecompte, Donald blew the save and we lost. In stays Ye Olde Reliefe Gode, who rewards me with a scoreless frame!

Now... if we can just frigging score...

Our Impotently Hitting Left Fielder is robbed of a hit, followed by The Pimpest Cook ever's getting a single, which leads directly to Repulsive Robispierre's Relative getting pulled for Hanging Chad. I'd dearly love to rob Thole of a win, especially since I've secretly become a big fan of The Oft-Mentioned Anton.

...Damn. The bottom of the 9th ends without scoring. Did I mention that Chad the Twit has a 0.00 ERA through 6 games pitched? Yeah, I want to destroy that bit of perfection too.

We're good through the top of the 10th and now we've got another shot at cracking The Ath-Thole.

...Damn it. We waste a beautiful Bonds triple. On we trudge to the 11th.

Two strikeouts and a walk later, and Our Relief Genius is out of energy. Joy. After looking over our anemic bullpen corps and noting that McCleery the Slugger Demon is up, I turn to the guy with best rated movement, namely... Sir Robert Stiltner of The County of 0-1, Riding His Mighty Steed of 9.00 ERA. ....Lovely. I smell loss number 2 coming up.

Shock of all shocks, he gets the out on a grounder, and we have new life in this, the bottom of the 11th. Interesting substitution here as God's Beloved Ballplayers have put in a catcher with an arm even weaker than their starter. How weak? 28 rated according to the Tentacle. That's how weak.

...Bleh. That Damn Ath-Thole taps after 1 out and escapes unblemished, leaving us to face Random Guy named Lee Keitt with a 10.80 ERA. You know what that means by now. Our bats get murdered. Key it up, cuz it's true!

I just decided it's my fault if we lose this game. The Left Fielder Who Hates Batting And Has The .047 Average To Show For It was just allowed to hit again and of course he became our second out. Why don't I pinch hit for him? Oh yeah, probably because my bench sucks, except for Manly Melvin.

Damn it. Nothing doing. 12th inning, here we come.

But wait! All we need is just one flipping run because we 1-2-3 them in the top of the 12th! Come on guys... just one measly run! Please?!

...And of course, the torment continues when we go 1-2-3 ourselves. I sigh in weariness in the dugout. Inning 13 rolls around.

In a game that has seen some really crazy **** go down, the cake is taken in the top of the 13th. Bishops on first and third, 2 outs. Noodle Arm Landry, the backup catch, hits a screaming line between first and second and I'm thinking, "Damn it, there goes the game..." when The Best Clutch Man Since Jeter comes diving in to spear the drive and throw out Landry at first, just barely nipping him!

I'm cheering in the dugout and exchanging hi-fives with the bench, when Father George Ayorinde, the manager of the Bishops himself, comes charging out and arguing with the umpire! We watched, transfixed, as the spat ensues:

"Ump, I feel that was a most unjust call. Surely you do not see that God would not want you to make a sinful error of this magnitude. Recall it, for he was quite clearly safe."

The first base umpire stares at the priest for a minute before turning and hacking a loogy into the dirt.

"Father, I'm sick of you Catholic priests always thinking you can just throw your weight around and call the shots. You're out of here!"

Pandemonium ensues in the stands, our remaining fans roaring in exultation. Ayorinde is stunned, unable to believe for a momen that he's ejected, but when the home plate judge starts mincing his beer-bellied body forward, Father George turns and leaves the field in disgrace, not saying a blessed word, though quite a few damned ones, if the look on his face is anything to judge.

After about five minutes, the crowd calms, and it's with new life that the Secrets approach the bottom of the 13th... or so I hope.

An out and a single by Reforged Bonds later, we've got a new Bishops pitcher, some guy named Perez. Yeah, I don't care either. Let's just score off this guy so we can all either go get smashed or go home.

On a hunch, I have Bonds go for second... and he gets the steal! This is a good thing, since Candy Man hits better with runners in scoring position.

...Except when he strikes out.

Katamor grounds out and we drag our weary bodies to, yes, that's right.. the 14th inning.

Things Fall Apart. A Chinua Achebe novel and what happens to us in the top of the 14th. Stilts Boy gives up a walk and a single, and much to my surprise, after the single, they send out none other than Our Old Starting Pitcher as a frigging PINCH RUNNER! Granted, Johnny's helluva fast and can steal bases... but a pitcher as a bloody PR?!

God DAMN IT!! ....Well, he's damned us, that's for damn sure. Robber Baron Left Fielder Villalobos, whose stolen at least *3* hits from us this game with his brilliant glove, hits a 2 RBI single to make it 4-2 Bishops. Oui B Dun.

Mr. Anti-Hit gets a single in the bottom of the inning. I instantly have him steal second while Cook flies out. Sabin is up next, but his bat sucks, so I finally go to my bench... and select Our Saviour since we're finally against a right handed pitcher again. Sure he's only hitting .091, but I figure this is his chance to prove he's clutch. Besides, he's got the best versus R/H power out of anybody else on the bench.

YES! YES! I am PRESCIENT! What does my man Josue do? Hits a 2-run homer! 4-4 Tie! Come on guys, score me another run! God damn, do I feel like a genius manager now!

...We can't put together another run unfortunately which means, yep, inning 15.

The Decaying Stilt gives up another single, so I yank him for The Sax Man, keeping with the idea of the best movement reliever. He musically gets us out of the frame with no damage and we have chance number 9,671 to put this game away in the bottom of the 15th.

Oh and just when I thought their catcher's arm couldn't get any worse, they bring in a fellow with an arm rated at 11]!

For reasons unbeknowst to me, after a fly-out by Verra Verra Velez, they bring on a reliever alliteratively named Mikel Miller. Yeah, I don't care about this one either. Just give us the damn run, you hosebeasts!

Blargh! 1-2-3 inning and we're looking at the 16th inning. Now I love the number 16, since it's my birthday number at all, but this is almost as long as two complete baseball games by itself.

Another clear half-frame and by now I'd sell my soul to Satan if we could just get a run and close out this game with a W.

...Evidently Satan thinks my soul is SOC, because we don't even get a man on base. Say hello to our 17th inning of the game!

****. There goes the game. The Man I Hate Most: Villalobos just hit a solo shot. 5-4 San Diego.

Richard Lewis comes on after one out. Who gives a rat's ass what his name is? He'll still clean our clocks to secure the win for the effing Bishops.

....This is a crowning insult. A guy rated with a STUFF OF 8! STRIKES OUT OUR LAST TWO GUYS

Too furious to even try to speak, I turn about, smash my head as hard as I can against the back of the dugout, and black out. Anything is better than having to be consciously aware of this loss.

[Izulde]

Even in a room filled with silence, there will still be the unescapable presence of sound. Such is the case here in my lonely, untidy bedroom/library, where, even as I sit on the day bed that serves as my sleeping place, I still hear the rustle of the nocturnal breeze outside, a humming in my ears sourced from the throb of pain whose origin point is the hard lump of a grape that is the bruise on my forehead.

The others are out doing their usual bar routine. I have opted to stay home and escape the world... to stay cocooned in the wastelands of my miserable contemplations. People are my antithesis in this hour, most particularly that craven prick some call God.

My thoughts are disjointed, poorly constructed affairs, without substance or sensibility. Let me hunt among my books in hopes of finding something, anything, that will arrest this insufferable tedium.

Just as I'm about to begin searching, the light bulb over my head pops, exploding in a brief flash that signals its expiration.

... Much like my life in general, the light has gone out, leaving me in a vast void of oppressive darkness.

Will I never see the glory of happy illumination again?

[Izulde]

Love
My love
I regret the day you went away
I was too young
To understand my love
But now I realize my mistakes

Where
Where are you now
Now that I'm ready to
Ready to love you the way you loved me then
Where are you now
Do you still think of me
Or does your heart belong to someone else's

Love
Oh my love
Wonder sometimes were you just a dream
I sit in the dark
Wondering if our paths
Will ever cross again
Oh lord I need to know
I sit and wonder

Where
Where are you now
Now that I'm ready to
Ready to love you the way you loved me then
Where are you now
Do you still think of me
Or does your heart belong to someone else's


If I close my eyes
And make a wish
When they open will you be right here with me
Where are you now
Now that I'm ready to
Ready to love you the way you loved me then

Could it be
That two people
Were meant to be
In my dreams
That's what I feel
Or could it be that I'll never see you again
My love that was so true
Still I'll sit here waiting all alone
By the phone for you

Now I understand
(now I understand)
When you said I love you
I sit and wonder

Where
Where are you now
Now that I'm ready to
Ready to love you the way you loved me then
Where are you now
Do you still think of me
Or does your heart belong to someone else's

A song of bittersweet tragedy, a ballad of epiphany and the quest for redemption and recovery of what was once had, then lost.

Would it not be bright and beautiful if this were to come true more often? If, a girl, young and fickle, after casting out the one who would have done everything and anything for her, realized her error and came rushing back with wide flung arms, eager to embrace that which she had so foolishly tossed away?

Yet, it does not happen. That is the cruel and the deceitful irony of music, literature, and film when treating the subject of love. We fantasize, we dream, we hope, and we pray to whatever deity we may have that the detonation of our hearts may yet be undone, that our souls may be restored by the balm of requited love, the rejuvenation made all the sweeter for that period of loss, when we wandered through the desert of despair, disheveled and dispirited.

But it is never the case, or at least, it is so rare that when it does happen, we are either inclined to call it a miracle on the order of water transfigured to wine or to disbelieve it as something that is on the level of a fairy tale.

There is nothing more fickle and cold than the heart of a loved teenage girl.

[Izulde]

I no longer remember what day it is and can only deem from the faintness of the light flickering through my window that it is the early hours of morning as the sun gets up and reports to work.

My middle nightly rumination of a few hours before does not seem so profound and striking now, but such is always the ways of things. That which acquires a deep level of meaning and import when garbed in the sensual black velvet of night's cloaking becomes, by the time the overpowering day is arisen, a thing of ash, a dusty body that is easily ignored in the freshly sprung hope that the hours of light often provide. Or, to provide the converse of the example and go from positive to negative, the inspirational beauty seduced from the bar the evening before turns out to, upon wakening, resemble one's as of yet unknown future mother in law when that battleax turns 80. Mr. Cook can certainly tell you that much.

Blink. Blink. Flash. Flash. All right, email. I will check you, much as I don't want to.

Monday May 23, 2004

San Diego 5
Racine 4

WP: Mikel Miller (1-0)
LP: Scott Sax (0-1)
S: Richard Lewis (1)

The longest game in Octopus League history, this battle of bullpen attrition was an epic war waged over the span of nearly a full 6 hours and a complete 17 innings. LF Freddie Villalobos was the hero for the Bishops, netting 3 RBIs, including the game-winning homerun in the top of the 17th, and playing absolutely stellar defense that robbed the Secrets of hit after hit after hit.

Seattle 4
Boston 3

WP: Jesus Loera (1-0)
LP: Jerome Wallach (0-1)

Another extra-innings affair and bullpen killer, this one took a total of 12 entire frames before it ended thanks to Seattle 1B George Marconi's solo shot in the top of the 12th.

New Orleans 1
Miami 3

WP: John Yun (2-0)
LP: Felix Fontaner (0-1)

Finally a game that went the normal 9 innings. This one was a victory for the Vices largely due to Yun's excellent outing. In a complete game gem, he allowed just 3 hits and 1 earned run, giving up 2 walks and notching 5 strikeouts. Two empty base homeruns in the 1st and 8th innings respectively by CF Curtis "CJ" Jones provided all the offense Miami needed.

Minneapolis 4
Memphis 5

WP: David Robinson (1-0)
LP: James Dutil (0-1)

Evidently this was extra-inning day here in the Octopus League, as this one also went a complete set of 12. The victory came for the Rebels in the bottom of the 12th after a double by 3B Edward Mauldin set up C Andre Carreiro to send out the single that would bring Mauldin home. Good thing these marathons all occurred on the last day of a three-game set, as the bullpens for all six teams involved will get a chance to rest.

***End Email***

Indeed. I think we're all exhausted after that last one. Time for me to go and see about this thing they call breaking fast.

[Izulde]

A misprint in the Tentacle said that SP Toney Kittleson of the Memphis Rebels was the Player of the Week with a 5.84 ERA and a 1-1 record. I don't know who actually won the award, but it was amusing to see the following line "Toney Kittleson of Toney...."

It is now Sunday, May 29, the last game of both the month and the first half of the season. We're back in Boston, playing the Burgundys. Will we get beaten to drop to 0-3 on the season against them? Probably.

Cortada versus the pitcher I've secretly dreamed of trading for, Lobster Lobdell. We're going to be slaughtered.

What's this?! Oh my God! Killer Katamor rips off a two RBI laser beam that also brings home Our Saviour and makes it 2-0 Racine in the top of the 2nd! Do we have an upset coming?!

Oh my sweet Lord in Heaven! Happy Harper smacks a solo shot in the top of the 7th and it's 3-0 Racine! I'm dancing in the dugout and the rest of the team is up in arms cheering as well. Most notable part of this game thus far: The Cristian Who Is The Victim Of Poor Run Support has struck out 6 through 6 innings.

The jubiliation continues in the top of the 8th, when after Most.Clutch.Player.Ever. gets a single and steals second, then gets driven home by Macdaddy Melvin. 4-0 Racine!

Our Cristian Ace's shutout bid ends in the bottom of the 8th after Goddard singles in a runner. 4-1 Racine. God, I hope we don't blow this.

After Saint Bernado is walked, Cristian signals that he's tired, so I send in Stiltner Who Hates The Longball as the relief, largely because Doubling God Bahr is at the plate.

....And what the **** happens?! That Jerkoff Stilt Walker gives up a 3-run homer to Bahr That Lead From Staying. 4-4 tie. ARGH! I grab the Gatorade cooler that's sitting near the dugout and smash it on the ground, popping it open and spilling Riptide Rush everywhere. I don't give a ****. Let the ****ing janitors clean that **** up!

Top of the 9th and Lobster gets pulled for none other than Gload Wickline With The Confusing ERA Of 5.87. Guess he hasn't been so clutch after all, despite sporting a 1-0 record with 1 save. Watch, he'll go to 2-0 versus us.

Or maybe not, since he gives up a single to Man of the Moment Mito and is pulled for Benji the Sheepdog Reliever With A Flawless ERA. Guess what I want to do? That's right... murder that pretty little 0.00.

I love Jaime Gutierrez and I don't care who knows it!!! The Clutch Genius comes through again, with a 2 RBI double to make it 6-4 Racine! He will be a Secret... fo' life!

There is no way in hell I'm giving The Stilted Pitcher a chance to get the win. Instead, despite the fact that he can't prevent a homerun to save his life, I send in Our Moody Closer of the 22.50 ERA for only his second appearance of the year since he's essentially facing the bottom of the order in this, the bottom of the 9th. Not even he can blow this one.

...Maybe he can. Foster singles and I'm biting my nails and swearing alternatively, but Sevier gets a fielder's choice out that should have been a DP but Foster frigging chopblocked Our Saviour.

Then Accosting Acosta gets a single and I'm sweating once more. Men on first and second with only one out... and of course, my opponent in the other dugout puts in a pinch-hitter, Master Batey Who Slugs Oh So Well And Sluglike. I'm scared to even watch. I smell a three run homer coming up and the loss of the game.

I LOVE JAIME GUTIERREZ A SECOND TIME AND I STILL DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS IT!!!! A scorching liner sizzles off The Wanker's bat, but The Saint of Clutchness stops it before it can go anywhere, and executes a flawless Clutch God to Our Saviour to Marvelous Melvin double play!!!

WE WIN!! WE WIN!! WE WIN!! MOODY DIDN'T BLOW THE GAME!!!!

The only people lost in the ecstactic throes of celebration may be us as we storm out of the dugout to dogpile Gutierrez, but I don't care. We beat The Lobster, we murdered That Little Doggy's perfect ERA, and we beat the damn Burgundys!!!

Yes! Yes! Yes!!! Oh such a great feeling!!!

[Izulde]

The slick streets of Boston, made sleek by the freshly falling rain, witness the explosion of twenty-six gleeful Secrets and a smaller contigent of twenty fans. A full carnival atmosphere is in effect, with jibes and jests jousted back and forth. For once in our lives, we are all happy, with nary a cloudy face in our immediate sphere of influence.

Again, at the intersection just outside of the stadium. Shall Morrigan materialize yet again? No, it appears. Strangely disappointed, I tell the others I'll catch them at the bar, but that I simply wish to stay and inhale the rareified air of victory. Too busy swooning with success, they cheerfully concur and the mass meanders on their happy way to the tavern.

Five minutes after they gone, out of the misty haze of mid-spring's evening sprinkling emerges the enigmatic girleen, draped in a dress of diaphanous grey sparkles, her neck beset by strings of white pearls. Her smile is lacking in its usual vitality, and the icy inkling of impending disaster begins to lay over me.

"Hello, Coach Tim Moungey! Congratulations on finally winning!"

Before I can answer, she has rushed upon me and warm lips of dark coral are pressing against mine, a kiss so unexpected and so insistent that I barely have time to think, or even breathe. Alas, ere I can become fully cosignant of it, she has already pulled back, the percussion of rain all about us tapping out a frenzied heartbeat on the stolid, unmoved sidewalk of stone. Her lips downturned, she lays a mocha hand on my pale, hairy arm, neither of us noticing the wetness.

"Listen, Tim... I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. I know you've probably been thinking about me and maybe I've led you on by kissing you now.. but it was my way of congratulating and saying goodbye. You see, I have a boyfriend now. Maybe if you had acted before, pursued when you had the chance during those first two nights here, things might be different now. I'm sorry. Goodbye."

And just like that, she's gone, leaving me speechless and alone on the corner, a parting flash of lightning illuminating her slender frame and the short form of an Asian male dapperly dressed in a three piece suit of chess black and white. Check and mate. I have lost before I even knew a game was afoot.

The euphoria of winning now vanished along with the preshower sun, I turn to trudge with bowed shoulders towards the tavern, lines from a poem that was later turned into a song by a man named Orff passing through my head in its original language:

Dies, nox et omnia
michi sunt contraria;
virginum colloquia
me fay planszer,
oy suvenz suspirer,
plu me fay temer.

O sodales, ludite,
vos qui scitis dicite
michi mesto parcite,
grand ey dolur,
attamen consulite
per voster honur.

Tua pulchra facies
me fay planszer milies,
pectus habet glacies.
A remender
statim vivus fierem
per un baser.



Morrigan and her paramour...

[Izulde]

The truth is, I hate bars.

This will shock those who know of my and my team's drinking exploits, but it's true nonetheless. The loud noise, crowded press of bodies, dark atmosphere, and rank smell of cheap cigarettes and bad alcohol irritate me to no end.

And yet, I find myself entering just such a place after my recent rejection, a chorus of catcalls and cheers coming from the section of tables that the other Secrets have commandeered.

Trying my best to hide my dejection, I join them and give a greeting that fools absolutely no one. Delbert and Scotty exchange glances, the former first to speak.

"Damn, Tim. You look way too down in the dumps, especially after we just won. We need to get you a girl!"

At this point, Josue cuts in before I can even begin to think of a response. Clutching his Corona, he gestures expansively with the bottle.

"You know, I wonder whatever happened to that hot chick you saw those nights we were here earlier in the month."

Sighing, I confess with a dark mutter, "I just saw her about fifteen minutes ago."

"Ooooooooh", chimes my drunken Greek Chorus.

"...She kissed me full on the mouth"

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH", chimes my drunken Greek Chorus, much louder this time.

As Delbert appears about to say something, no doubt a smartassed remark, I cut him off with a sharp slice of air with the knife edge of my hand, scowling.

"And she told me she has a boyfriend... and that I screwed up whatever chance I had with her..."

Dead silence falls over our table, the members of my team looking at everything and everyone but me. Somehow I don't think they were expecting that. I know I certainly wasn't when it happened. Finally, I break the silence by slamming my open palm on the table.

"Damn it, where the **** are some cloves when I need some? All I have are these cigarettes and they just won't cut it at a time like this!"

Delbert quickly leaps to the rescue, climbing on top of our table before anyone can stop him. Holding a twenty in the air, he cups his mouth with his other hand and calls out, "Yo! To anybody in the place who can give this man here a pack of cloves, I'll give him a twenty spot! Please help us! The man will die without them!"

From a few tables away, a guy who looks barely to be of legal drinking age, dressed in a black leather trenchcoat and with slicked back hair of black offers up a red pack.

"Hey man, I got some Djarum Supers right here. I'll take the twenty bucks for it. It's a fresh pack, too. I wanted to smoke tonight, but ****, I'll take twenty bucks for it. I need the drinking money."

Laughter from around the room as the exchange is made via two simultaneous and impressive flip tosses that draw applause from the audience. Nodding my thanks to Delbert, I crack open the pack and withdraw the second most important smoke of a set, the first one. I prefer Blacks, but at this moment, I'll take anything. A spin of a lighter wheel later, I'm in business and quietly smoking. Josue shakes his head as he watches me.

"Man, I'll never understand people who smoke those things. I mean ****, the only people I see besides you smoking them, Tim, are those goth dudes."

Unable to help myself, I chuckle in the midst of a drag, which brings forth a harsh cough from my lungs. Yeah, they'll hate me in the morning, but I don't care right about now.

"Actually Josue, I'm a goth myself. Because being goth is about having the proper attitude."

"Bull****! It's about the music!"

Heads swivel to latch eyes upon my benefactor, whose used his new funds to buy a gin and tonic. He's grinning at me from over the rim of his glass, shaking his head.

"I'm telling you man, say what you want about attitude, but goth has always truly been about the music."

"U r both rong! Itz about the dress!"

....The ****? Again a shifting of heads, this time to peer at a kid who can't be more than fifteen years old, tricked out in an all leather ensemble and with about twenty piercings. I stare at him for a few moments before glancing back to the proponent of music as the true meaning of goth.

"Heh... you guys want to have a roundtable over this ****? I still say it's about the attitude."

The other two quickly agree and a table is swiftly set up, whereby all three of us are sitting in chairs around it, all eyes in the bar upon us, with all other conversation stopped. Evidently no one wants to miss this, especially not my team. I take the lead, since it was my idea.

"See, goth is about attitude... As goths, we are touched by and obsessed with the beauty of things in life. That some of us are morbidly fascinated by death and by other sorrowful topics is a sign of our awareness that often the greatest beauties in life are often only attainable by way of the deepest sadnesses."

Clovebringer grins and takes a sip of his drink, sable eyebrows arched towards his highly sloping forehead of natural white. No 80s pancake makeup for this one.

"Yeah, I've heard that before, but you see, it all originally started with the greats of the genre that is gothic music, so it's music that makes the goth. The best band ever is of course..."

"Bauhaus", I finish for him.

A wide smile blooms on his lips and he nods vigorously, leaning in conspiratorally towards me. That we're shutting out the runt who's looking more and more pissed off by the second isn't something that we notice.

"Indeed, man! And the best song by them is..." And here he clears his throat, launching into song:

"White on white translucent black capes
Back on the rack
Bela Lugosi's dead
The bats have left the bell tower
The victims have been bled
Red velvet lines the black box
Bela Lugosi's dead
Undead undead undead
The virginal brides file past his tomb
Strewn with time's dead flowers
Bereft in deathly bloom
Alone in a darkened room
The count
Bela Logosi's dead
Undead undead undead"

After the smattering of applause that breaks out, I seize the reins, much to the consternation of the third, insignificant member of our table. Smirking, I ash my freshly bought clove in a nearby tray, "Good choice, but that's not the greatest Bauhaus song... Instead, it's..." And then it's my turn to begin singing:

She had nut painted arms
That were hers to keep
And in her fear
She sought cracked pleasures
The passion of lovers is for death said she
And turned to feather

And as i watched from underneath
I became aware of all that she keeps
The little foxes so safe and sound
They were not dead
They'd gone to ground

The passion of lovers is for death said she
The passion of lovers is for death
The passion of lovers is for death said she
The passion of lovers is for death
The passion of lovers is for death said she
The passion of lovers is for death

She breaks her heart
Just a little too much
And her jokes attract the lucky bad type
As she dips and wails
And slips her banshee smile
She gets the bigger of the better to the letter

The passion of lovers is for death said she
The passion of lovers is for death
The passion of lovers is for death said she
The passion of lovers is for death
The passion of lovers is for death said she
The passion of lovers is for death
The passion of lovers is for death said she
The passion of lovers is for death

With the flourish of my finish, the applause is deafening. I *am* the Gothic Idol, though to be fair the judges were rather biased, as the collective thunder of the Secrets is a force to be reckoned with. I raise my clove in salutation, but this seems to be my night for victories snipped short, for that annoying teenybopper is at last thrusting his head forward and into the discussion, refusing to be denied.

"U r both rong! Marilyn Manson iz teh best and itz all bout the dress, kthx?" Our music hour continues, and though I am loathe to listen, I find myself with no choice, though I do dream privately of strangling this brat:

"Man in the front got a sinister grin, careen down highway 666
We wanna go, crush the slow, as the pitchfork bends the needles grow
My arms are wheels, my legs are wheels, my blood is pavement
We're gonna ride to the abbey of thelema, to the abbey of thelema
Blood is pavement
The grill in the front is my sinister grin, bugs in my teeth make me sick sick sick
The objects may be larger than they appear in the mirror
My arms are wheels, my legs are wheels, my blood is pavement
We're gonna ride to the abbey of thelema, to the abbey of thelema
Blood is pavement
When you ride you're ridden, when you ride, you're ridden I am fueled by filth and fury
Do what I will, I will hurry there, there
My arms are wheels, my legs are wheels, blood is pavement
Blood is pavement"

To my grim satisfaction, his off-key rendition of a horrible song by an even worse artist is met with a loud crowing of boos that hasn't been seen this side of a New York Giants game when Eli Manning is a giant pile of suck.

"You need to go back to your mommy and shut the **** up, mmkay, you little faggot?"

The preceding sage advice to the Mansonite poseur comes, not from a member of my squad, but from a very hairy, multi-tattooed biker at the bar. Unfortunately for him, a couple further on down the line, a woman with an offensively bad bleached blonde bottle dye job and a man not worthy of description, stiffen upon hearing that. I get the feeling these are the tyke's parents. I'm proven right when the alleged female of the two stands up and starts yelling.

"You will *not* talk about my son that way, you ignorant jackass!"

From the Secrets table, I hear Delbert's voice.

"Damn, I haven't seen a dye job that bad since Freddy Prinze, Jr. in that Scooby-Doo movie!"

Aghast, I turn from the developing altercation to stare back at my original seat.

"You actually watched that sack of crap?"
"Hey man, Sarah Michelle Gellar is a true talent!"

At this point, Scotty breaks into the discussion while keeping an eye on the ongoing fracas, the Amazon stalking towards Big and Burly.

"Sarah Michelle Gellar's tits are True Talent!"

Sadly, the mirth from that wisecrack is shortlived, as a brawl breaks out at the bar proper. Most of the Secrets, along with the vast majority of the patrons not fleeing for the exits, turn to watch this new entertainment. Scanning the lineup of faces, I suddenly realize something.

"Hey guys, where's Katamor?"

I receive a group of shrugs for answers. Lovely. I get up and go to see if perhaps he's outside.

As it turns out, he is. His lips are set in a tight grimace, eyes narrowed even more than they are in the natural state. The running populace that is smartly seeking sanctuary elsewhere is ignored by him, I doing likewise once I join his side.

"Hey Katamor? Everything okay?"
"Hai, Coach Moungey. Everything is okay."

He's lying. I can tell by the shuttered nature of his face. But he isn't going to tell me, obviously.

So we stand there and just leave it at that.

Or at least until we hear the sirens.

By the time the cops arrive, there's nary a Secret in sight.

[Izulde]

It's a few hours after our en masse vanishing act from the bar and I'm in my hotel room, mulling melancholily over the revelation of my missed opportunity. Why is it that the great turning points in our lives so heavily predicated on spans of time so brief that one scarcely has the space to blink before it is passed?

I could continue in this vein for hours, but I suddenly tire of the pseudo-philosophical turn of thought and instead retrieve my email.

Sunday May 29, 2004

Racine 6
Boston 4

WP: Robert Stiltner (1-1)
LP: Benji Demarco (0-1)
S: Donald Moody (1)

The worst team in the league picked up their third win of the season today, also their third on the road, as the Secrets beat the Burgundys in a thrilling, close contest. The hero of the game was Racine 2B Jaime Gutierrez, who had the 2 RBI double in the top of the 9th inning that broke the tie and who engineered the clutch double play in the top of the 9th that clinched the victory, thus sparing CL Donald Moody the embarassment of yet another blown save.

Miami 2
Memphis 7

WP: Omer Houseman (3-2)
LP: Allen Davidson (3-1)

Davidson has fallen! This was the key factor in Memphis's 7-2 shellacking of Miami this afternoon, as the Kentuckian that many felt was the best pitcher in the dispersal draft was rocked for 10 hits and 6 earned runs over just 5 innings, issuing 2 free passes against 5 punchouts. In contrast, Houseman has regained his earlier season form, pitching his second CG with exceptional control, handing out 0 BB to go with 7 K in getting the victory. No real standout among the lineup for the Rebels as the RBIs were scattered amongst a handful of players.

Minneapolis 6
New Orleans 10

WP: Joshua Jones (3-2)
LP: Julio Lugo (3-2)
S: Ernest Styers (1)

Whenever these two teams show up in the same park, the potential for a slugfest is very real, and that potential was lived up to in this game, as the Mardi Gras topped the Lumberjacks 10-6. Rosado only lasted for 1 and 2/3 innings in this start, as he was taken apart for 5 runs in that short stint while walking 2 and striking out 0. It was a homer filled game on both sides, as Lumberjacks DH/RF Roido "Pokemon" Hachemon hit his first 2 longballs of the season, and several Rebels players had homers of their own, the most important of whom was 3B Todd Coleman with a 3 run moonshot in the 1st inning as part of his 4 RBI day.

Seattle 2
San Diego 8

WP: Heriberto Perez (5-0)
LP: Lee Estes (0-2)

It's becoming harder and harder for Davidson apologists to argue for Allen, as on the same day that their choice loses, Perez runs his record to a flawless 5-0 for the season in this 8-2 triumph over the Coffeemen. Going 7 and 1/3 innings, Heriberto allowed 2 runs, just 1 earned, and didn't let anyone have a freebie while ringing up 6. Much like the Rebels-Vices game, no real MVP amongst the winner's batters, as RBI distribution was relatively even.

***End Email***

Damn, Davidson actually lost. Even the great ones have a bad day once in a while, though. Though on second thought, Perez is redefining what it means to be great, I think.

I wish I had a pitcher like either one of those two. I mean, Cortada is a good enough ace, but he has a karma debt the size of Dirk Diggler's dick, so he gets no run support.

Oh well. Now if we could just get a home victory....

[Izulde]

Lying on the day bed of my hybrid room two days after that riotous evening in Boston, I find my thoughts turning towards the lost Morrigan and from her expanding to greater philosophical meandering.

What is it about the female body and personality that stirs us men so? What is this unalterable power they hold over our usually strong selves? While I am in speaking in generality and stereotype here, let it remain such. Always there will be anamolies existing outside of an established paradigm.

Falling men would offhandedly remark that it is the crassly phrased pussy control that is the source of womanly dominion, and there is some truth to that. Yet, there is something more... something beyond even that physical monopoly which bewitches us and causes our acquiescence.

The cloud of my thought drifts back to the two-toned world of summer camp past, amber and lavender sharing the stage here. In the summer of my fifteenth year, I became muchly enamoured of a girl named Felicity. Thin-limbed, thin-bodied, with a vivacious smile, short-cropped browish-black hair and the most startling eyes of turquoise, she was pretty in an earthy way, not approaching the airy heights of rareified beauty.

I can even pinpoint the precise moment at which my attraction bloomed. It was on the evening of the weekly campout for the girls' and boys' respective cabins that made up our group at the camp. We were hiking along with a few others of our unit to watch the sun set. She was dressed in a spaghetti-strapped tank top of turquoise whose shade was a precise match for her eyes and bright red shorts that had the same rich colour as my blossoming rose of affection. Occasionally I would see a flash of pale pink bra as well, for the tank top slipped from time to time, being a little too large for the slightness of her frame.

We were discussing, of all things, rockets that we had built in industrial arts classes in middle school (A popular project among those types of classes it seems). She had a voice that was like fresh, crisp water gushing through a dark underground tunnel, bearing on its surface occasional pieces of trash that, rather than mar the enticing qualities of the streaming river, only serve to heighten its allure by way of contrast.

"And then it shot really ****ing high!" The explosion of the final word from her lips, the widening of her eyes, arms, and smiling mouth, the sparkle in her gaze as she described the burst of her rocket... and I was smitten ever after, my own rocket shooting up in my trousers, but thankfully not firing.

Unfortunately, this tale does not have a happy ending, for she had eyes for another in the group, a fact I discovered during our unit's arts and crafts session a couple days later.

Jenny, a lovely girl whose head was one tenth brain and nine tenths air, with a high-pitched whine of a horse's ninny for a voice, was dating a boy in our group named Henry.

Henry was a sweet, stupid bear of a boy who everyone liked, even intellectual snob me. With his broad, muscular body, mop of dark gold hair, and a friendly smile for everyone that he met, he was without question the most popular person in our unit.

As we were putting our things away after making masks, Jenny's whinny pierced the air.

"Hhheeennnrrrrrrrryyyyyy... we were supposed to make the same mask!"
"I'm sorry, Jenny. I just got thinking about a cool idea I had and did that instead."
"You're such a jerk, Henry! You said we'd make the same mask!"

As Jenny stomped off to wash out her paint tin, Felicity muttered to Jessica, her best friend in the unit, "Henry so needs to break up with Jenny... and when he does, he'll be mine."

Terror seized me at that moment, though I did my best to hide my panic. Surely I hadn't lost out before I'd even made my move!

But of course, I had. Later that camp session, Henry tired of Jenny's clinginess and broke up with her, hooking up with Felicity.

Summers and years alike passed. With each passing summer, I grew more and more attracted to Felicity and she became closer and closer to Henry in their relationship.

Finally, my senior year in high school arrived, the very last year I could attend camp as a camper. It would also prove to be my last year at the camp, period, but that is another story. Felicity and Henry were still together and by this time, she was more than aware, as was everyone else in our unit, of my feelings for her.

However, there was an X-factor in the equation this year. A relative newcomer of only a few years' standing to the camp, a girl named Kinsey, had fallen head over heels for me.

Ah, Kinsey, how my skin crawls at the very thought of you even after all these years! She was a big breasted, big butted, wide-hipped cow of a girl, with a face so ugly that a bovine patty would seem striking in the comparison.

I rejected her advances all throughout, until finally the last night of camp arrived.

This was always the capstone of the camping experience, involving as it did a campwide luau and after-dinner dance. Particularly for the Senior cabins, this was quite the to-do, with many a specially chosen outfit brought along to don exclusively for the occassion.

Shortly after the dance started, a train of diplomats started showing up at my staked out place on one of the perimeter picnic tables of green. Virtually every other boy from my cabin came along to issue the same stock line, with minor variants now and then.

"Come on, Tim, just dance with Kinsey! Just one dance! Come on! She's really upset and really sad because you won't dance with her."
".....No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to."

Invariably they would sigh and look at me as if I were some intenstinal worm, then head off to the sympathisers gathered about victim Kinsey to report their failure, upon which I would receive an en masse bombardment of dirty looks.

Eventually, I tired of this debacle, and so left the hall to go to the outside canteen. After getting a dish of my favourite flavour ice cream served there (Blue Moon), I retired to one of the nearby benches, intent on enjoying my purchase and avoiding the harassment at the dance for the rest of the evening.

Naturally, just as I sat down and began eating, a moustache of blue soup overlaying my actual article of upper lip hair, there appeared Felicity, dazzling in a sparkling gown of red that set off her sienna skin, her beauty further magnified by the contrast courtesy of the white flower tucked behind her ear. Lagging a little behind was Henry, who looked quite uncomfortable with the situation.

Open-mouthed, I froze there, looking quite the idiot as I stared at this approaching angel of crimson, brown, and white. While I had seen her on the dance floor a short time ago, it had been from a distance. This closeness was unexpected, the conflagration in my veins made all the more powerful by the quality of surprise attached to her advent.

Now upon me, she stood before me, her face a mixture of quiet amusement at my absurdity and sterness. Henry, by this time, had elected for the discrete route, and was in line at the canteen. Or maybe he was just hungry. In any case, it was only an aside I noticed as her voice addressed me, drawing my damnably willing attention back to her.

"Why won't you dance with Kinsey? She really likes you, you know."
"Eh... I just don't want to is all."

Disappointment touched her features for a moment, a tragic pose akin to a darker version of the trapped Lady of Shalott in certain paintings. I squirmed slightly underneath the force of it, but privately resolved to remain resolute.

Then the supple softness of her right hand drifted down to rest on my shoulder, the fingers of her left sliding underneath my chin to pull my head up so that our eyes met, her gaze intense, lips slightly parted as she leaned in closer to me... Was she going to kiss me?

She closed her eyes, inhaled slowly, moved in closer still. Yes, she's going to kiss me! Yes, yes! Then, she began to exhale....

"Please, Tim? Please dance with Kinsey? Do it for me."

...No, she isn't going to kiss me. Crestfallen, I let my face and head sag, feelings of confoundment rampant in their romp through me. And yet, I never really had a chance with her. It was foolish of me to think so. And yet, here she is, coming to me personally and beseeching me to do this one small thing for her, to make her happy... After a moment, I looked up and nodded my reluctant consent.

"All right... I'll do it... but only for you."
"Thank you, Tim! Thank you so much!"

Her slender, nutmeg arms opened wide, her face alive with the same excitement it held those years ago when I first tumbled into longing for her... only this time, it ended in a hug, her body pressing tight against mine in gratitude. It nearly overwhelmed me, I who have lived a monastic existence. Awkwardly, I returned the embrace, so unused as I was then and am even now to having the ability to display affection. Too, there was the re-emergence of that rocket to contend with, but she either did not notice or simply chose to ignore it.

She thanked me again and dashed away back to her real knight, Henry, who was now placidly eating a butter pecan ice cream cone and watching a cardinal some distance way.

And so I danced with Kinsey, all to make a girl I would never have happy.

The power of women over me and over the race of men is mighty indeed.

And yet, in the end, it's all worth it. Whether our reward is an enthusiastic hug and the memory of their bodies innocently pressed against ours, or whether it be only the satisfaction of knowing we've made our cherished one happy, that is what makes it all worthwhile.

Perhaps that is the cause of their sorcery, the effect of the rewards from pleasing them.

All I know is that a Circe exists in every girl and every man is an Odysseus hard-pressed to withstand her charms.

[Izulde]

There come on the road in any person's life forks where branching possibilities are presented, where, to echo Camus, decisions must be made by the individual or decisions shall be made for them.

And so it is here, as I lie in this gloomy room of shadow where I read and sleep, the ghosts of years past made disturbingly phosperous by the ominious moon's lancing lengths of luminescent light.

Half the season gone and the urge to retire, to suddenly and abruptly abandon my post, is upon me. This town that I loathe continues to suffocate me, even with the life-sustaining frequency of travel. The stale air, the losing, the lack of victory at home, even the excessive ingestion of alcohol... They all weigh upon me, both in body and in spirit.

I begin to long for the free life of obscurity, the pleasantly dusty world of academia, with its secure rooms of ivory and fantasy, the outside world a toy universe that is studied and played with, but not all that often interacted with.

It is to this comforting, mothering, sanctuary that I start to dream of re-entering. Throw away the shackles of responsibility, of expectations, and of pressure, and I shall be free.

Yet, in purchasing my freedom, would I, in the end, be plagued by buyers' remorse and the vexsome locusts of nagging regret?

A question I must answer, ere I choose which road to walk.

Frost will not help here.

[Izulde]

In this dark and packed library/bedchamber I sit, staring at the whiteness of my laptop screen, my face awash in the youthening blue light of the monitor.

Time, formerly so quick and liquid, has slowed to a pace that a snail shuttles past with the blazing speed of Carl Lewis chasing after an old woman in preposterous swimsuit and large, yellow mockeries of Dolly Haze's small, heart-shaped glasses of red and black.

And so it is still the same day as my prior ruminations, or is it the same night? The demarcations of metering out the spaces of life have become lost to me, the hash marks of seconds, minutes, and hours now as faded as the lines of a forgotten football field.

I have spent the past several minutes trying to hammer out a poem. It is a very bad one, as most of my stuff is. I am no writer, no elegantly flowing limpid and lyrical genius. Instead, I am a provincial German Lutheran peasant's descent with the brain of an intellectual cultivated out of external reading and the sufficient mediocrity of the Middlewestern public education system, from kindergarten to University. Here then, is my final product, by the time disgust takes over:

On second thought, no, let us scrap that idea. I can not stand to look at my inadequacy any longer. A quicksave later, I have shut down Word and my laptop, my coat soon to be fetched.

It is a beautiful May day. I will not waste it, for I do too much of that as it is. Let me instead go out in its sunny, peaceful greenery, and perhaps the melancholy of the earlier weeks of this Monat will disappear.

Or so I hope.

Exeunt.

[Izulde]

Is this the day that never ends? Or is day even an appropriate divider of time by now? Perhaps I am drunk. That it is dark out seems to signify that it is night... or maybe I am simply going blind.

Presently I sit at the table of an outdoor cafe in the downtown of my home town. A Latina girl, pretty with a mouth perfect for two things, neither of which is talking, smiles at me from across the way. Do I approach?

I do not. She does not. It is warm, but raining. We're both mad for being out here. On the other hand, the dappling of raindrops upon her burgundy dress does create a most arresting filminess of fabric, the outline of her brassiere visible against the newly transparent veil.

Strapless, roughly a 34C and black. Body By Victoria by sub-brand, if I'm not mistaken.

I sip my chai tea and immediately fall asleep there on the slicked surface of the green metal table. I'll probably be arrested for vagrancy, but at this particular point in time, I don't care, too lost in the Carrollian world of dreams.

[Izulde]

Backstretch: Midseason Analysis of the Octopus League

We've finally reached the halfway point of the inagural season of the Octopus League and what an exciting first half it's been. From player and team rivalries to suprises in the standings and leaderboards, it's been a wild race. Let's take a look at the current situation.

Standings:



Miami and San Diego being atop their respective divisions surprises no one. What is shocking, however, is the fact that Bishops have the single best record in the OL and have clearly been the most dominant team all around. Whether it's God smiling down on them or whether it's that the team has made smart moves that were initially second guessed is open to interpretation. Also worthy of note is that the Memphis Rebels aren't about to give the East to the Vices without a fight and we could see that race continue right up until the end of the season.

Leaderboards:

At the request of numerous e-mails we've received from statheads fans, we're including two new leaderboards in here, namely the top 5 in OBP and OPS.

Batting Leaderboards:

Average:
.478 RF Roido "Pokemon" Hachemon (Minneapolis Lumberjacks)
.421 C Wayne Dewitt (New Orleans Mardi Gras)
.378 C Daniel Alvarez (San Diego Bishops)
.370 CF Curtis "CJ" Jones (Miami Vices)
.356 RF Chris Foster (Boston Burgundys)

Hachemon continues his startling dominance at making contact, holding on to his lead from the first quarter of play. Alvarez moves up from his earlier ranking and Jones and Dewitt make their first appearances, ones that were expected at the beginning of the season. Foster is a real suprise here and is not expected to be able to keep his hot start going in the second half.

Homeruns:
6 CF Curtis "CJ" Jones (Miami Vices)
5 1B Jeremy McCleery (San Diego Bishops)
4 3B David Bailey (Miami Vices)
4 1B George Marconi (Seattle Coffeemen)
Numerous others tied at 3

We predicted that Marconi wouldn't show much power after that three HR game in the first part of play and we're proven right, as he's tacked on just 1 more HR in the last 6 games. McCleery still has his unexpected power stroke and Jones has come alive recently, his bat really waking up in the second quarter both in terms of contact and power. Bailey was noted earlier in the season as one of the top power hitters, so his presence here is not unusual in the least.

RBI:
15 1B George Marconi (Seattle Coffemen)
15 RF Estanis Rodriguez (Memphis Rebels)
12 RF Glenn Reed (San Diego Bishops)
12 C Wayne Dewitt (New Orleans Mardi Gras)
11 C Daniel Alvarez (San Diego Bishops)
11 RF Chris Foster (Boston Burgundys)

Well, we predicted there would be a change in this leaderboard, but we were proven ring. The top 4 stayed the best at bringing people home, with the only change at the bottom. Our guess? That Foster will drop out for sure in this lineup. He's an anamoly. The Bishops' success apparently can be attributed in part to their ability to bring in runs.

R:
11 3B Bernardo "Saint" Rosado (Boston Burgundys)
11 CF Curtis "CJ" Jones (Miami Vices)
11 CF Timothy Chesson (San Diego Bishops)
10 1B Jeremy McCleery (San Diego Bishops)
3 others tied at 9.

With the exception of McCleery, these are all very fast, good-contact hitters whose position on the leaderboard is something we thought would happen. It's amazing to see how rapid a turnaround Jones has made in these last 6 games. Truly the most improved player from end of first quarter to end of second.


Doubles:
8 1B John Bahr (Boston Burgundys)
6 RF Estanis Rodriguez (Memphis Rebels)
5 C Wayne Dewitt (New Orleans Mardi Gras)
5 CF Darrick "Superman" Carson (Seattle Coffeemen)
5 2B Bryan Prioleau (San Diego Bishops)

Carson and Prioleau are the only two speed demons in this bunch. All the rest are either average, or in the case of Bahr, slower than molasses in a Boston January. These are some guys who really know how to hit the gaps.

Walks:
12 3B Edward Mauldin (Memphis Rebels)
12 CF Darrick "Superman" Carson (Seattle Coffeemen)
10 3B Bernardo "Saint" Rosado (Boston Burgundys)
10 C Wayne Dewitt (New Orleans Mardi Gras)
Several others tied at 7

All these players were hailed as the complete package in our season and draft previews and they continue to show evidence of it here with their maintaining of leadership on the walks board. Phenomenal eyes all around.

Strikeouts:
17 CF David Goddard (Boston Burgundys)
16 1B Isaac Yunque (Memphis Rebels)
15 2B Bryan Prioleau (San Diego Bishops)
15 1B Patrick Poulos (Minneapolis Lumberjacks)
13 CF Jaime Gong (New Orleans Mardi Gras)

Poulos still has yet to draw a walk, making him the Worst Eye of the Octopus League. Gong's listing here is a major suprise, as he was considered to have better plate vision than a good percentage of the league. Here's to hoping he can rectify this in the second half.

SB:
6 CF Darrick "Superman" Carson (Seattle Coffeemen)
6 2B Jaime Gutierrez (Racine Secrets)
6 CF Timothy Chesson (San Diego Bishops)
4 LF Miguel Salinas (Racine Secrets)
4 SS Thomas Butler (Memphis Rebels)

We anticipated a greater amount of stealing as the season wore on and it's going that way so far, with two Secrets speeding their way to the leaderboards, which has no doubt helped Racine double their win total in the second period. Will GM/Manager Tim Moungey try to build a team of speedsters a la the 80s Cardinals? Worth noting is that abberation Foster dropped out as we expected he would, with nary a stolen base in the past 6 contests.

OBP
.551 C Wayne Dewitt (New Orleans Mardi Gras)
.529 RF Roido "Pokemon" Hachemon (Minneapolis Lumberjacks)
.491 3B Edward Mauldin (Memphis Rebels)
.482 CF Darrick "Superman" Carson (Seattle Coffeemen)
.426 2B Steve Borger (New Orleans Mardi Gras)

Borger is the shocker here, but our suspicion is that he'll drop out of this list by the time all is said and done. We're still amazed at Hachemon's dominance on the batting leaderboards and Mauldin has been a key part of the Rebels' challenge of the Vices for the East Crown.

OPS
1.340 C Wayne Dewitt (New Orleans Mardi Gras)
1.249 CF Curtis "CJ" Jones (Miami Vices)
1.225 RF Roido "Pokemon" Hachemon (Minneapolis Lumberjacks)
1.072 LF Francis Ginn (Boston Burgundys)
1.062 1B Jeremy McCleery (San Diego Bishops)

The first three are ones we anticipated. Ginn is a stunner, while McCleery is a mild surprise.

Pitching Leaderboards:

Wins:
5 SP Heriberto Perez (San Diego Bishops)

Too many with 3 wins to continue listing any more. Perez has dominated the OL from the very start and this stat shows it. Every time he goes out on the mound, the Bishops have a very good chance to win. In fact, he's got 50% of the Bishops' wins. An astounding ace in every respect as you'll see below. The Davidson apologists are having less and less room in which to argue.

Losses:
3 SP Mario Troyer (Minneapolis Lumberjacks)

Again, too many with 2 losses to run off any more than that. Poor Troyer. He just can't seem to have any luck when his turn in the rotation comes up.

Saves:
4 CL Charles Thole (San Diego Bishops)
4 CL Anton Arispe (Miami Vices)

Another case of too many with 2 to go any deeper. The Perez-Davidson debate may essentially be settled, but another argument is raging concerning pitchers on the top two teams in the league, namely their closers. In our opinion, a split's obtained by the Vices here, as Arispe gets the nod.

ERA:
1.63 SP Heriberto Perez (San Diego Bishops)
1.78 SP Jose Leyba (San Diego Bishops)
2.25 SP Weceslao Martinez (Racine Secrets)
2.48 SP Alberto Avalos (Seattle Coffeemen)
2.83 SP Cristian Cortada (Racine Secrets)

When you have the top two pitchers in terms of ERA in your starting rotation, you've got a key ingredient to your success, particularly when it's a 3 man rotation league. This, more than any other stat, shows the dominance of the Bishops and of Perez.

Walks:
14 SP Allen Davidson (Miami Vices)
13 SP Jose Leyba (San Diego Bishops)
11 SP Heriberto Perez (San Diego Bishops)
10 SP Gary Yusuke (Memphis Rebels)
10 SP Weceslao Martinez (Racine Secrets)

What's fascinating here is that 3 of the top 5 walk issuers are also 3 of the top 5 lowest ERA pitchers, a testament to their respective teams' abilities to get the double play and shut the opponents down. No greater sign of Davidson's decline is there than his exorbiant walk numbers in the second interval.

Strikeouts:
44 SP Heriberto Perez (San Diego Bishops)
36 SP Allen Davidson (Miami Vices)
31 SP Cristian Cortada (Racine Secrets)
26 SP Christopher "Lobster" Lobdell (Boston Burgundys)
25 SP Jose Leyba (San Diego Bishops)

With the exception of Leyba, who appears because of Johnny Silk's being put in a mopup relief role with the Bishops, this leaderboard is unchanged in its composition and its order. Further evidence of Perez's absolute mastery of the league is his widening lead in strikeouts over Davidson.

Team Batting Report:



Team Pitching Report:



Team Fielding Report:



2004 Tentacle Midseason Octopus League All-Pro Team

C: Wayne Dewitt New Orleans Mardi Gras
1B: George Marconi Seattle Coffeemen
2B: Steve Borger New Orleans Mardi Gras
SS: Deon Maya Miami Vices
3B: Edward Mauldin Memphis Rebels
LF: Francis Ginn Boston Burgundys
CF: Curtis "CJ" Jones Miami Vices
RF: Roido "Pokemon" Hachemon Minneapolis Lumberjacks
SP: Heriberto Perez San Diego Bishops
CL: Anton Arispe Miami Vices

[Izulde]

I haven't shaved in a good week and as a result, my beard is so thick and bushy that the team has taken to calling me Tommy Chong. Still, maybe that will bring us good luck. Heaven knows we need it.

It's now the third of June. The second half of the season starts today and even though we're so far behind we have no hope of doing anything at all postseasonwise, I still feel renewed with hope that we can at least march our way to a .500 record by the time the season is finished.

We're in New Orleans today. Cortada versus Jones. Enough talk and thought from me. Let's roll.

Yes! The pitchers' duel is broken in the top of the 4th when The Definition of Clutchitude hits a sacrifice grouner to score Triple Hitting Taylor. 1-0 Racine!

...Christ Cristian! In the bottom of the 6th, he gives me a scare by walking 3 batters to load the bases, but gets out of it with a strikeout. My heart is still in my throat... but there's no way I'm going to trade our best pitcher who's a bona fide ace.

VELEZ YOU ****ING IDIOT!!!!!! The bastard has a sure double in the top of the 7th going, but then he decides to get cute and try to leg out a triple... and guess what happens? That's right. He gets thrown out! I begin to think of trading the Stupid Assed Caramello Bar.

In the bottom of the 8th inning, after walking a batter naturally, Our Maddening Ace is too tired to go on. The count's 1-2 against a guy who can't hit for much named Clifton Hecker IV (how preppy is *that*) but That Catcher I'm Still Kicking Myself For Not Picking And Who Bordeaux Refuses To Trade Me For is up after him and he's a power hitter of great reknown. So who do I send in? That Goat Valderrama.

...And instantly That Asshat Preppy gets an RBI double to tie the score. I yank Goat Boy immediately in favour of The Stiltsman of the 7.72 ERA. You think I need a new bullpen? Yeah, I sure as hell do.

...Another ****ing RBI double?! Granted it was by The Most Popular Player In The Octopus League, but this is ****ing ridiculous! 2-1 New Orleans. I leave Stiltdick in there. The game's lost anyway. My team is not clutch, save for Gutierrez. Oh, and did I mention there's 0 outs?!

We get out of the frame without further damage and go into the top of the 9th with our last three outs as Super Boy, Anti-Clutch Taylor, and the Jedi Knight With Strong Clutch Force Powers. ...I'm scared.

Nonetheless, I let Super Boy bat. ...Some superhero he is. He lines out to first. One out.

The Cowardly Taylor of Bennie is pulled as I send up Our Saviour Who Is Godly At Pinch Hitting. ...Damn it! Even he's failing me today as he swings at a frigging 3-1 pitch and flies out to center field. Two down.

It's all in the hands of The Essence of Clutchness now. I kneel down on the hard pine bench in the visitors' dugout and start praying....

...I've mentioned that God hates me before, yes? Well, it's proven here... for Fallen Gutierrez hits a nice gap hit that looks like it'll drop in... when the Almighty bangs the Gong that robs us of a last gasp chance and we go down 2-1.

Damn, this loss hurts.

After we're all in the locker room, I say just three words:

"Let's get drunk."

[Izulde]

Drunk we are all are.. so unbelievably pissed that Josue is actually considering the merits of male homosexuality in a discussing with Delbert. It's actually pretty funny, or it would be if I hadn't skipped over the happy drunk phase and plunged directly into melancholic bitterness and despair.

The rest of the team is sitting at a large table in this gimcrack, noisy bar in the French Quarter, a city region, that like its counterpoint in England's Stradford-upon-Avon, is an obscene imitation of a faded glory whose tacky costuming of houses and people is reverently accepted as authentic by gullible tourists.

In my state of inebriation, I find my thoughts once more twisting the way of women, girls under the age of a quarter century in particular. The truth is, I begin to hate the female gender. Beautiful some of them may be, but none are trustworthy. They (especially the younger ones I am presently concerned with) are fickle, selfish brats whose universe revolves around themselves. I have reasons for my bitterness and I assure you they're quite warranted when one looks at the factual evidence of my dismal romantic record.

Some will point to the aforementioned Laura as an exception to the rule, to which I sneer out that she was Dutch and hence an exception to the axiom. Does this mean I am only applying it to American girls? ...For the moment, yes. Though I have explored the parapets of Europe, engagement with the girleens there has not occurred outside of that hurt Hollander... though I must say that the sight of bare breasts and giggling bodies on the nude beaches of Cannes were quite a sight for my already hormone-ravaged brain and boner to behold.

"Mrrrrowl!"

....What? What's this that's in my ear? Did a cat just purr?

I turn my lowly hung head to the side and with besotted eyes witness, not a feline, but a curiously peering young woman of the most striking red hair, with green eyes whose shade and shape matches my own. With the wide scope of her irises and the contours of her glasses being as they are, there is something altogether catlike about her, though perhaps it is that initial purr operating on me.

"Umm... can I help you?"
"Oh, sorry! You just looked like you were really sad and bored over there, so I thought I'd come over and cheer you up a little! My name's Krista!"

A hand that proves to be a) remarkably pale, b) incredibly soft), and c) shockingly hairless comes to rest in my own for a handshake before I have time to fully register and process her words. Awkwardly I return the handshake, my shaggy eyebrows held aloft in uncertainty. Sadly for me, I don't notice Josue and Delbert breaking off their conversation to alert the team to my unanticipated interlude, and so I am unaware of twenty four sets of varying eyes planted on us.

"Umm... thanks. Heh. I'm Tim."
"Let's dance! You need to get that pouty look off your face!"

And so she pulls me out of the chair and onto the dance floor. One would anticipate that some nice and fast song is playing to force me out of my doldrums and try and get the slightly chubby body of mine into movement that will shake off this booze-born bleariness, right?

Wrong. It's none other than, preposterously, enough... The Corrs:

Say it's true, there's nothing like me and you
Not alone, tell me you feel it too
And I would run away
I would run away, yeah
I would run away
I would run away with you

Cause I have fallen in love
With you, no never have
I'm never gonna stop falling in love, with you

Close the door, lay down upon the floor
And by candlelight, make love to me through the night
Cause I have run away
I have run away, yeah
I have run away, run away
I have run away with you

Cause I have fallen in love
With you, no never have
I'm never gonna stop falling in love, with you

And I would run away
I would run away, yeah
I would run away
I would run away with you

Cause I have fallen in love
With you, no never have
I'm never gonna stop falling in love, with you

By the time the song is over, all 24 Secrets are standing up cheering, applauding, and wolfwhistling:

"Yeah! You go Tim!"
"Way to get 'em Tiger!"
"You don't score... until you score!"

....I'm more than nonplussed, but Krista simply grins, grabs my hand, and curtsies before our trashed audience, pulling me down into a forced bow to go with her regal dip.

....I think I've just been shanghaied somehow.


Kitten Krista...

[Izulde]

I sincerely wish I could say that the rest of the night went with brilliant conversation and ended in that kittenesque redhead in my bed, but alas, such did not happen.

Instead, she drank every last one of us under the table and left us with the bill.

...My head hurts. What time is it? Just after noon on Saturday. I don't know how long I've been sleep or even when I fell asleep. Damn, I can't believe she managed to take us all out, especially since some of the Secrets are really heavy, hardcore boozehounds.

Oh well. Time to check my email.

Friday June 3, 2004

Racine 1
New Orleans 2

WP: Joshua Jones (4-2)
LP: Francis Valderrama (0-1)

Once again, starter Cristian Cortada of the Secrets pitches a good game but fails to get the run support needed to render a decision. Jones was excellent in his complete game victory, giving up 1 ER and taking down 3 men while allowing none on board the basepath train with a free pass. C Wayne Dewitt delivered the knockout punch for the Mardi Gras with an RBI double in the bottom of the 8th.

Boston 2
Minneapolis 1

WP: Christopher Lobdell (4-1)
LP: Julio Rosado (3-3)
S: Benji Demarco (1)

Another 1-run pitchers' thriller that included a complete game tossed, only this time the niner was thrown by the loser. Rosado pitched well enough to win, allowing 2 ER and notching an equal 3 BB and 3 K, but it wasn't enough against the tour de force of Lobdell, who went 6 and 1/3 innings, giving up just 1 ER and distributing 3 BB that was more than compensated for by an astounding 11 strikeouts. Solo shots by 3B Bernado Rosado and 1B John Bahr in the 1st and 4th innings respectively were all the offense the Burgundys needed to secure the win.

Miami 5
San Diego 1

WP: Allen Davidson (4-1)
LP: Heriberto Perez (5-1)

Perfect Perez has lost! In an amazing display of fireball pitching, both Davidson and Perez punched out their opponents in double digits, 11 and 10 K respectively, while both going 7 and 1/3 innings. Unfortunately for Heriberto, he was lit up for all 5 of the Vices' runs in a contest that many regard as a preview of the inaugural River Series. Is this a sign that Perez's infamous meltdown in the Olympic qualifier will come back yet again?

After the game, Davidson remarked to reporters, his lips tightened in a grimace, "I read in the Tentacle and other newspapers about how Heriberto is the class of the league and I'm the number two man. That really made me angry. People have been doubting me and overlooking me ever since before the dispersal draft and reading those comments just got me mad and made me more fired up to kick some ass today... and I think I did that."

Perez, when interviewed about his rough game today, rubbed his head with the bill of his Bishops' cap and answered, "Hey, sometimes you just have a bad game out there, you know? You just have to suck it up and go back out there and get them next time."

RF Bobbie Calhoun was the offensive star for Miami in the game with 3 RBIs, including a 2 run homerun in the second inning.

Memphis 2
Seattle 3

WP: Alberto Avalos (4-1)
LP: Omer Houseman (3-3)
S: Jesus Loera (1)

The third one-run game of the day, this one was won by the Coffeemen after Loera stopped a 9th inning rally by the Rebels as they got to within one. An error charged to Memphis 3B Edward Mauldin led to an unearned run in the bottom of the 5th inning that proved to be the gamewinner.

***End Email***

...Damn. Davidson beat Perez. That's a shocker.

[Izulde]

Later in the day, my hangover is gone and we're ready to play ball. I'm not much in the mood for thinking or interacting with anyone, so I just decide to focus on the game.

Martinez versus Jacquez. It's on.

Did I mention I love games when The Former Reliever pitches? Everything seems to go right then, and it's happening now as in the top of the 3rd, Our Saviour Grandison obliterates a pitch for an all-arounder, bringing home Merry Melvin with him. 2-0 Racine!

Our lead is built on in the top of the 4th when Pimpmaster Delbert scorches a triple and is sent home by a sacrifice groundout from The Defensive Gem Left Fielder. 3-0 Secrets!

Third Base Defensive Sieve Coleman gets off a solo homer in the bottom of the 5th, but I'm not worried about it. We're still up by a score of 3-1.

...****! Now I'm worried. ****ing god damn mother****ing asshating ****ing son of a bitch!!! ****ing back to back homers, this one by Pawlak. I swear and kick the bench, stubbing my toe, inciting more cursing. ****ing damn it!!!!! 3-2 Racine.

In the top of the 6th, Styer of the 7.20 ERA comes on in relief for New Orleans. In other words... our bats are now going to turn to ice, because that's what always happens when we go up against high ERA pitchers. Damn it!

I love My Man Delbert. I really, really love him. Top of the 7th, he gives us some insurance by knocking an RBI single that comes about when The Anti-Steroids Bonds slides into home under the glove of My Favourite Catcher. 4-2 Racine and my blood pressure is finally starting to lessen.

Senor Salinas adds to it an AB later, as he picks up his second sacrifice RBI of the game. I'm feeling much, much better now. 5-2 Racine and a new horseman is sent to the rescue, a fellow by the name of William Reed Who Has A Perfectly Respectable 3.18 ERA.

Another at-bat, another run! Superboy smacks a payoff pitch right in one of the gaps for a single and an RBI! Signing him from the free agent pile and converting him to 3B was the single smartest move I've made as a GM. 6-2 Racine! There's no way we can lose now.

...Unless like in the bottom of the inning, Pawlak the Prick hits his second homerun of the game, a 2-run blast that narrows our lead to 6-4.

My blood boiling, I yank exhausted looking Martinez and call in Lecompte with the Perfect ERA, who manages to put out the fire.

Hooray for one of our ex-Lumberjacks! In our 8th inning frame Scotty Too Hotty Harper sends one to the moon with the bases empty to give us another insurance run! We gang-tackle him as he comes back in the dugout, excitement on our faces. No lead is ever safe with our ****-assed bullpen. 7-4 Secrets!

LECOMPTE YOU GOD DAMN ASSHAT!!! YOU DON'T ****ING WALK A MAN WITH THE GOD DAMN BASES LOADED?! WHERE THE **** IS YOUR PHENOMENAL CONTROL?! I race out to the mound and yank him out by his ear, shouting, "Your ass is gone! I will NOT have a pitcher on this team who walks a man with the bases loaded! I'm trading you TONIGHT!" 7-5 Secrets and with significant apprehension, I put in Our Rarely Used Moody Closer.

And of course there was only one out, so a sacrifice fly by somebody I don't give a damn about at the moment makes it 7-6 our favour. If we lose this game, I am going to be royally frigging pissed off... even more than I am already.

It's all down to the 9th inning. After the vision in my red haze clears, Scotty tells me that there were two errors by the Drunken Revelers, so instead of 2 outs like it should be, we have two men on with no outs. ....Maybe we can pull this out after all.

Suddenly Swinging Salinas gets his third RBI of the night with a single that crosses Mr. Japan and suddenly we've got an insurance run and are up 8-6! A new pitcher on the mound as well: Fiorentio The Italian With 1.69 ERA Making Only His Second Appearance Of The Season.

...You know, what they say about Italians being wild in bed may or may not be true, but in the case of baseball, it's true, as The Recent Latin Entrant throws a wild pitch that Debonair Delbert takes advantage of to come home on. 9-6 Racine. If I'm that Creole Snob GM/Manager Bordeaux, I run my guys ragged the next few practices to teach them not to make mental lapses during close games. Not that I'm complaining about their breakdowns of course. No sir!

The Almighty God of Clutch tacks on a sac fly RBI to make it 10-6 Secrets. If we lose this game, I'm getting rid of my entire flipping bullpen.

Bottom of the 9th. Here we go.

Phillips grounds out. One down.

Medina strikes out. Two down and Wayne the Stellar Catcher is their last hope....

And he gets a single to keep them alive. Damn. No worries, though... yet.

...And Suave Rico strikes out, giving us a 10-6 triumph!!!!

A sea of pink and black surges on the field with a mighty roar, the crest of the tidal wave crashing down on Moody as we dogpile him.

SECRETS WIN!!! SECRETS WIN!!!!

[Izulde]

A battalion of happy soldiers are we as we march out into the streets of the conquered Big Easy. That New Orleans by virtue of its nickname is a simple task to have one's way with doesn't matter. Delbert is at the forefront, leading a choral delivery of "We Are The Champions". Yeah, we're the Champions all right. The champions of being last place in the league.

Midway through our intended tavern journey, I spot the neon pink and blue facade of an arcade, throwback to the 80s, back before consoles and computers became so sophisticated that they took over the gaming public. Grinning, I tiptoe away, intent on forgoing a night of getting skunked in favour of revisiting the Babylon of my youth.

"Hey Tim! Where you going?"

...****. I've been caught. Clearing my throat, I freeze, straddling the boundary betwixt street and sanctuary, grinning sheepishly back at the others.

"Ahh.. I'm gonna skip out on drinking tonight guys. Gonna play some old video games instead."
"Aight man, that's cool. You know what that means guys... TITTY BAR!!!!"

With lustful yells of approval, the pack of horndogs dashes away from the entry to the arcade, racing away for the nearest shrine to nipples and naughty bits. For a brief moment, I'm tempted to go along with and ditch my plan. Not because I derive any great erotic pleasure from undulating bare bodies of the female flesh, but because those places are highly amusing.

Once upon a time, in that sprawling tropical metropolis of Miami... No, wait. Let me save that story for another time. Ditto that night in Nashville.

The hairy dog of my thought leashed, I enter this paradiso of bright colours, loud music, and simpler times. Out of instinct, I find myself looking for a bank of screens that reports the telltale presence of my favourite game, Derby Owner's Club World Edition, but alas, such is not to be found.

What do I spot out of the corner of one eye is another fairly recent classic, my beloved Soul Calibur II. Ahh, beauty, weapons, and pleasant music all in one game. Drawn to it, I exchange Abraham Lincoln and his green tuxedo for a gathering of gold coins.

I slip in a pair of tokens once I'm at the game, selecting my cherished Cassandra. Bliss washes over me as I commence playing in Story Mode, but then partly through my second round (I won the first), I receive notice that I have a challenger.

Blinking, I turn to my right and standing there, tall and bulky, is none other than Wayne Dewitt, the catcher I still find myself wishing I had drafted in the first round. Too stunned to speak, I just stand there with mouth ajar as he selects Nightmare. How appropriate. He looks over at me and grins.

"I'm not a drinker, so I just play here in the arcade most nights after home games."
"...I doubt you'd fit too well in with our team, then. We're a bunch of ****ing lushes."

Wayne laughs at my remark but then we both forget our conversation, becoming lost in a heated and intense battle. It turns out to be a brief contest, as I destroy him. When it comes to fighting games, nobody can beat me when I take the hot, speedy chick. Stepping away from the cabinet, the Mardi Gras catcher rubs at his eyes with a chuckle.

"You're really good with her."
"Thanks... Wish I could say that about myself with girls in real life."

Another laugh from the giant as he's leaning against his side of the machine, shaking his head, still in his baseball uniform, much as I am.

"You'll manage, I'm sure. Though not if your luck is anything like with your trying to get me. Vincent's always coming to me and telling me about your latest attempts to try and trade for me."

My lips contort into a grimace, the conversation maintained while I systematically dismantle my opponents in Story Mode. I'm that good with Cassandra that I can multitask and not lose a beat in either thread. Bastard Bordeaux. I can't believe he-- no, wait. Actually I can. Damn Creole asshat.

"Yeah well... I do find myself wishing sometimes that I had drafted you in the first round... Especially after Katamor screws up at the plate, which is often considering his horrible average."

Wayne nods, shifting to turn his eyes to the screen and watch me ream Cervantes a new one, his lips and gaze thoughtful.

"I wouldn't mind coming and playing for you guys. You play with a lot of passion and heart. That's one thing we don't do too much of. I mean, I do what I can, but when Rico is more concerned about getting laid than winning, and our manager just wants to strut around in a purple suit and look pretty... We just don't play as well as we should."

I'm about to respond, but then I hear a familiar, mewling voice behind me.

"Mrrr. How come you aren't out with your team? Bad Tim, bad!"

My ass gets swatted as punctuation, and both the unexpected speech and the hit are enough to jar me out of my reverie. About this time, Raphael smokes me with his damn rapier and I lose for the first time in the game. Growling, I grit my teeth and deliberately keep my back to the foxy vixen behind me.

"I didn't feel like drinking, Krista. How the hell did you find me?"
"Well Krista, Tim.. It was nice meeting you both, but I'm going to head over and play some Skee-ball. Tim, I'll see you tomorrow."

And with that, Wayne's drifting away with a broad grin on his lips. Nice guy. Probably too nice to be on our squad of bloody frigging wankers. My suspicions of the team as turncoats is confirmed when a soft body is nestling against me, a shock of strawberry blonde falling over my arm.

"Oh, I ran into them at the strip club. I asked where you were and they told me you were here... sooo I thought I'd come and find you! You don't want to be all alone after a big win, do you?"

Irritated beyond reason, I turn my head and give her a glare so vicious, were it a blade, she'd be cleaved in two on the spot.

"Look, just go away, all right? I don't feel like hanging out with anyone tonight. God damn! What the **** do those guys think, that I can't get make it on my own with girls or something? ...You know what? Here, take the game over. I'm leaving."

And with that I pull away from her, pull away from the machine, and race for the doors. She's calling after me, but in my rage, I don't hear it. Three seconds later, I've exploded out into the humid night of New 'Awleans.

Where the hell do those guys get off having her go after me? Matchmaker **** has always ****ing pissed me off... I hated it when my mot--no.. I'm not going to dwell on it.

I'm just going to trudge back to the hotel while plotting the murder of each and every one of those punks who play for me.

Racine Secrets? Racine Asshats is more like it.

[Izulde]

By the time I'm back in my hotel room and at my laptop, my rage has reduced itself to a low-level apathy. It's strange, isn't it? Even joy after a win is as short-lived as the orgasm of most men. Yet, the intensity of that ecstacy, both in the physical realm and the emotional one, is so powerful, so exquisite, that we find ourselves, wild dogs that we are, baying at the white sphere of Luna's Lament as we race through the Puritan's Devil Forest in the hunt for whatever form that voluptuous vulpine manifests herself as.

But enough of that. The day's tallies:

Saturday June 4, 2004

Racine 10
New Orleans 6

WP: Wenceslao Martinez (2-0)
LP: Tony Jacquez (0-1)
S: Donald Moody (2)

A slugfest that never really was in danger of being lost by the Secrets, as every time New Orleans mounted a challenge, Racine blasted right back with more runs to ensure they'd stay up on the Mardi Gras. The player of the game for the victors was no doubt LF Miguel Salinas, who had 3 RBIs and made some critical defensive plays.

Boston 5
Minneapolis 6

WP: Andrew Sharon (1-0)
LP: Charles Arango (0-1)

The Lumberjacks won this one in the bottom of the 9th inning after 1B Patrick Poulos cracked out an RBI double to break the tie and give the 6-5 win to the home team. This was not a good game for either of the starters, as both took a fairly early shower.

Miami 0
San Diego 3

WP: Tobias Beall (3-0)
LP: Ronald Sheeley (0-3)
S: Charles Thole (5)

10 hits. The Vices had 10 hits and yet were not able to produce a single run as three pitchers combined to shut them out. San Diego starter Beall pitched an excellent 7 innings, allowing 0 runs while walking 2 and striking out 4. Bishops closer Thole still has yet to be scored on. CF Timothy Chesson was the offensive powerhouse for the home team, with 2 RBIs, including a first inning solo homerun.

Memphis 8
Seattle 6

WP: Toney Kittleson (3-1)
LP: Lee Estes (0-3)
S: Luis Soriano (3)

Fearing a collapse, Rebels GM/Manager Billy Ray Jackson pulled Kittleson with just one out left, a move that turned out to almost cost Memphis the game, as MR Rudolph Varnado promptly gave up 3 runs to make it 8-6. Soriano was then sent in to douse the flames for the save. Rebels 3B Edward Mauldin continues his stellar play in this contest with 3 RBIs in the form of a three run moonshot in the 5th inning.

***End E-mail***

Damn... looks like it was a slugfest day... and what was up with Miami? Double digit hits and no runs to show for it? That's just amazing.

[Izulde]

Evening. The black velvet canopy patterned with white diamonds.

White. Black. Contrasts. Let us bring Red into the picture as well, for Red is frequently involved.

White.

The colour of purity and beauty. Yet also a hue of fragility, of sickness. Is it then the most beautiful and pure thing to be sick and frail instead of healthy and hale? Women of white hands, weak, yet loved for their loveliness.

Black.

Death and strength. Disease and contagion. Too much white eventually leads to the ebony? The flush of a minor affliction grown to a bloated and beastly corpse. Yet, there is a certain allure in its power and domination.

Red.

Passion and blood. Love and martyrdom. The most violent and unstable of these three, but also the most compelling. Indeed, it is those tales steeped in the ferocity of this shade that most affect us, most colour our dreams and shape our destinies.

See the world in black and white only and your road will be a rigid one. Life needs red (Is it any surprise that blood is red) to do more than exist as an automaton.

Colour your universe solely in red and black and your life shall be short, tragic, and full of melancholy and despair. Yet, many are those who names are legendary by way of knowing not the white. E.A. Poe, we salute you.

Do people who see only the white and the red exist past the age of, oh, say, twenty-one? These are the idealists, the dreamers who refuse to allow the banshee of black to diminish their land of enchantment. ...Yet it is they, by their very dismissal of that onyx rogue, who are most prone to disillusion when that raven marauder strikes too close to home... If they are not fortunate enough to die young and leave a legacy of light, they will eventually be overtaken by the pursuing avenger and be plunged into the drab world of black and white... the solitary, diametrically opposed colours made all the sharper in their contrast by virtue of Red's vanquished state.

Which of these am I? I must say that all three are in my life, though the portrait of my existence is largely done up in vehement crimson framed by the pathos of brooding obsidian. The aspects of white, you ask? Largely in the weakness of my body and the timidity of my personality.

Timid Tim. A fitting alliteration.

Bed summons me. Tomorrow, another game we play.

[Izulde]

Still enraged over our loss, I inform the team that I'm retiring to my room for the evening and that Krista had best not be sent to check up on me or heads will roll.

So I'm now sitting before my laptop, staring numbly at the day's scores

Sunday June 5, 2004

Racine 3
New Orleans 8

WP: Ernest Styers (1-0)
LP: Cristian Chapa (0-3)

Another horrible outing by Chapa, who was lit up for 7 runs, all earned, over 6 innings. Also critical to the Secrets' loss was a costly error by 3B Evelio Olivares. The turning point came in the 5th inning when DH Ovidio "Suave" Rico hit a 2 RBI double to break a 2-2 tie. From that point on, it was all Mardi Gras.

Boston 1
Minneapolis 4

WP: Alvin Garcia (2-2)
LP: Gabriel Parras (0-2)
S: Andrew Sharon (3)

Despite pitching a complete game and striking out 8 while walking 0, Parras takes the loss in this one, largely due to Lumberjacks LF Daniel Hayes's 2 run homer in the 1st inning.

Miami 2
San Diego 3

WP: Michael Robichaud (2-1)
LP: Juan Alustiza (0-1)

A thrilling 14 inning marathon that was a fitting conclusion to the matchup that many view as the likely River Series championship battle, the victory came for the Bishops in the bottom of the 14th inning with 2B Bryan Prioleau's solo shot.

Memphis 4
Seattle 3

WP: Gary Yusuke (1-2)
LP: Jesus Loera (1-1)
S: Felix Cuestas (1)

Jesus was nailed for 3 runs in the 9th inning, capping a Rebels rally that gave Memphis ace Yusuke his first win. Gary pitched 8 innings, giving up 3 earned runs and 3 walks against 5 strikeouts. Cuestas was flawless in the bottom of the 9th, striking out 2 and inducing a groundout to ensure no Coffeemen on base.


***End E-mail***

I'm still pissed about that loss.

[Izulde]

Secrets Engineer First Three-Way Trade In Octopus League History

Racine Secrets GM/Manager Tim Moungey was at it again last night, working the phone lines until he'd made a trade with not one, but two teams. That's right OL fans, the league's fastest trigger-man has spearheaded the first three-team-trade. Here's the details:

Going to Racine:
MR Pierre Mercurio

Going to Minneapolis:
DH Steven Hooper

Going to Miami:
SP Cristian Chapa

In essence, what the trade diagram boils down to is this: Racine ships Chapa to Miami for Hooper, then turns around and sends Hooper to Minneapolis to bring back former Secret and goat Mercurio.

Squidly Sam's Trade Analysis:

Boy, howdy! Is this one ever gonna be fun to break down! Here we go, team by team!

Racine Secrets:

In essence, what the Secrets did here is trade Chapa for Mercurio, as they're content with their own DH Carmelo Velez for the moment, who fits better with their lineup than Hooper would have. I'll call this one a good trade for Racine, as Chapa was underperforming grossly and clearly needed a change of scenery. Mercurio gets a chance to be the third starter and reward Moungey for his renewed faith in him.

Miami Vices:

Bad move here by Miami, as they give up one of their powerhouse hitters for a guy with a lot of question marks. Carl Zimmerman is a poor replacement for Hooper and I gotta question the Vices making Chapa their #2 starter and dropping Yun out of the rotation. With both Cristian and former #2 Ronald Sheeley underachieving out their barnacles, it would have made more sense to put Chapa in the #2 slot and keep Yun in the #3 starter position, rather than dropping him to a reliever. This could very well be the trade that proves the Vices' undoing in the East. On the other hand, if Chapa starts showing his potential, he could create a formidable one-two punch with some guy named Davidson. All in all, way too much risk for far too little reward.

Minneapolis Lumberjacks:

With the addition of Hooper, their already vaunted powerhouse lineup gets even more scary, with Steven batting fifth and providing needed protection for underachieving former Secret George Capra. A shrewd move by the Lumberjacks, who already know it's going to be their offense that wins them games, so why not make a strength even greater?

Final Analysis:

Minneapolis and Racine significantly improve their clubs here, while Miami deals themselves a serious blow in their bid to gain the East Division title.

Winners: Minneapolis, Racine
Losers: Miami

[Izulde]

June 10th. We're at home. It's also my mother's birthday.

Before the game, I gather the team together in a huddle and inform them, "Okay guys, we're 0-6 at home and today's my mom's birthday. So let's go out there and win this game for her, eh? It'd make for a really nice present."

"You're on, Coach! Let's grind some Coffeemen ass!"

Josue's emotionally charged pun is greeted with lustful yells and the starters storm out onto the field, invigorated and determined.

...It's not Win one for the Gipper, but whatever works.

Cortada versus Avalos. Here we go. Family and friends in the stands, including Mom. Let's win.

...Holy ****! Who knew we'd come out *this* fired up?! Our Run Support Lacking Ace strikes out 2 of 3 batters in the top of the 1st and in the bottom of the inning, none other than Dynamite Delbert hits a GRAND SLAM! sending home Macdaddy Melvin, Bennie of the Great Eye, and Our Saviour. 4-0 Racine! The stands are going absolutely wild as are we in the dugout. Beautiful!!! Beautiful!!!

The beauty continues in the bottom of the 4th, when Debonair Delbert blats a triple that sends across Japanese Catcher Katamor. 5-0 Racine!

And that does it for Ace Avalos who's relieved by Tyler Cueto. I'm tempted to make a wisecrack involving the nickname of Cute when I see the name on the scoreboard, but I don't want to risk jinxing our good fortune.

...And it's a damn good thing I didn't, because with the very next at-bat, Sensational Salinas torches one out of the park for 2. 7-0 Secrets! By now, everyone is on their feet in the stands, cheering in frenzied jubilation. As well they should! It's about damn time we were kicking tail at home!

The shutout is broken in the top of the 5th when Their Own Japanese Guy hits a single to score one. 7-1 Racine. Lord, I hope we don't blow this.

Oh my God!!! Oh my God!!! Super Fielding And Now Explosively Hitting Salinas hits another 2 RBI homerun in the bottom of the 6th and it's 9-1 Racine!!!! The other person he brought in? That's right, Dazzling Delbert!

The onslaught continues in that half-frame when Melvin of the Flawless Glove snipes a single to score Superboy. 10-1 Secrets!

What the hell?! Has my team been taking steroids on the sly?! In the next AB, Eagle-Eyed Taylor of all people, hits a two run moonshot to make it 12-1 Racine. Everyone, including me, is delirious with glee. This is just amazing!

The bottom of the 7th ends up in Cueto getting pulled and David Hill taking the hill. Not that it's going to make any difference. This game is long gone.

Midway through the top of the 8th, The Christian Ace looks exhausted. I make a rare move by actually going out to the mound to talk to him, all eyes on us.

"Hey Cristian... you're looking a little bushwhacked."
"Yeah, Coach. I am. You can put in one of the guys from the pen if you want."
"**** no, Cortada! You haven't gotten run support worth **** all season long, and now that you've gotten it, you're staying in and getting the complete game and your first win!"
"...Thanks, Coach. I appreciate it."

His smile is all I need for reassurance that I'm making the right move as I head back to the dugout. Let's just hope the defense can pull it out for him.. and us.

...And they do!

The ninth inning results?

A walk, followed by a double play... and then the capstone of all capstones... Cortada getting his 10th K for the last out!

A mob scene ensues as the spectators pour out of the stands to throw Cristian atop their shoulders, cheering and applauding loudly.

I grin and push my way through the moving crowd to get next to my mother, whose all smiles, her eyes asparkle with happiness.

"Happy Birthday, Mom."
"That was awesome, Tim! You guys played great!"

Yes... we did. And got our first home victory of the season with our ace on my mom's 54th birthday.

I can't think of a more perfect ending.

[Izulde]

Birthdays and I have an ambivalent relationship. I love them even as I loathe them.

My affection for these days of world entrance lies chiefly in the uniqueness of their celebration of the individuals appearing on that day. Birthday cake is also quite delicious. Ah, and of course, I must confess that I love purchasing and giving gifts.

But why then, the hatred of them, and why then, this stilted stream of consciousness that hurts the mind-reader to peruse?

Because birthdays signify the passage of time and the unavoidable march to mortality. Would that it was possible to achieve the Holy Grail of immortality, that we might never die. Then, then could I fully and completely enjoy birthdays, rather than be haunted in the dying hours of the night as I am now, the moon disquieting in its ghostly rainment of white.

I do not wish to die... do not want to pass on from this world. Even if we do exist as wisps of spirits after we are gone, what fun is that? For a sensualist like me, addicted to the pleasures attainable only through hearing, seeing, smelling, tasting, and most important of all touching... to be condemned to an incorporeal form is an invitation to Hell.

If I am to wander the cloud city of Heaven, then let me have a tangible body! Allow me the bliss of orgasm as I couple with the loveliest of all creatures, God's golden-haired angels! Do not force me the drudgery of sweeping through a vast expanse with naught to do but fly, play a harp, and talk with other spirits. Far better would be Hell in that instance, I should think, for at least in the pain there is feeling and sensation.

I do not want to become mere dust. Let not the atheists be right in their assertion that there is nothing in the end. Too, banish the reincarnationists, for even in the return to the earthly world, all sense of my self would be lost in the rebirth, and so I too, in essence would become lost and not Myself, but an Other.

Now on the other hand, were I to know myself as still being myself and retain the memories of the former me, then reincarnation might even be quite fun, for through several lifetimes, I would have the pleasure of experiencing the totality that human existence has to offer, with each succeeding incarnation growing wiser and more knowledgeable than the last.

But of course, this fantasy, as many are, is all an illusion, an idyllic daydream that will not see fruition or the light of day in reality.

All of this pondering and heavy thought makes me tired. Abed I go. Winning streak, shall we come to know you tomorrow? I hope so.

...Hope is often all that we have.

[Izulde]

With the advent of the sun, the terror of my thoughts vanishes, the rays of light too powerful for that banshee to continue haunting me.

Calmer now, I check my e-mail to obtain the results from the day before:

Friday June 10, 2004

Seattle 1
Racine 12

WP: Cristian Cortada (1-1)
LP: Alberto Avalos (4-2)

Cortada finally got run support this game and what support he received! The Secrets destroyed the Coffeemen in a double digit trouncing in a game that was dominated by the Racine starter. Cristian threw a complete game, giving up just one earned run and walking 4 while K'ing 10. Secrets CF Delbert Cook was the primary Seattle slayer, with a grand slam accounting for 4 of his 5 RBIs.

San Diego 7
Boston 0

WP: Heriberto Perez (6-1)
LP: Christopher Lobdell (4-2)

Perez returns to his winning ways, pitching a gem of game over 8 and 2/3 innings, allowing no earned runs and issuing 2 walks versus 8 strikeouts. Some controversy ensued as Bishops fans questioned why Heriberto wasn't left in to pick up another complete game and potentially his second shutout. To that we can only say that GM/manager Father George Ayorinde's mysterious moves have worked so far, so we're not one to question him. 2B Bryan Prioleau continues to be a dominating force for San Diego, garnering another 4 RBIs in this contest.

Minneapolis 5
Miami 4

WP: Andrew Sharon (2-0)
LP: Sabino Ulloa (0-1)
S: James Dutil (1)

Vices starter Allen Davidson had his good 7 inning outing in which he surrendered a mere 2 runs while letting 4 men on and dismissing 10 was blown by the bullpen in the late innings of this 11 inning battle of attrition. The coup de grace came in the top of the 11th when Lumberjacks 1B Patrick Poulos hit a solo shot to break the tie. Also key to Minneapolis's victory was RF Roido "Pokemon" Hachemon's 3 RBIs. Former Vice, now Lumberjack DH Steven Hooper went 2 for 5 and his replacement in Miami, Carl Zimmerman went 1 for 5.

New Orleans 9
Memphis 6

WP: Keith Fiorentino (1-0)
LP: Austin Hadsell (0-1)

Despite 3 errors, New Orleans managed to win this 10 inning affair. Both of the starters had abysmal outings and it was CF Jaime Gong's 3 run homer in the top of the 10th that clinched the win for the Mardi Gras. Gong was also the RBI leader for New Orleans, sending in 4 men total.

***End Email***

Looks like San Diego is still the top dog in the league, but outside of that, there's a lot of parity. I just wish we hadn't dug ourselves a hole so early in the season or we could contend right now.

[Izulde]

Another day, another game. We've got our lucky charm on the mound in the form of Martinez, squaring off against the winless Estes.

....Oh wait, that means the law of averages will bite us in the arse. ...Damn it!

Ah well, it's time to play ball, so let's hope we can keep it going and get our first winning streak.

....Want to know why Macaroni Marconi is leading the Octopus League in RBIs? It's because Superman Carson frigging gets on base and steals second, then gets knocked in by a single, that's why! And that's what happens in the 1st. 1-0 Seattle. So much for our luck.

Have I mentioned how much I love The Jedi Knight of Clutchness? Likely so, and I'm doing it again, as in the 2nd inning, he drops a hit in the gaps to score Daddymac Delbert and Sizzling Salinas to give us the lead! 2-1 Racine!

A few at-bats later Error-Prone Estes shows us why he's winless by plunking Bennie Wennie with the bases loaded to score Superboy. 3-1 Secrets.

Next up is Scotty Too Hotty "Bonds Without the Steroids" Harper and he finally snaps out of his RISP (Runners In Scoring Position-Hey I've got a new acronymn! and it's crisp without the sea!) slump by sending in a couple more guys who I don't want to jot the names of of. Just make it 5-1 Racine and have it at that. This also marks the end of Estes, as some guy named Cothern Who Has An Intimidating 1.59 ERA comes on in relief. Maybe we can torch him too. The crowd is in quite the good spirits, as you can well imagine.

Remember the Carson to Marconi connection from earlier? It just got worse. In the 3rd, Meathead Marconi hits a 2 run laser with Darrick "I'm Not Johnny" Carson on first and just like that we're down to a 5-3 advantage. Argh!

I don't know what's been in Suddenly Slamming Salinas's water lately, but I like it! He counters in the bottom frame of the third with a solo shot that gets us back up to 6-3 lead. The watchers in the stands rise to give him an ovation of cheers and clapping. So do we in the dugout. Yay!

Mahvahlous Melvin gets us back to our original lead later in the inning when he cracks out a double that scores The One True Clutch God. 7-3 Racine!

Lucifer Lucas hits a leadoff homer in the 4th, but I'm not too concerned as of yet. We're still up 7-4.

By the time the 5th rolls around, it's obvious that Good Luck Charm is running out of magic. He not only walks two, but bobbles a ball that should have been a double play. So it's the bases loaded with just 1 out. Not liking this, I snatch him from the mound and place Lecompte there. Yeah, I was going to trade him. But hell, he's still only got a 1.80 ERA and is 1-0 on the season. ...****. Law of averages! Damn it!

Or not! A pop-up is induced, and then Our Saviour makes a brilliant defensive stop and throw to get us out of trouble! I slap Josue heartily on the back as prelude to a hug when he comes back to the dugout.

"I love you, man."
"...You don't drink Bud Light, Coach."
"True, true."

Highflying Harper smacks a double into the outfield in the second frame of the fifth inning, good for 2 RBIs and we're up to a 9-4 lead! Why the hell couldn't we have this kind of explosion of offense earlier in the season?! Oh well, not going to complain.

Jake Mondo, frustrated with his team's play, comes charging out in the bottom of the 8th inning to argue a call that had Our Saviour safe at first, the second time he's argued with the umpires tonight. First time he was allowed to vent... this time he gets tossed!

So then the bench coach sends in Jesus Man Loera. Yeah, it's gonna take a miracle to beat us.

Especially after Dazzling Delby puts another RBI on the board to bring in Scotty Bonds and it's 10-4. 22 runs in 2 games... who would have thought we'd see that out of this offense the way we'd been playing, especially at home.

...Make that 24. Superboy just plated two more and it's 12-4 us now. I'd laugh if we beat them by double digits two games in a row.

A 1-2-single-3 inning later and we've won again!

Hello to our first win streak!!!!!

I can't even remember the last time I felt this good!

[Izulde]

Oh Sugar when you're close to me
You love me right down to my knees
And whenever you let me hit it
Sweet like the honey when it comes to me
Skin is caramel with those cocoa eyes
Even got a big sister by the name of Chocolate Thai

A song about Morrigan? No, merely mellow-rhythmed lyrics here in Teezer's, an intimately small bar three blocks from my home.

So small is it, in fact, that even with only half of the team here (the others are at Buckets across the street), we take up almost all of the available seating.

As I sip my Long Island Iced Tea and smoke my Lucky Strike, I listen to the pleasant bubbling of conversation stream about me. When in the early stages of drinking, there is the same pleasurable sensation that one experiences when stepping into a hot bath on a lionesque March morning.

But there is no bath and this is not tough March. Still, there is that silky, undressed feeling as I drink and smoke. The exact content of the words being spoken are not known; everything is as vague and blurry as French Impressionist art.

Yet, this is no bad thing. To be languid and indistinct in the frame of mind is to introduce the same atmosphere as those in dreams. The unchaining of the mind, the drifting away from the sharp-cut lines of masculine reality's rigidity... this is when one walks in Keat's starry night and strolls the plush, nurturing, fluffly clouds of Rainbow City Care-A-Lot with its Bears and Cousins (Arkansasians, cease thy mouth-froth... they are not bare cousins).

Will the next series of games produce the trifecta?

I do not know, nor do I care.

Leave me to my idyllic kingdom of enchantment, where the girls are young and pretty and Nature is lush and lovely.

[Izulde]

The quiet serenity of dusk's regal mantle of purple has settled over the court of the next evening's sky.

My run and that of the Secrets has been frenzied, fun, and frustrating as a roller coaster ride 30 seconds long that entails a three hour wait in line.

Yet, here ends the recording of my thoughts.

Will we continue to play on? Or shall we ourselves be dipped in the amber of days gone by, immortalized as long as there are those who rememeber and care?

That is the question.

Only succeeding generations can answer it.

Goodbye... and thank you for traveling with me.

[Izulde]

Sometimes the snow comes down in June
Sometimes the sun goes ’round the moon
I see the passion in your eyes
Sometimes it’s all a big surprise
’cause there was a time when all I did was wish
You’d tell me this was love
It’s not the way I hoped or how I planned
But somehow it’s enough

And now we’re standing face to face
Isn’t this world a crazy place
Just when I thought our chance had passed
You go and save the best for last

All of the nights you came to me
When some silly girl had set you free
You wondered how you’d make it through
I wondered what was wrong with you

’cause how could you give your love to someone else
And share your dreams with me
Sometimes the very thing you’re looking for
Is the one thing you can’t see

And now we’re standing face to face
Isn’t this world a crazy place
Just when I thought our chance had passed
You go and save the best for last

Sometimes the very thing you’re looking for
Is the one thing you can’t see

Sometimes the snow comes down in June
Sometimes the sun goes round the moon
Just when I thought our chance had passed
You go and save the best for last

You went and saved the best for last

A one-hit wonder, but her voice... so powerful, so strong, so emotional... Say whatever else you will about Vanessa Williams's career, but in this moment... in this song... she stands unparallelled as a newly risen Queen... redemption gained, the gates of Paradise flung open... Hallejuah, hallejuah, Eden is once more yours!

I am lifted up, I am cast down. The dichotomy of beautiful bronze bliss (two wins, two wins, a true streak!) and morose mauve melancholy (lonelier than Wordsworth's cloud...) has me weeping here in the dirty disaster that is my sleeping den and library.

Scattered around me are memories of the past, perfectly preserved pages alongside of ripped, ruined rememberances that only increase my pain when I look at them. I fear more than anything else the dissolution of history. The destruction of objects horrifies me, the rape of sentimental objects an offense without equal.

Lillith, the forgotten first frau of Adam, only recently ressurected. If I were allowed to be God for the space of only a few hours, I would spend the first half an hour crafting the ideal girl according to my own tastes.

She would be nineteen, with hair as golden and brilliant as Spanish gold and eyes either light blue, light green, or light grey with a translucence calling to mind serenity's water. Her bosom would be neither ironing board nor excessive mountains of heaving, trembling flesh, but rather sit in the middle, well-curved and shapely... feminine without crossing the line into grossness.

Outside of her chest, her body would be slender in the sylph manner, her skin pale, delicate, and delicious. For a mouth, she would have a pair of lips that were naturally pink, yet frequently shimmering with the addition of tasty glosses to make her all the more kissable.

Staying with that lovely mouth, we turn to her voice. I would demand that it be a true girly girl's voice, one that is capable of the highest of musical prowess. Often she would sing to me, as I would sing to her.

For interests, she too, would wander freely through the realms of writers, musicians, and movies, while having prodigal drawing, painting, and related manual artistic talent.

Her name would be a poem in and of itself, the shapes inherent in the syllables of it as lovely and inspirational as her body and talents. Jane, Karen, Bertha, and Pat need not apply. We welcome worthy candidates such as... Ahh, a listing of favourable names would spoil the surprise, and so I remain mute on them here.

And yet, in the end, this is all moot, an exercise in mental masturbation... a quest for a wretch's wonderland of release, with its hollow images and artificial phantasms.

With the sobbing cry of my expulsion that arrives at the moment this fantasy fae whispers of her love for me, I plunge directly from that celestial happiness down into the tar and brimstone pits of realist despair.

My dreams speak one thing, the circumstances of my earthbound condition shout another.

Alone, alone, alone you shall always be!

I fear it is my fate.

[Izulde]

Still numb with my lingering sorrow, I force myself to check my e-mail and view the day's results. It is not something I particularly feel like doing, but it is a thing to pass the time with.

Friday June 17, 2004

Racine 0
Miami 3

...What? What day is it?

I check the calendar. According to my schedule, it is still the 11th of June. How could 6 days, including my 25th birthday have gone by without my realizing it?

Disturbed, I reach my cell phone, ignoring the fact that it is three thirty in the morning, and dial Delbert's number. He answers on the first ring, his voice groggy.

"Who the hell is it calling me this damn late at night? I'm trying to sleep, you *******!"

Liar. I can hear over the line the sounds of a woman moaning. The bastard is getting laid. Putting on a facade of false cheer and chipperness, I respond.

"Hello, Delbert! It's Tim... Listen, I'll let you get back to ****ing in a minute, but I was just wondering about something. It says on my email that we've already played in Miami on the 17th, but my calendar still says it's the 11th. Did the league office decide to play a joke on me or something?"

"...Hold on a minute, Coach."

I hear him yell for the girl, apparently named Sasha to "get off my dick and go hop in the shower. My boss is on the phone." A moment later, he's back on the line, his voice a little hesitant.

"Umm, I'm not sure how to tell you this, Coach. But it *is* the 17th... We're all down in Miami. You got so drunk after we won on the 11th that you slipped into a coma and were in the hospital until yesterday. Even after you came out of it this morning before we left, you still didn't seem like you were with it, so we left you at home... Scotty took over as the player-manager for today's game."

Stunned, I pull my ear away from the phone, missing some of Delbert's following words. I can't have lost almost an entire week! I can't have! The very idea is so absurd that I... My thoughts are interrupted by Delbert's screaming my name. Grudgingly, I put my ear back to the cell.

"Coach, just take this series off. Scotty can manage the team for the next couple days. We're worried about you, man."

"**** that ****, Delbert! I'm taking the next plane down... I'll be there for tomorrow's game."

Before he can get a chance to reply, I hang up on him and crawl out of bed, stumbling and falling on top of a pile of Sports Illustrateds on the floor with a loud thump.

Damn it, I need to hurry! I need to make it down to Miami ASAP!!

But will I? I don't know... but I'm damned determined to try.

How the hell could I have lost almost a week? I still don't understand...

...And now I'm not only sad, but scared, too.