WRANGLER NEWS 2006WRANGLER NEWS 2006
(After a prolonged rain-out and holiday break, the playoffs finally continue. This time without Co-Captains T-Diz and the O.Z., as they've just gotten married and gone to the Land Down Under.)
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the bedazzle's are shining bright.
Black Betty is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
And, somewhere cowboys & cowgirls are laughing, while little Payton shouts . . .
But there is no championship joy in Wranglerville -- Mighty Rusty has lost in the finals. What a night it was! The Wranglers won a thriller of a doozy of a extra-inning affair in the 8:00 game against the Slackers to make the finals, but fell 4-2 in the championship game to their heated rival Kick My Balls. Cap'n T-Dizzy and Bench Coach Oz would have been damn proud as The Wranglers played their respective butts off. So hang your head high Wrangler Nation.
The Recap of both games, as well as commentary from Joy "I heart Tall Socks" Hayes, follows below:
[Tim and Joy are filling in for Captain Tara Dix, who is on her honeymoon in the land of the Kiwis]
Game No. 1 : Wranglers - 3, The Slackers - 2 (In 9 Innings)
This game may as well have been a world cup match. In the pantheon of great defense, it goes the '85 Bears, Bobby Orr, and last night's game. The Slackers put up a single run early in the game to go up 1-0, but the Wranglers shut the door after that as the two teams traded " 0's" on the scoreboard. The Wranglers would threaten with the bases loaded in the 3rd, but couldn't get home.
In the 5th, they turned to small-ball as Josh "Real Men do indeed Bunt" McKnight led off the inning with a perfect bunt cake and turned it into a double decker piece of chocolate cake---with frosting (i.e. a double). He would go on to score the equalizer off the foot of Rick Brands "X" after getting moved over by "Come On" Eileen.
The score would remain knotted at 1-1 through the 7th---the Wranglers threatened again as Cas "Peachtree" Scott led off the inning with a solid single and Sherriff P Mel nearly scored off a deep sac fly by Deputy Lubbers. The Slackers were saved by a miraculous bean out toss that somehow caught P Mel in the heel only a few feet from home.
Time for extra innings---a place where some teams melt like a popsicle on a hot day. The Wranglers? Well, like a fat man at a buffet, extra time is where they come alive. The Slackers would be turned away yet again in the 8th thanks to the strong pitching of Danny Martin and the web-like defense of the Wranglers. But we would also go 1-2-3 to send the game to the ninth...
And the 9th inning was vintage Wranglers---I mean we should bottle that inning, slap a label with "Rusty Noir" on it, and place it in a cellar, 'Cuase this one is only going to get better with time. The Slackers put up a run in the top of the frame to take the score to 2-1 in their favor. All might have seemed lost to a lesser team, but not to the 2005 Region 8 Champs and certainly not with "Black Betty" on the boombox...Rusty's crew would once again threaten in the bottom of the 9th as they would load the bases with three consecutive hits from eRick, Pie, and Marty. After a terrific bunt from Joy "The Smack" Hayes, the Wranglers were once again thwarted with Rick getting beaned-out despite a valiant effort on his way to home for the first out. But the wranglers kept knocking at the door...Papa Tdubs Whalen now stepped to the plate with the bases still loaded and hits a towering---and I mean towering...moon shot that carries to the fringe of the infield. Tdubs is called out on behalf of the infield fly rule for the second out. What happened next can only be described as unique and perhaps further proof that God has a Wrangler T-shirt hanging in his/her closet...After repeated knocks, the Slackers were apparently ready to open the door. Thanks to the ball "ovaling" in the air - a phrase coined by CoCo - it bounced off the hands of their SS as it came down. With that, Marty and Pie huslted around the bases to score the tying and winning runs thus propelling the Wranglers to the final game. The Elias Sports Bureau is still confirming, but they're pretty sure that it's the first "Walk-off Infield Fly Rule" in history.
I'll send it over to Joy for some color commentary on game 1---
So all our raindances lacked purpose and intent as we mounted up for our first game at 8:00. I couldn't tell you the name of the team we played, but I can tell you that they were pretty impressed with their real honest-to-goodness baseball jerseys. Black and beige? Why would you even consider that? For a hot second, we thought that maybe, just maybe, they didn't have enough girls...but I guess I never learned how to count.
This may not be in any true order, so maybe you'll have to rely on your memories of last night's power. My apologies in advance....
There's a new left-field sheriff in town, and his name is Sticky Hands Rick Brands. Anything that went a-sailing into left found itself stuck fly-paper style to the Ricker. (Maybe it was the pressure of having his lady-friend watching...but I don't think we can hide our Ricker pride!) There was the sad moment when Lubbers took one in the ear, damaging his auditory skills because Sticky Hands was proving that he was too tough on D. Hopefully the ringing in Lubbers' ear has ceased.
We began with the lovely pitching styles of Coco and Pie, who did a wicked job of getting them to pop them up, easily caught style. The "Aren't we cool because of our super sweet jerseys?" team scored one early on one of those plays where we threw to first rather than second, and their runner took full advantage of our error, but it was kool and the gang, because our super secret weapon was about to be unveiled.
By the 3rd inning, we were ready to bust out the secret weapon: Dan "the Mayor" Martin. As soon as Marty took the mound, it was evident that in Foul Ball City, Dan's the Mayor. Our opponents couldn't help but take every pitch Marty rolled their way into foul territory. It was too sweet.
Gotta give a shout out to P Mel, Captain Bodacious, for his wicked crazy running skills. Maybe he was inspired by Ryno's theme song, but he proved he was the best around by putting some super speed on. Sadly, he was stranded at third.
Josh, still upset by our dislike of his theme song, proved once again that real men DO bunt after a lot of his heart and desire put him in foul trouble. He would end up scoring, again showcasing some mad running skills, off a sac fly by Sticky Hands Brands.
P Mel once again showcased some bodacious kickball ability by performing a Plasticman super stretch to get an overzealous runner out at 2nd.
By now, the other team is getting nervous, and I must admit, I was a little skidgy myself, because it's tied at one pretty late in the game. This is when the sass started to come out a little bit. The pitcher of Black and Beige tried to chest up our favorite ref after a sweet play at 3rd got their runner out. "What what what?!?!? How can he be out at 3rd if the ball was dropped?" the pitcher raged. The retort was reminiscent of quality WAKA reffing: "It's kickball...it doesn't matter." As my kids would say, "You got burned real bad."
P Mel once again had bodacious running dreams...he's serious as cancer when he says rhythm is a dancer...only to be tagged out brutally at the plate. Big heart, P Mel, big heart.
Again, B & B pitcher tried to get sassy with us by getting all hot under the cheezy jersey collar counting outs for us. I must admit I had to shut him down, eighth grade style by reminding him that it's just kickball. There were no cameras there...he wasn't going to make the late news.
The top of the 8th was sheer mastermind defense with Marty continuing to make all those batters pop them up, 2 to Lubbers (who pre-game questioned covering for the O.Z. at short, but proved himself to be pretty sweet at shortstop...a Sticky Hands Junior, if you will) and 1 to Katie "Please not another Booby Bungler" Whalen, who was so tickled with herself that she did a rally circle out at short center.
During our bats in the 8th, Coco tried to get her big foot forward on the running track, only to be tagged out after trying to play Freeze Tag with their 2nd baseman, crawling through his legs to avoid the tag. That brought a big wah wah from the bench.
Now by this time, it's late enough that the team for the 9:00 championship game has shown up, giving the Wranglers some love ("Kick their asses!") and yet being petty all the same ("Have you been watching their batting order???? They bat out of order!")
The 9th inning came, and Marty was starting to feel the pressure. Barb tried to console him, telling him, "It's only a game." Marty, in true mayor form, retorted, "It's more than a game."
B & B was starting to sweat when we came up to bat in the 9th...so much so that they busted out some gender bias by making a defensive switch at the plate. This nice girl had been playing catcher throughout the entire game, and all of a sudden, Sassy Pitcher Man obviously decided he had had enough. With a comment about her "not being able to defend the plate", he switched her out with the big dude from 3rd.
The magic in the 9th inning is still a little fuzzy to me. I finally made my way to first after some unimpressive fly-outs, leaving the magic to T-Dubs. And magic it was. What began as an infield fly rule was bungled by B & B, which led magically to a Wrangler victory and 2 rbi's for Timmy.
When asking for the real scoop afterwards, I got this from Mayor Marty himself: "That's why it's dangerous for pitchers to throw curves if they don't have the team in the field to back it up."
Thanks Joy, on to the final...
Game No. 2 (smells like poo): Kick My Balls - 4, Wranglers - 2
Before I even get started, Nice job on the name there Kick-Balls---way to get creative. Just out of spite I'm going to vary their name while keeping the same subject matter.
Anyway, this one was another close one to say the least---a real heartbreaker. I really don't have a lot to say about this one, except that the Wranglers fought to the end and left it all out on the field. They got a much-needed boost after the extra-inning thriller with the return of Swetty Clown to the lineup, but it wouldn't be enough to get past Smash My Jewels.
Ram My Crotch ran the score up to 3-0 at the end of 5 thanks to some adept base-running and solid defense on their part. The Wranglers played well yet again, but like someone who sat indian style a little too long, their foots were asleep---until the top of the 6th inning as Big Foot Reid and "I'm" Rick Brands "Bitch" made some noise by scoring runs off a deep single by My Favorite Martin. Pie "The Nanny" Kratt attempted to score on the play as well, but was gunned down like Sonny Corleone at a toll booth to end the inning. The score was now 3-2 Punch My Nuts going to the bottom of the 6th and the Wranglers had new life---
But the next two half-innings were most unkind---kind of like the DMV on a bad day. Stomp My Jumblies added an insurance run in the 6th to go up 4-2 and then shut the door in the 7th after a lead-off hit by Joy to win the CSSC Title and take home the coveted long-sleeve champ tees. While the Wranglers were crushed, I think 'Lil Payton took the loss the hardest as he burst into tears following the last out. Dry those eyes little man, the Wranglers will ride again.
I'll send it back over to Joy for some more color from game 2---
So after a super-tough fight, the Wranglers moved on to the championship game at 9:00 against the ever-wittily named Kick My Balls. I felt like Tara when I wrote that name down in my magic orange notebook, because I had to wonder where the creativity went when they named their team. Well, the Wranglers would love to kick your balls, thank you very much.
It's a new game, and the pitcher is a spinner. Our first at-bat was not productive, so we had to show that we still meant business.
Gotta give a shout-out to T-Dubs yet again, who was still radiating power from the previous game, this time on the defensive side as he got their runner at 3rd. It was as if anyone with a Kick My Balls jersey was fair game--he almost got their 3rd base coach too. Gotta love that fire, Timmy.
No runs scored by Kick My Balls in the first, which prompted a nice compliment from their captain, who said, "This is a good fielding team, guys." I thought that was awfully nice of them....then it was brought to my attention that they were all wearing cleats. We all know that is a sign of a pretty serious team.
We were super wicked lucky to have a game that could be attended by our very own Ryan "I'm trying to make the improv thing work but it sucks that I have to miss all these games" Swett, who showed up all professional and stuff but still managed to get changed and ready to show he hasn't lost his Wrangler skills by catching a super huge fly ball that could have been ugly. Proving her excellent fielding abilities, Katie commented, "On that one, I called Swetty."
Dooley called the Mayor out for pitching nicely to the ladies of Kick My Balls. Marty wanted to be nice, but Dooley did point out that they were not being nice to us. So then Marty had to bring both the noise and the funk.
They scored one early on big tag-out dreams where Marty tried to get the runner at 3rd but it didn't work. Both sides realized that big running was going to have to occur if victory was to be claimed.
Marty wanted big bats so bad that his foul balls almost broke the windows of the lovely buildings just foul of 1st. Quite a few times, Kick My Balls had to climbing fences to retrieve the power foul balls of the Wranglers, to which Dooley came up with the following prose: "When yo pitch is a bitch, you go in the ditch." It's gangsta and it rhymes.
Josh tried to re-incarnate P Mel's Plasticman abilities to get a runner out at first, but the ref denied him. That got a big wah wah from the Wranglers.
Gotta give yet another shout to Lubbers, proving that he may very well be Sticky Hands Brands' brother from another mother. The new mayor of Fly Ball City, that Lubbers.
We had big batting dreams, but at the end of the day, it didn't happen. We lost 4 to 2. All of our usual big bat suspects got convicted on mad fly-ball catching skills by Kick My Balls.
Thanks Joy, now for the wrap-up...
Awards and What Not
The Rusty for game 1 goes to Tim "Tdubs" Whalen for his 2 for 3, 2 RBI performance. While it wasn't pretty, Whalen got the job done and drove in the game winners while also easily playing his best D of the year at 3rd. Honors for Game 2 go to Marty Martin for pitching 'til his arm nearly fell off and driving in the only two runs of the game.
Special mentions to Rick "Webs for Hands" Brands in LF for his fierce D and "Bunt Cake" Wheels also turned in a nice catch in SC---her first of the year---which was followed by an inpromptu ride-the-bull dance.
The All-Around Cowboy/Girl is a threesome this week---and not in a sexual way you pervs---wait, I guess I thought of it that way as well---huh, well, takes one to know one I guess---anyway, it goes to P Mel, the Jedi McKnight, and Michelle "the Michelle is silent" Dooley. Their aggressive baserunning came up Lionel Richie huge (i.e. All Night Long) and Dools even sacrificed her prized sparkle pants with a slide into third (for which she was rewarded for her effort by a bean ball to the back by one of the couple ass-clowns from Crush My Babymakers).
The Booby-Bungler Award for the night goes to Rick and the side of Lubbers' face. After a soft single to left by the Slackers in game 1, Rick fired the ball towards 2nd in an attempt to get the force out. Apparently, Lubber's face didn't get cc'd on the memo and found itself right in the path of the ball. Lubbers went on to have a fine couple of games despite the knock to the head.
WranglerNation was in full effect with Barb and Hillary out there in Rusty's corner to make up one damn fine cheering section.
And a very special holla goes out to Team McLean (Ryno, Al, and the recently born Baby Will) for sending their best. As a testament to their devotion, they kept the Wranglers on their mind and were almost able to make an appearance despite Will being born less than a week earlier. And of course, congrats to the family on Will's arrival.
Joy, any final thoughts?
Well, Josh recommended infield practice during the off-season. Maybe we were too tired after the stressful game to get us to the championship. Maybe we needed the inspirational leadership of Tara and Dave. Maybe we needed the raindances to bring back Tone the Bone for another rain delay. The maybes could last a lifetime, but at the end of the day, the Wranglers had another fabulous season.
Well put. This will close another great chapter in the Book of Rusty---it was one hell of a season. MOUNT UP!
Tuesday Morning
Recap: June 20, 2006
Playoff Shmayoff
Is it even fair to call it a playoff if you win by slaughter rule? I mean, "playoff" implies high-intensity, high-caliber, über ball. The best of the best, fighting it out for the glory of the Chicago Sport & Social Club Monday Night Brands Park Spring 2006 Kickball League bragging rights, and possibly a long-sleeve T-shirt that says "Champions."
And although the Wranglers were in über-baller form last night, our opponents,
The Library Maulers, were just not capable of that level of play. They didn't
stink, they just weren't that great, and strangely seemed content to not be the
champions of the Chicago Sport & Social Club Monday Night Brands Park Spring
2006 Kickball League. Personally, they were a lovely bunch, those Library
Maulers, and they certainly have the 2nd best name for a team in the
league. Although, unfortunately, many persons on their team appeared as though
they may actually be librarians, and at least one looked like a certifiable
mauler. But it is always nice to give a sound beating to an affable bunch. They
seemed to take it in stride. And the high-fivery at the end was genuine.
Let's run the highlight reel. We were Wreally in Wrare Wrangler form, so there
are a lot of them. We had 17 hits and 14 runs!!
We'll start with warm-ups. It was like the home run derby out there! Everyone suited up in their rodeo gear and stretched out our 10-gallon hats. Katie "Bunt Cake" Whalen gave the world of non-bunting a try, and seemed to be really enjoying herself until I charged the plate and beaned her ass OUT!! She never expected that! And this other time Lubbers fell down pretty much for no reason when he was trying to catch a ball. Oh gracious Lord, that was silly. But then the other team showed up, and it was time for business.
We came out strong with 5 runs in the first, including homers from Lub-A-Dub-Dub and Rick "As Played by Jason Bateman" Brands. Michelle "The Rhinestone Cowgirl" Dooley jammed on the boom box and spurred us on to victory.
And then there was this one time when right fielder Cassie "Yeah!" Scott swatted the ball from her face like a fly, as opposed to a fly ball, which happened to be sailing rapidly toward her countenance. Of course the best part of all was that the ball had already been called foul on account of the batter having kicked the ball from a position quite clearly in front of home plate (illegal). But Cassie couldn't hear the call in the outfield, so she thought the play was live and was standing there looking up at the soaring orb with an expression that might suggest she had just soiled herself. Still, she stretched out her arms to catch it, but then, inexplicably, recoiled as if the ball had perhaps spit in her eye. As she slowly drifted backward, falling--- falling--- her one arm suddenly lurched over and sort of swat/punched the ball before it could bean her in the kisser. Then she plopped down on her bum. Expert work, young Cassie!
Speaking of falling on your bum, we'll never forget that precious moment when Dan "La Vida Loca" Martin squealed, squatted, and skidded into home for a big fat homer and his second score of the night. Despite cautious base running, Danny hit that ball so hard he had no choice but to run home. It was like his Mama was chasing him! And then when the throw to home plate came zinging toward his noggin', he simply stopped, dropped, and rolled (forward on his bottom) across the plate.
And how €˜bout when Tony "Twagopus" Wagner came flying through the air from rightfield to catch that fly ball?! I think he actually leapt over 3rd baseman Matt "Don't Hate Me Because I Hate You" Lubbers' head! It was incredible!
Ok, I'm actually drinking an iced coffee right now, and you know how sometimes
the sugar doesn't completely dissolve into the drink and then your last sip is
like a sugary syrup blob? Well, that's what just happened. BLECH! It's not a
highlight from the game, just a lowlight from my day. Although the highlight was
definitely the chicken pesto sandwich I had for lunch.
But back to last night: Lub-a-Dub nailed a walk-off grand slam to end the game.
I don't know what else to say about it. It speaks for itself. 3 at bats, and 3
homers. Nice work, Matty.
And can we just give a little shout out to Black Betty, whoever, wherever she may be! I mean, nothing but nothing gets the Wranglers pumped like Black Betty and her wild child. (Incidentally, I always thought the lyrics were "Black Betty had a job, something something mild." But it's actually that she had a child, and the damn thing went wild. Who knew?) Anyway, it turns me into a wild child every time I hear it. The only problem is that I get so riled up with the dancing on the sideline that sometimes I'm just a little pooped when it's time to hit the field. But that's neither here nor there.
Let's send it over to Tim "Big Bulls" Whalen at Wrangler headquarters on Roscoe Street:
----
Thanks, T-Diz.
Hey Wrangler Fans: Hug it out, you little bitches!
Here's a simple math equation for ya: Rusty + Playoffs = Lubbers. That's right,
this week the Rusty goes to Matt Lubbers who turned in a performance that would
make Mr. October himself - Reggie Jackson - jump and say Amen! The man of the
match (in the spirit of the World Cup) kicked 3 HR's on the night including a
Grand Salami to enact the slaughter rule and thus end the game. Those poor girls
in CF / RF...their dreams will forever be haunted by images of a fiery yellow
ball screaming towards them. Bravo, Seňor Lubbers. Bravo.
The all-around cowboy / cowgirl this week goes to the entire friggin team. That's right, last night was vintage Wranglers. The hustle, the energy, the music, the horses, hats, sparkle, horns, the trademark Mexican blanket...it was all there. Really, it was a thing of beauty.
The newly named David Hustle-hoff Award (formerly Charlie Hustle) goes this week to none other than Special Guest Star Tony "Tone the Bone" Wagner, who flew in from Kansas City to Chicago (and even changed his flight) to make a surprise appearance and contribute to a Wrangler victory. It was great to have you back, Tone, and great to see you float through the outfield air with the greatest of ease to make those catches. Hooray for Tone the Bone! I think I speak for the entire team when I say it was good to have ya out there.
A special mention to Ryan "Brad Simmons" McLean who, despite a horrific golf-induced groin injury, made it to the game and even served as third base coach.
Also, special thanks to
all those who came out to support the team...including Payton and his two unborn
friends.
----
Right you are, Tim.
Unfortunately for the
Library Maulers, they could only ride our bull for 6 innings, but I'm sure
they'll be very successful in other parts of their lives.
Next week is the semifinals at 8:00pm and then the championship game at 9:00pm. We'll be in our signature Wrangler Wrodeo gear, so make sure and wash your boots and chaps!
Fans are highly
encouraged to attend and sit with the schoolchildren who enjoy cheering us on
every week from behind the backstop. Oh, and this week there was a strange
scruffily bearded man back there as well. But you don't have to sit by him if
you don't want to.
Mount Up!!
Love,
Cap'n T-Diz
Tuesday Morning
Recap: June 13, 2006
Week 6: Wrangler Big Top Blow-out
Wrangler Nation:
Nothing gives me greater pleasure than spicing up your Tuesday with the glad tidings of a Wrangler victory. You know that, don't you? And I would never try to hurt you. So I'll try to break this to you gently, but the fact is we lost. There, I said it. We lost. We lost bad. Not like "The Worst Christmas Ever" when we lost just by a smidge. This was like when you're super excited to go to the circus because you've never been before and you think it's certainly one of the best theme nights we've ever come up with, but then when you get there the circus tent collapses killing everyone inside, except for the other team who then goes around killing everyone who isn't quite dead yet.
It was so embarrassing! I actually struck out swinging. I know it's hard to even imagine how that could happen in kickball, but it did. I don't really even want to talk about it, but I will because I think it's important to talk about these things instead of burying them under countless layers of shame. It was the very last out of the game, and I blew it. That crazy-ass pitcher hurled it at me at lightning speed, spinning like a top, and curving in 6-foot horizontal arc! It really seemed like my foot would hit it, but then the ball zoomed wide. RAT FARTS!!! Actually, it grazed my leg, so technically it should have been a foul and I should have had another go at it, but it was just so embarrassing that I covered my face with my helmet and sat in that bucket in the corner! And to add insult to injury, the pitcher actually apologized to me. Humiliating! Can you imagine the horror of someone apologizing to you for your gross inability in the face of their unsurpassable skill? I'm definitely going to have nightmares about that for weeks. Perhaps years.
Wrangler Ball #24: Never trust anyone who wears a headband like that pitcher had. In hindsight, we probably should have just punched him out in the first few minutes, I mean seriously cold-cocked him. Clown could have charged the mound, or Ryno could have swept the leg. Why didn't we think of that at the time? NUTS!! Well, you know what they say, hindsight is 50/50.
Darn that stinky pitcher. He threw spinny curve balls! Where did he think he was, the WAKA Regional Championships?! (Side note: The WAKA World Championships are coming up next month and I really think the Wranglers should crash the party. Unfortunately, Dang and I will be in the Land Down Under, but I expect someone to step up and carry the mantle.) Anyway, subtract him from the equation and that would have been a Wrangler victory for sure, especially if we also eliminated that 2nd basemen who could palm the ball and was always trying to make double plays. Darn him, too!
Well, at least we have the constant Wrangler solace in being totally superior in entertainment value. Costume-wise we were in top form. I'll go so far to say it was an all-time high. We had a ring master, a lion tamer, a lion, a roving vendor hocking various circus fare, the guy who gets shot out of a cannon, a few gypsies, a bearded lady, and several other freaks including the world's largest man and a midget (Payton!). We even had a bull, which is technically a little more Cirque de Soleil, but we let it slide. And Swetty Clown's last-minute dramatic entrance, running across the field with clown horns ablazing! Gorgeous! They never saw that coming! And it really sealed the deal as far as us being better people than them, especially because we were not wearing shirts that said "Kick My Balls" or headbands.
By the way, did anyone know that man who took our picture before the game? I sort of assumed he knew someone, but a cursory survey reveals it not be so. He was a bit bossy, didn't you think? And now we're probably going to wind up on some Circus Porn website or something.
But I digress. Sometimes I think there might be an inverse correlation between the hysteria of our costumes and our level of play. I mean, it's really hard to concentrate when Rick "The Stick" Brands is selling popcorn, cotton candy, and glow sticks on the sidelines. Or the man you're supposed to marry is wearing a Goldilocks wig and a fluorescent green mumu. But then there are other times when expert costuming seems to actually increase our skillz. Particularly on Rodeo Night. Hmmmmm.
Well, whatever it was that was hampering our ability to kick a ball last night, it stunk. And then when we finally did get a baserunner, he would just keep running and running until someone beaned him out. I'm not going to mention any names on this one, because Dan Martin already knows his name. But we did have some sweet defensive moves, especially when I "accidentally" sat on that girl at second base. Miraculously her foot did not come off the base, but I hope that I inspired some other players to employ this kind of malicious trickery when the going gets tough.
Oh my God, my iPod is on shuffle and guess what just came on: BLACK BETTY! Yipppeeee! Oh, but now it's on to "Caminando Por La Calle." Not really in the mood for that.
Anyway, next week is the first round of playoffs. I don't
have details yet, but I'll fill you in as soon as I do. And you know what
playoffs mean, right? It means it's Rodeo Night. The most wonderful time of
the year.
It's possible we'll meet these "Kick My Balls" characters in the playoffs, in which case we'll just have to organize a brief strategy meeting beforehand to discuss how and when we will actually kick the pitcher in the balls. I mean he asked for it, right? Actually, I noticed that the 3rd base girl kept calling him "Sweetie," so maybe we should make her our target instead, like maybe take her hostage or something. You know, I can just see them all in a bar together talking about their new kickball team, and that big meathead guy goes, "Hey, let's name the team Kick My Balls!" And then the pitcher with his headband goes, "Yeah, that's hilarious! Let's make T-shirts!" And then 3rd base girl: "Oh, sweetie! You're so clever and handsome! I'm sure that no other team will come up with some sort of double entendre about balls." And then me: Punch. Kick. Karate Chop. Spit. Tickle. No, scratch that tickle bit. Just end with the spit.
Peace out, Wranglers. You know I love you, baby.
Always,
Cap'n T-Dizzle My Nizzle Fo Shizzle
p.s.
Do you know that last night some guy on the other team asked if we wear the
same costumes every week? What an idiot! What kind of loser team would wear
the same costumes every week?
whispery voice: There's something wrong with Damien. That's right, people, it's officially June 6, 2006, or 6-6-6 as we in the biz like to call it. You know, the day of the Beast, the anti-Christ. The Apocalypse. End Time. Rapture. Last night should have been the last night of our lives. Maybe it was. It's only 7:30pm, so it's still hard to tell. But if this email suddenly ends, you'll know it's because Jesus is outside my window slaying a seven-headed beast and separating the sheep from the goats. When rapture comes, this computer will be unmanned!
That's kind of why I waited so long to write this recap: I had some things to do before I died, such as see the new blockbuster smash hit "The Break Up" starring Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston. That Vince Vaughn is just such a character, and there was a Moms & Babies matinee at the Loew's Cinema today for the low-low price of $7. I had some baby friends going, so I thought I'd tag along. It was great, by the way. And then I had to return some stuff at Marshall Field's.
And then I spent the rest of the day looking out the window to see if Jesus was coming. I thought for sure something would have happened at 6:06pm, but it didn't. So then I waited for 6:66pm (otherwise known as 7:06). Again, nada. So I started to think that maybe I should just write the recap. So here I am.
The Wranglers won!! It was an extra-inning nail biter, though. My heart was pounding like a kick drum! They scored! We scored! They scored! We scored! It was outrageous Halloween fun. And it seemed that even the other team knew it was Halloween, because one of their guys was dressed really silly in a sort of Bruce Jenner/Jimmy Connors type outfit with miniature skin-tight shorts. And he had poofy curly hair and a silly headband. More about him later.
It was all tricks and treats last night for the Wranglers! Pie and CoCo were throwing strikes like it was Friday night at Diversey Rock'n'Bowl, Katie was running around in about 20 pounds of military gear, Josh played first in a Yoda mask, Dooley was some sort of Flash Dance Village Person Baton Twirler, Dave screamed "love bites!" in full Joe Elliott style while I bashed in the knees of the opposition in my Tonya Harding 80s ice-skating outfit. And who could forget Rick "Flava Flav" Brands back from Thailand and behind the plate! He gave some girl a money shot right in her bumsky as she ran to first base. YOWZA!!
The other team was no bowl of candy left out on someone's doorstep where trick or treaters are only supposed to take one but take like 6 or 7 candy bars, either. They were tough! Like the old broad on the corner who gives you pennies, and you don't even really want to go to her house, but your mom says you have to or it will seem rude. They were certainly the best team we've played this year, even though, once again, their team name was lacking. They're called "The Blue Keys." What the hell does that mean?
But how about that Super Jew? Now, don't think I'm labeling people, because I'm not. He was high on Jewish pride with a swanky T-shirt that said "Super Jew." Just below that it said, inexplicably, "Put Out or Get Out." Clearly a sexual reference, but not sure at all how it relates to being a Super Jew. Anyway, he was incredible! He was a dynamo at 3rd and he kicked the shizzle out of the ball in the night's only home run. And he made funny jokes the whole game. I loved him! I think he should be a Wrangler, not a Blue Key. You'd think he would be embarrassed to play on a team with a dumb name like that. And how about that centerfielder who miraculously caught any ball within 50 feet of him? I really started to hate him by about the 4th inning. Even though he was so good, I do not think that he should be a Wrangler because I hated him so much.
Anyway, enough about them. Back to the stars of the night. The winners. The Wranglers.
The Rusty Award for this week has to go to Josh "Yoda" McKnight for his stellar baserunning skillz that won the game. There is nothing quite like extra bases on errors to make for an exciting finish.
The Booby Bungler is a triple dipple this week as we had a real old-fashioned demolition derby out in center field with 3 Wranglers down when all was said and done. It's kind of hard to describe how it all happened, but basically there was a high fly just out of the infield. Eileen was at short center and she carefully measured the trajectory. Ryno came zooming in from left, P-Mel from center, and then it's sort of a blur, but I think it somehow bounced off Eileen and then Ryno and P-Mel cris-crossed paths trying to catch the rebound and one of them fell in the cris-cross, and then the other one fell jumping for the ball, and then I think Eileen fell just out of sympathy.
The All-Around Cowboy is going to the whole team this week. Everyone added their own special talent to the victory. Katie cooked up the most absolutely perfect Bunt Cake ever, just a little dribbly bibbly spinny winny mini bop right in front of the plate! Magic! Josh McKnightRider reminded us why Real Men Bunt when we desperately needed baserunners in the extra inning. Dave "Hysteria" Osborne was mos' def at shortstop with about 16 catches and a 2 RBI single that made the groupies scream. Cassie saw major action in right field. P-Mel cleaned up in center, and I'm not afraid to mention that yours truly batted 1000 on the night! Yipppeeeeee!
Well, it's starting to get dark, so I guess that last night was not the last night of our lives. But tonight may be. Whoa! There was just a weather advisory on TV. Big storms headed our way. Coincidence? Plus, I think the guy downstairs is named Damien, and I always hear him yelling at someone down there, and I always just assumed it was his girlfriend, but now I think it might be God. Oh geez.
Hopefully it will not be the end of world, though, because I'm really looking forward to next week, which is Circus Night. Barnum & Bailey Wranglers! And it's our last game of the Wregular season. (oh, fun, I forgot how much I love starting all "r" words with a "Wr")
OK, bye.
Love
you!
Cap'n T-Diz
Greetings to all in Wrangler Nation.
It's a beautiful morning in the city that never sleeps, the city of sin, the city of the trashiest and the flashiest, the city of ---.. THE WRANGLERS!!
That's right, folks, we're basking in the warm glow of victory after cleaning up on Vegas Night with a 7-3 victory over "TBA." (That's the other team's name, and I'm not sure what it means, aside from the obvious "to be announced," and I forgot to ask them last night, but I'm sure I'll make up something good by the end of the recap. Oh wait, I just thought of a good one: "To Be Ass-Whooped." Yes, that's what we'll go with.)
It was classic shin-ball out there. For those of you not familiar with k-ball, most successful plays are obviously achieved with the utility of the feet and the hands. But to use the shin takes special skill, a superior level of refinement, as in the suddenly popular move where a bobbled ball is trapped between the shin and the forearm. Or, on the offensive end, a kicker will at times throw the fielders a curve by actually "kicking" the ball with his or her shin, sometimes even the knee or thigh. You see, a skilled pitcher will give the ball some spin and a little bit of bounce. And a skilled kicker will pound it right off the laces or instep of the shoe. But sometimes it's too much bother for a kicker to actually watch the ball hit his/her foot, so instead he just starts thinking about how he's going to run to first base so fast and then probably score at least twice, and so then he's staring out into the outfield picturing the ball going over everyone's heads and then the next thing you know he's bonked the ball right off his shin. This move gives the ball an unexpected trajectory, almost always directly into the arms of the third-base-person, who really should catch it but is so startled by the shin move that he drops it and then you've got the perfect single!! That, my friends, is shin-ball. It's not always pretty, but it's (almost) always successful. From now on, we'll just call it Wrangler Ball.
Maybe it's because I take my inspiration from World Champion Manager of the Century Ozzie Guillen, that I have thus inspired my team to this scrappy style of "no quitters" play. At any rate, despite playing short of slugger Matty Lubbers, who missed the game so he could watch the season finale of "24," (Wrangler Ball Rule #16: You can always TiVo.) the Wrangler showgirls, Elvis impersonators, bachelorettes, pimps, and lounge singers were in full effect, and we bet the house on a Wrangler win. And then our sponsor bar comped us $5 burgers with horseradish cheddar cheese and any domestic draft!!
Speaking of beer, did anyone notice the other team had beer in their dugout? They did! Now, one would think that the drinking of beer would make a team more fun and silly, but apparently not in this particular case. And I must say it's always nice to see that we're still more fun than teams with beer. They were not really so much fun, mainly because their girls were salty sour-pusses! They were totally jocked out, so serioso! I'm surprised they weren't wearing ankle weights in the on-deck circle. The guys were OK, and they seemed generally congenial except when I laughed out loud when that one guy struck out. Although I must say that wasn't really my fault, first of all because I was merely an observer of the strikeout, not the actual dope striking out, but secondly because the ball rolled right over the plate and he just stood there. And then he said that thing about how it wasn't a strike because it bounced twice. What kickball planet is he living on?? And it just so happened that it was one of those moments where everyone else gets really quiet all at once (in this case because no one knew what the H-E-double-hockey-sticks was going on), and in the same instant I laughed so hard into the sonic abyss that it echoed off the buildings, giving it this maniacal effect reminiscent of The Count on Sesame Street. And so then everyone looked at me like I was such an insensitive piece of poo. Well, excuse me for living and not being able to contain my glee at another person's folly!!!
Enough about that. There is a much more pressing matter! I can't tell you what joy it brings me to announce that Timmy "Phil McCracken" Whalen is back from paternity leave and ready to give the color commentary for the night. Here he is, folks, live from Wrangler Headquarters on Roscoe Street, the Ron Santo of kickball . . . Tim "Tom Jones" Whalen!!
"Thanks, T-Diz. It's great to be back. Let's go straight to the awards.
This week's Rusty has got to---and I mean GOT TO---go to Patrick "The Gambler" Melson whose hitting was Phat and defense was Phantastic. He came up with a huge Grand Slam in the decisive 4th to give the Wranglers a 5-2 lead, which would prove the game-winner. And his defense was nothing short of rock solid with about 32 catches in center field. Prudential Insurance is very jealous and is rethinking their entire ad campaign from the last 30 years.
All-Around Cowboy honors goes to a very deserving cowgirl who proved to truly be "The King" of the mound. I'm of course speaking of Pie "Fat Elvis" Kratt, who pitched a beauty. She was the opposite of a Hound Dog en route to ringing up 3 K's (including the game-ender) and several foul-outs. And while the opposing team had Suspicious Minds about the strike zone, Pie checked them in to Heartbreak Hotel. She even lost her hair---literally---when she hustled down the line for a single. Pie, you're officially our Good Luck Charm.
And if you're looking for a Booby Bungler Award recipient, I'm starting with the man in the mirror. Making his first appearance of the year, Tim Whalen truly played the part of the bad casino lounge singer. Between the pink shades, feather boa, and general lack of ability, his defense was compromised to say the least. Basically, he made Manny Ramirez (who is very bad at defense) look like Willie Mays (who is very good at defense). He did add an RBI single, though, so that's something I guess.
And finally, I need to throw out a special mention to Baby Payton "Sweetness" Whalen in his Wrangler debut last night, despite getting four shots just hours earlier at the doctor's office. He was sporting his Elvis shades and Wrangler bib, and he was tear-free for 5 out of the 7 innings. Way to go, little guy!
Well, I'm off like a hot pink ruffled tuxedo shirt. Back to you in the studio, T-Diz..."
Thanks, Timmy. Nice to have you back.
I also want to call attention to the play of a very special Wrangler, Eileen "Dexy's Midnight Runner" Lovett, who was apparently channeling the ghost of Rick Brands behind the plate last night. She caught that foul ball like it was her job!! And then she drove in our final run of the night with a sac bunt in the 8th. Now, some of you know that I personally despise the term "sac bunt." It just sounds dirty, and it gives me the willies. But in this case, the chills that run up my spine every time I write it are the least sacrifice I can make in return for Eileen's amazing sacrifice for us last night. Eileen, you gave us a sac bunt, and for that we are eternally grateful.
Speaking of sacrifice, can we all just give a little shout out to Dave "Don't' Be Cruel" Osborne who played the entire game with a serious wedgie from his white pleather Elvis costume? That is real dedication, considering you may have permanently disabled your baby-making abilities.
And how about Joy "Queen of Hearts" Hayes with that 9th-inning catch?? She's money in the bank, people, and the look of surprise on her face after it happened was priceless. It will be terribly sad if that was Joy's last game of the season (due to other commitments, and the fact that our season was supposed to already be over and instead we have 2 more regular season games plus playoffs).
You know, friends, it's not unusual to be loved by everyone, and the Wranglers are indeed loved. Which brings me to Wrangler Ball Rule #73: Always be nice to the fans. We had a substantial gathering of adorable school children behind the backstop who were generous with advice on which pitches to swing/kick at, and which ones to let pass. And one of them even said I had a beautiful dress. Thanks, kids! Glad we can be role models for the youth of America. I was also glad to learn that we are apparently an inspiration to the soccer teams who play on the fields next to us. It seems that one of the guys over there approached Joy and Eileen after the game to express his undying love for the Wranglers and how he tells all his friends about us. Well, buddy, we tell all our friends about you, too. And maybe if you dressed up in a silly costume for your next soccer game, we would consider letting you be one of us.
Well, time to wrap-up the wrapup, as there's a 24-hour $5.95 prime rib buffet at the Excalibur that I'd like to get to before all the mashed potatoes are gone, and besides my dog needs to be walked.
There's no game next week due to the Memorial Day holiday, but June 5th will be Circus Night! Come one, come all, to the Wrangler Big Top! We'll have lions, horses, clowns, trapeze artists, acrobats, bearded ladies, popcorn, cotton candy, and hot dogs!! And the whole team is going to travel to the game in Cassie's VW Cabrio, and then we'll park it in the middle of the field and climb out one by one.
See you in two weeks---. Until then, just remember Wrangler Ball Rule # 109: Never sit on a cat.
All my love,
Cap'n T-Diz
Has anyone ever noticed that that last bit doesn't really make any sense? Why would raindrops fall because a person is free? It seems more likely that raindrops would fall on one's head if one were NOT free, because then maybe one would not have the option of going indoors. Did you ever know how much I hate when people use "one" instead of a more specific pronoun like he, she, or they? It's true, I hate it. It makes me feel like the writer must be speaking through his or her nose, and I have a real aversion to nasal-y voices. But I also don't like "his or her" because that's just silly when you have to keep saying it over and over. Someone is going to have to think of a solution to this problem. Maybe it will be me and then I will win the Pulitzer Prize for grammar innovation. That would be great and then probably I wouldn't have to worry about how I'm going to pay my health insurance premiums.
But I digress. Wrangler Nation, our trip to the City of Sin is going to have to wait, which is a desperate shame because I was counting on doubling my rent money at the craps table near first base. Even a few games of Texas Hold €˜Em in the outfield would have helped. But, alas, Vegas Night was not to be. Our game was rained out again, and that is crap and not craps.
I mean, I'm clear on the concept of April showers, but we're clearly in "May flowers" time now and we're getting no cooperation. So I just did me some talkin' to the sun, and I said I didn't like the way he got things done---sleeping on the job! I was all set with a sparkly outfit to wear, and the real kicker is that it wasn't even actually raining at the time of the game. It was, in fact, sublime (minus a few degrees of sublimity on account of the chill in the air). But the sissies that run our league said the field was all muddy. Well, who is afraid of a little mud? Not the Wranglers!! No, sir!! We revel in mud!! We roll around in it!! We are cowboys, damnit!! I think someone in the offices of the Chicago Sport & Social Club needs a good old-fashioned ass whomping.
Well, I wasn't going to let them get me down, so I had a little Vegas Night of my own here at the house. First, Dave and I took our dog to the park to play ball. And then we went to the gym for a quick work-out. I did 30 minutes on the bike, then sit-ups, and then torso rotations. Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta! And then we came home and Dave made fried rice out of some left over chicken stirfry, and we each chose a delicious micro-brewed beer from our refrigerator, compliments of Dave's Beer of the Month Club that I got him as a Christmas gift. Dave had a Pale Ale and I had a Porter, to which I added a teaspoon of sugar. Delicious!! Many of you know that I do not actually like beer, but I've discovered a new secret: Add sugar to it, and then it is so tasty! You should try it! Everything is better with sugar. But then as we were eating our stirfry there kept being gravelly bits in there that would really hurt our teeth and we'd be all: "ow!" And then we were all: "what the heck is in here that is so hard and sandy and feels like it might break my tooth?" And then we decided it must be the water chestnuts. But then as we continued to eat and hurt our teeth, it suddenly hit me that the Thai peanut sauce we had poured all over our food had actually been salvaged from a broken bottle and it was probably little bits of glass we were eating. Oh dear! You see, as I was bringing home the groceries last week, I just had too darn much to carry and I dropped one of the bags, and the bottle of Thai peanut sauce was smashed. Kablooooey! But the contents of the bottle remained mostly inside the plastic bag, and since I am so clever and resourceful and had been inordinately excited about buying the peanut sauce because it looked so tasty, I said "hey, this is not a lost cause. I will simply pour this through a strainer and into a new Tupperware container, and then this tempting sauce will be as good as new!" So I did. Except I guess there were lots of pieces that were smaller than a strainer hole and as a result I nearly killed myself and my husband-to-be. Could you imagine the tragedy? Picture the headlines: "Bride-to-be kills groom and self by serving tiny bits of glass in stirfry." "Groom's last words: Her cooking was deadly." "Killing him softly with shards of glass." "Frugal nature is area woman's fatal flaw." "In valiant effort to save peanut sauce, local woman kills her peanut." But actually I would blame the Sport & Social Club (despite the waiver I signed) because obviously we would not have been eating at home if the game wasn't cancelled unjustly. Anyway, we stopped eating the stirfry.
Well, after we were not killed by eating glass, we proceeded to watch "24" and be hungry. And here's where the Vegas theme comes in, because the only other thing in our house worth eating was hash browns, and that's like something you would eat at an all-night diner in Vegas. And then we watched the Sox game, but it turned out that it was merely a replay of the game that was live at 1:20 in the afternoon. And boy did we feel silly. And then we looked at real estate on the internet. And then we watched The Colbert Report. And then we stayed up late, and that's also like Vegas.
Make sure to join us next week when it really will be Vegas Night. I don't care if it's raining cats and dogs and a tornado is coming, the Wranglers will be at Brands Park at the appointed time, dressed in Las Vegas-themed clothing and ready to play kickball. Even if we have to play against ourselves. Even if local weatherman Jerry Taft strongly recommends against it. Even if Noah himself is out there. Even if "24" is really good that night. We'll be there.
See you on the diamond,
t-dizzy
in the hizzy
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|
SHOW ME YOUR (OVEN) MITTS! |
Greetings and glad
tidings to all in Wrangler Nation. I am pleased to bring you another installment
of the Wrangler Tuesday Morning Recap. Sadly, April showers have been raining
out our fun every other week since the beginning of the season. And you KNOW how
rainy days and Mondays always get me down. But I'm happy to announce that last
night we actually had a game!! Yippppeeeee!
So without further ado------.
Show Me Your (oven) Mitts!
Last night was Chef Night. Why? €˜Cause we love burgers on the grill, rally noodles with dill, hair nets on guys named Phil, using spatulas with great skill--- And those TWINS!!! That's right, we fried up some kickball last night, and put a big W on the menu for the Wranglers. In aprons and hair nets, oven mitts on our hands, we sliced and diced the opposition, stir-fired €˜em in a little peanut oil, and set them to simmer at low heat for 45 minutes.
But first things first: We need to schedule a team meeting to discuss Katie "Bunt Cake" Whalen's behavior last night. Let me set the scene---
The other team, The Library Maulers (more like The Library Poop Maulers, if you ask me), showed up a few green peppers short of a mixed vegetable skewer, if you know what I mean. They only had 5 dudes and one completely humorless pouty-faced girl, who, in hindsight, should have been kicked in the pants. So they had to take an official forfeit. But we still wanted to play!! So we agreed to lend them 3 of our finest Wrangler Ladies to round out their roster.
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Now, when I brought the proposition to the team, I thought we'd probably have to draw straws or something to see who would have the unlucky fate of playing with the other team. But as soon as I explained the situation, Bunt Cake's hand shot into the air and she screamed, "I'll go!" Now, why would someone want to leave the Wrangler nest to go and play for the opposition? I mean, someone might do it out of extreme dedication to the cause or an altruistic notion that their sacrifice could somehow lead to more fun for the Wrangler team despite a subtraction of fun for said altruist. And I suppose that if I were single and saw some really hot guy on the other team, I might be tempted to jump ship for the night. But Katie is married, a baby freshly popped out of her tummy. What could possibly possess her to so easily abandon her mates? I'm not sure we'll ever know. But we'll never forget how we felt when she said it: Betrayed.
Now the other two ladies, Cassie "Hidden Treasure" Scott, and Courtney "CoCo Beware" Reid, volunteered for a combination of the suggested reasons above: altruism and being single with the possibility of meeting cute boys. So they are exempt from suspicion except that CoCo seemed a little too free with the trash talk from behind home plate (by the way, you do NOT make the best hash browns in the city!), and Cassie caught a fly ball I kicked (not nice!).
But Katie was a motor mouth of malevolent malignations, an inferno of insults, a torrent of taunts!! And then she bunted against us!! And then she caught a fly ball at third base! Lordy, Lordy. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Well, I've hired a family therapist, and the Wranglers are going to have a sit-down with Katie before the next game to see if we can bring our rebellious teenager back into the fold. Wheels, I know that deep down you love us, but this "acting out" has got to stop. Where does all this anger come from?
Well, enough about that. Let's get back to that Wrangler victory. Hats off this week to Ryno "Bean!" McLean, definitely MVP of the night with a home run, 2 doubles, and two superior bean-outs. Bravo, Chef McLean! He threw a cross-field bullet to nail a guy at third, and another Tabasco-hot sizzler to give CoCo a pinch of "You're Outta Here!" at home plate. He bopped her right in the bum! CoCo, if you were a little more flat-bottomed you would have been safe. But the big red ball found that wagon you're draggin'!! Your curves are really cramping your base-running skillz this season. (So whatcha gonna do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk??) Luckily, they serve you well in for all other purposed except running the bases in kickball. And I can only assume that the boys on the other team's appreciation of said curves were at least the partial cause of Pouty-Face McGee's bad attitude. Seriously, what was that girl's problem?
Chef hats off to P-Money Melson as well who clocked out with a homer, a double, and a single for the night. P-Mel, we salute you!!
There was also this great moment when I caught a fly ball by trapping it between my shin and my forearm. Graceful is not the word.
And then there was this other moment when Davey "The O.Z." Osborne hit a double that he wanted to push into a triple, only Pie was only halfway between 2nd and 3rd at that point, but Dozzie just kept going and then Pie sort of stopped at 3rd, but then saw Dave coming and so she started running for home, but then the ball was being thrown to home, so Pie skidded to a stop and then Dave skidded to a stop and then everybody started running back to where they came from but then they threw to it to 3rd or something, so then Pie started running for home again and everyone was shouting "Stay!" "Go!" "Go!" "Stay!" and it was all very confusing and then they threw back toward home I think and then Pie got beaned and it was all very sad except that Dave was safe on 3rd and then he scored on the next play. Holy Guacamole! It was intense.
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| Joy is pretending to barf here, but I don't remember why. |
Lastly, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the conspicuous absence this week of Ryan "The Swett" Swett, who actually invented the now-famous Rally Noodle on a chilly April night one year ago. To not have him with us for Chef Night this year was depressing, indeed. Please come home soon.
Did all of you in Wrangler Nation know that we actually have fanclub members in other countries?? It's true! We're currently clocking friends in India, Scotland, and Ireland. It's an international kickball craze! So I guess I should start referring to us as Wrangler Inter-Nation, but I probably won't because it just doesn't roll off the tongue quite as nicely.
Next week is Vegas Night, and you know what that means: We'll be dressing up as those old ladies who sit at the slot machines all day with a cigarette and an oxygen tank, or maybe a showgirl, or maybe a guy who might wear a shirt that says something like "Mustache Rides 5 cents." Anyway you slice it, it's going to be sparkly. Can't wait!
Until then---.
I love
you, I love you, and I love you,
Captain T-Dizzle fo' Shizzle
Tuesday Morning Recap April 25, 2006
Week 2: The Worst Christmas Ever
Well, Wranglers, I don't know about you, but I did not get my Christmas wish this year. I told Santa I wanted another Wrangler win by slaughter rule, and instead all that fat jerk gave me was a 3-2 loss to a team self-titled "The Slackers." How humiliating! I hate Santa!
(Although I must give a little shout out to my "Secret Santa," Ryan "Rodeo Clown" Swett, who gave me the loveliest bottle of Easy Cheese wrapped in a delicate green bow. I was really touched. And later, when I got home in a state of utter depression, I drowned my sorrows in that delicious bottle of savory soft-serve non-dairy cheese product. I didn't even bother with crackers, I just sprayed that crap straight down the hatchet. Dave found me this morning face down on the floor with cheese in my hair. It wasn't pretty, but at least, for a few hours anyway, I was able to forget about our defeat. Dave, on the other hand, appeared to be further traumatized by the situation.)
But I digress. I don't know what happened last night. Maybe we were a little too high on Christmas cheer. Maybe those novelty-Christmas turtlenecks were cutting off the oxygen to our brains. Maybe we were blinded by the sequined snowmen on Pie's adorable cardigan sweater complete with snowman zipper pull attachment. Maybe I had ingested one too many strands of my gold tinsel wig. Maybe it was the 6-month-old egg nog. I don't know. And even though Lubbers' long lobs to first showed glimpses of his "hungover in Kansas City" glory days, for the most part we were sadly not showing our Regional Champion skill. We just couldn't get baserunners. Not even ghostmen.
On the upside, pitchers Pie & CoCo Beware both tallied strike-outs from the pitcher's mound. P-Mel slammed a triple in the 3rd, and later made it home on a lovely RBI single by newcomer Beth "Santa's Favorite Little Elf" Last Name Unknown. (Well, not unknown to her, just unknown to me. I should have asked. How rude.) And Swetty had some Money-Money-Money base-running skills to score us our 2nd run.
Other highlights included:
1st baseman Ryno "Brad" McLean's super sneaky defensive-bounce-off-the-leg-into-the-baserunner move. She gone!!
Dave "The O.Z." Osborne eliciting blood-curdling screams from the sissy girl who over-ran 2nd base. She gone!!
An off-the-jumblies self-assist fly ball catch by yours truly. Man, that guy on first didn't know what to do (run, go back, run, go back, run, go back) as that ball caromed off my chest and high into the air, only to return to my loving arms. He gone!!
CoCo's super slide back into 2nd base. What dedication to the cause! She SAFE!!
A fake Christmas tree, a fancy tree skirt, a remote control Serving Santa, Lucy the dog in reindeer gear, garland, tinsel, stockings hung with care on the dugout fence, 2 holiday golf towels, and all manner of red, green, and gold clothing. With Christmas carols blasting from our boom box, it was indeed beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
Lowlights included:
Swetty's
pathetic attempt at bunting.
Who do you think you are, Josh McKnightRider??!!
You're lucky you gave me that Easy Cheese or you'd have been off the team,
Mr.!!
Dooley's swing--- and a miss! That turtleneck must have seriously wrecked your mojo, baby.
Well, that about wraps up the wrap-up. It all ended so sadly with their 3rd run in the bottom of the 7th that I'd just rather put it behind me. I had a blue Christmas this year.
Next week we're bringing back an old favorite from last season: CHEF NIGHT!!! That's right, boys and girls, it's time to get out your grilling gear and your lasagna noodles for a good old fashioned rally back to the top for the Wranglers. We're gonna bake their muffins off! Be there or be a square baking pan (8x8).
Sorry this recap is so late today. Like I said, it was a rough night with the cheese. Better luck next week!
All my love,
Captain T-Dizzle fo Shizzle
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2005 Season:
for more information about the Wranglers email: tara@taradix.com
all material is copyright protected by Tara Dix Osborne, 2006