Hit & Run
One of my favorite parts about switching jobs from my old place was the fact that my new office has a softball team. Not that the ability to drink beer while lamely swinging at an oversized baseball is any reason to leave an employer, but it does certainly soften the blow.
This year's version of our office team is called ORS 811.705. For those of you who aren't total nerds, that's the Oregon statute for failure to perform the duties of a driver to an injured person, which is a Class C felony punishable in all sorts of bad ways. For the even denser, that is the statute known as "Hit & Run." Hence, the cleverness that is our team name.
Tonight was game 3 in the Hit & Run team's season.
I don't know if you've noticed or not, but throughout my website and Le Blogue I have a made an earnest attempt to change the names of people for their theoretical protection. Given my rarified means of making a buck (putting people in jail), it is entirely possible that, to borrow a phrase from Spiderman 2, "The Pieman will always have enemies." That being the case, I do what I can to keep innocents from exposure to the theoretical wrath of the guy who's theoretically plotting my demise even now.
However, Hit & Run, which is made up entirely of the staff of the office where I practice my rarified trade, is a not-so-secret entity of variously-abled batsmen and batswomen, and I assume by wearing a shirt that says "MCDA Softball" on the front, these people subject themselves to the very dangers I'd protect them from. So, not so much name-changing tonight.
Anyway, Hit & Run had a game against Evil Law Firm #3 tonight, and it was a doozy. Hit & Run has about eleventy-nine players, so we actually have an "A" squad and a "B" squad, which take turns on the field. I know that calling one an "A" squad will automatically denote in a person's mind that the "A" squad is superior (otherwise I'd use color coding or something). That is entirely alright. As a member of the "B" squad, I freely admit that my group shows less prowess and alacrity than do our counterparts in the "A" squad, and we're just happy to get some playing time.
The "A" squad (hereinafter referred to as "A") had several accomplished members tonight, none more important to the team in his own eyes than S.Gray. S.Gray is, for better or worse, about the most intensely competitive person you'll ever care to meet. Though my first sentence of this paragraph may fool you, I actually like S.Gray. His approach to life simply clashes with mine, which is alright.
What isn't alright is S.Gray's favorite softball phrase, which he'll freely shout from any position on the field whenever he deems it appropriate. I'm not joking here. S.Gray will yell, sometimes for no apparent reason, "THE DUCKS ARE IN THE POND!!!" And, by looking into his soulful eyes, you know he means it. Though I can't see them, the ducks are in the pond, and it's something I must acknowledge. He said it at least 96 times tonight, in the fifth inning of our game, and each time I was overcome with frustration at my inability to see the alleged waterfowl or the alleged pond. Out of this frustration sprouted my loud retorts. "The chicken's in the coop," I yelled, followed by "The pigeon's in the park." Not as beautiful as S.Gray's insights, but equally useless.
Hit & Run lost tonight, by one run. But it was a beautiful game, and I loved it.
After the game, JLowe and I decided to munch on tasty sushi at Koji's. We invited BD, another of our cronies, and he in turn invited Bosco, Mrs. Bosco, and sister-in-law Bosco. These are all people I enjoy, so it was all good.
What I didn't enjoy was the buzzkill of the evening. I've become a huge fan of Kirin when I have some tasty sushi out on the town. Kirin is a tasty Japanese beer. OR SO THEY'D HAVE YOU BELIEVE! BD, who used to be my friend, pointed out the fine print on the bottle. Kirin, the fine Japanese lager, is made under the strict guidance of the Kirin brewmaster in Los Angeles, courtesy of Anheuser Busch. UGH! Is nothing sacred anymore? (Don't wanna believe it either? Well, look here... and make your way to January, 1997). I know, isn't it sad?
So, I spent the rest of the night in sullen shock, pondering the meaninglessness of it all as I choked down my re-bottled Bud. What a jip. Er, gyp. Whatever.
Alright, here's your links for the day:
Stupid trolley game
You'd think Edwards could deliver his home state to Kerry, at least...
Mrs. Britney Spears tells us about his awful marriage
Another good time-waster
Well, anyway, gotta go re-watch Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle. Borrowed it from J.Lowe. Bernie Mac is freaking hi-larious. If I don't fall asleep, I'll also be watching some of the Will Ferrell's Best SNL DVD, which is also quite delightful.
Catch ya later.
This year's version of our office team is called ORS 811.705. For those of you who aren't total nerds, that's the Oregon statute for failure to perform the duties of a driver to an injured person, which is a Class C felony punishable in all sorts of bad ways. For the even denser, that is the statute known as "Hit & Run." Hence, the cleverness that is our team name.
Tonight was game 3 in the Hit & Run team's season.
I don't know if you've noticed or not, but throughout my website and Le Blogue I have a made an earnest attempt to change the names of people for their theoretical protection. Given my rarified means of making a buck (putting people in jail), it is entirely possible that, to borrow a phrase from Spiderman 2, "The Pieman will always have enemies." That being the case, I do what I can to keep innocents from exposure to the theoretical wrath of the guy who's theoretically plotting my demise even now.
However, Hit & Run, which is made up entirely of the staff of the office where I practice my rarified trade, is a not-so-secret entity of variously-abled batsmen and batswomen, and I assume by wearing a shirt that says "MCDA Softball" on the front, these people subject themselves to the very dangers I'd protect them from. So, not so much name-changing tonight.
Anyway, Hit & Run had a game against Evil Law Firm #3 tonight, and it was a doozy. Hit & Run has about eleventy-nine players, so we actually have an "A" squad and a "B" squad, which take turns on the field. I know that calling one an "A" squad will automatically denote in a person's mind that the "A" squad is superior (otherwise I'd use color coding or something). That is entirely alright. As a member of the "B" squad, I freely admit that my group shows less prowess and alacrity than do our counterparts in the "A" squad, and we're just happy to get some playing time.
The "A" squad (hereinafter referred to as "A") had several accomplished members tonight, none more important to the team in his own eyes than S.Gray. S.Gray is, for better or worse, about the most intensely competitive person you'll ever care to meet. Though my first sentence of this paragraph may fool you, I actually like S.Gray. His approach to life simply clashes with mine, which is alright.
What isn't alright is S.Gray's favorite softball phrase, which he'll freely shout from any position on the field whenever he deems it appropriate. I'm not joking here. S.Gray will yell, sometimes for no apparent reason, "THE DUCKS ARE IN THE POND!!!" And, by looking into his soulful eyes, you know he means it. Though I can't see them, the ducks are in the pond, and it's something I must acknowledge. He said it at least 96 times tonight, in the fifth inning of our game, and each time I was overcome with frustration at my inability to see the alleged waterfowl or the alleged pond. Out of this frustration sprouted my loud retorts. "The chicken's in the coop," I yelled, followed by "The pigeon's in the park." Not as beautiful as S.Gray's insights, but equally useless.
Hit & Run lost tonight, by one run. But it was a beautiful game, and I loved it.
After the game, JLowe and I decided to munch on tasty sushi at Koji's. We invited BD, another of our cronies, and he in turn invited Bosco, Mrs. Bosco, and sister-in-law Bosco. These are all people I enjoy, so it was all good.
What I didn't enjoy was the buzzkill of the evening. I've become a huge fan of Kirin when I have some tasty sushi out on the town. Kirin is a tasty Japanese beer. OR SO THEY'D HAVE YOU BELIEVE! BD, who used to be my friend, pointed out the fine print on the bottle. Kirin, the fine Japanese lager, is made under the strict guidance of the Kirin brewmaster in Los Angeles, courtesy of Anheuser Busch. UGH! Is nothing sacred anymore? (Don't wanna believe it either? Well, look here... and make your way to January, 1997). I know, isn't it sad?
So, I spent the rest of the night in sullen shock, pondering the meaninglessness of it all as I choked down my re-bottled Bud. What a jip. Er, gyp. Whatever.
Alright, here's your links for the day:
Stupid trolley game
You'd think Edwards could deliver his home state to Kerry, at least...
Mrs. Britney Spears tells us about his awful marriage
Another good time-waster
Well, anyway, gotta go re-watch Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle. Borrowed it from J.Lowe. Bernie Mac is freaking hi-larious. If I don't fall asleep, I'll also be watching some of the Will Ferrell's Best SNL DVD, which is also quite delightful.
Catch ya later.
posted by Rusty at 11:12 PM
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