Friday, October 02, 2009
To round out the week, I'm going to dive into the memory vault again and then try to tie the story into something else. This is probably going to be a stretch--I'm warning you now--because even in my head, I'm not sure if this will make sense. Fuck it, the memory alone is worth the read.
I'm not sure what it's called around the country/rest of Ohio, but summer baseball for 13-15 year olds in northwest Ohio is usually referred to as Pony League. I don't really know why, but that is the name. Generally, Pony League is a waste of time 80-90% of the time. None of the coaches knew what they were doing. No one really cared about the outcomes. Nepotism ran wild. It served a purpose to have kid's keep playing the game, but at the same time, it served no purpose...if that makes sense.
There were 4 teams in Naptown and 8 (?) more throughout the rest of Henry County. I played for Elks Lodge 929 (fuck yeah!) with such blog commenting luminaries as Naptown Wolverine. We sucked. Let's just say that before my last ever game on the Elks, coach let Rune and I make the starting lineup. I, of course, named myself the starting pitcher that day in a road game against Deshler. I told the catcher that I had seven-eight pitches (best sidearm forkball in the world) and I would waste at least 30 seconds just shaking him off. I did pretty well and achieved my main goal of purposely drilling a knob (Kirkendall) in the back. As you can see, we took things very seriously.
But I want to talk about my catcher from that day. The neanderthal who owned more flannel shirts than Al Borland. I don't want to completely give away the identity, but you Naptowners know who it is. We'll call him Noah B. He was, and probably still, is a moron. Time for the tale.
The Elks met at Glenwood Park before road games so that we could all ride together. You know how it works, a couple of parents take the players to where they need to go. We're loading up to head to Liberty Center to play against a goat fucker (Soto). Our assistant coach, Trav, was a big time fucking idiot. But he drove a big ass Suburban (he always advised us to "Hop in The Sub") and most of us rode in that despite him being a dumb fuck who wore Terminator-style sunglasses.
We're getting ready to go and Noah and his father roll up next to us and park while we wait for the final few guys to make it. I should probably mention that Noah B's Dad (who will go by NBD from here on out) weighs at least 500 pounds. His Caprice had to have the strongest set of shocks that a piece of shit car has ever seen. I mean, this guy was a FAT FUCK. Just massive. The kind of guy who could put a Chinese Buffet out of business.
So anyway, The Sub and the Caprice are next to each other and I make the awesome decision to look down into NBD's car. Then I announced this to the rest of my fellow Submariners:
G$: Holy shit, NBD is showing Noah a Playboy in his car!!!
NBD (having heard me announce this really fucking loudly): COVER YOUR DAMN EYES!!!
And that was it. No regrets from NBD. No shame. No apology. Just kept looking at naked pics with his son. The one and only time that I ever talked to this orka whale, he yelled at me for informing the rest of my teammates that HE WAS SHOWING HIS 13 YEAR OLD SON A NUDIE MAG IN PUBLIC!!! I swear to God, I am not making this up. NBD made the executive decision to bring a Playboy on a 10 mile baseball trip with kids ranging between 6th and 8th grade. Talk about great parenting.
I never forgot about the "cover your damn eyes" incident and 4 years later, I got my "revenge". Black, Rune, and I (Black's future wife drove) were out driving around one cold winter night seeking out snowmen to knock down. It may sound hillbilly, but it is AWESOME. How happy do you think the little kids were that made the snowman? And how happy do you think the teenagers were who knocked it down that night? Great time. Lofty time.
Anyway, NBD lived a few streets away from me and every holiday season, he would put out these massive wooden letters that spelled out NOEL (not to be confused with his idiot son). Our car saw this and decided to take action. We ripped those heavy fuckers out of the ground and rearranged it to spell "LEON". Why? Not sure, but seeing a massive LEON in someone's yard is about a hundred times more funny than you think. Fuck NBD. If he doesn't want me to look at his Playboy's, well then I'm going to turn his Christmas tribute into a shout out to an old black man. SUCK ON THAT, NBD!!!
Here comes the shaky transition. I bided my time with NBD, but eventually got my revenge. It was no tall order to best a 500 pound woolly mammoth, but I defied the odds. Tomorrow, I am heading down to Oxford with She$ to see the RedHawks "battle" #10 Cincinnati. UC is the highest rated team to ever come to Miami. We are 29 point dogs. I am told that this could be a sellout (not fucking likely). They have beaten the piss out of us for awhile now and there appears to be no end in site to these whuppin's. It's time to get that Victory Bell back. It is time to knock that smug cum dumpster, Brian Kelly, down a peg or 6. I'm calling it now.
We're going to beat those fuckers. They've been holding those Playboy's away from our eyes for years now. It's time to rearrange their letters/BCS hopes. It's time to get our first win this year. It's time to SHOCK THE FUCKING WORLD. We're going to do it. I'm telling you, Miami is going to do this. If not, at least I don't weigh 500 pounds yet.
Did that make any sense??? I tried. It's not like you commenters have been worth a shit this week. Eat shit, see you on Monday.