WEEK SEVEN (cont'd)
So the player of the week. It was a lot to keep track of. There was a stand out, however, and lo and behold, it was during the hedonistic mind-fuck fest that was the Gardeners v. the Stilettos. Chris Ackley, that PKLPotW motherfucker from 2006 was playing around at the plate with Alicia, who was technically the catcher, but was standing in front of him trying to distract him with her voluptuous Ruben-esque figure. In one motion, those rainbow striped socks crawled under and through her legs, over home plate, bunted the ball, and through a series of macabre throwing errors, turned it into an in-the-park home run, capping it all off with a series of cartwheels and back handsprings triumphantly onto home plate. There must have been Jesus-ghanja in those brownies that day. Chris Ackley, the Ozzie Smith of kickball, this 'Gansett is for you.
I'm surprised I was able to make it down to the field this week. A yard sale across the street distracted me, and the church goers across the street from it were more than unhappy with all the skimpily clad men and women selling art and architecture books - as well as child porn, human kidneys, heroin and new-born chinese babies - all while hula-hooping. The nerve! We all know how the church hates the symbol of infinity and life - the circle. An abomination.
Anyway, the games started slow. The Shakedown/Blue Blood game was moved to the end of the day, so there was a little confusion. But that just gave us more time to roast in the sun and drink beer. The Jesus-freaks (not the ones from the church) took the field against the college kids. I guess it was a good game. The Jesus freaks won. Thank God (pun intended) that this wasn't a battle of Intelligent Design v. Evolution. We'd all be fucked.
Road Warriors v. Stilettos promised to be interesting. The pool was back, but this time without the dirt. Wet boobs were everywhere. Butts were bared. One dude on the Warriors had an outfit on, and the rest looked like refugees from Children of Men. The Stilettos lost - no surprise - but scored 8 runs and made two different DOUBLE PLAYS. So even though you won, Warriors, I wouldn't brag too much.
During the Green Bar v. CBP I went back to the Yard Sale for more St. Germain and Tonic, and also to rehash Jesse Bushnell's
submarine story with a very drunk Jesse and Mike Bike. I've heard them all already, but they were still funny at the time. I saw the game out of the corner of my eye. Surprise surprise, CBP won.
Finally, the match up we all wanted to see. Rednecks v. Blue Bloods. Both inbreed, but for different reasons - one because the wealth has to stay in the families, and the other because their cousins are sooo pretty. Both drink heavily, but one drinks Canadian Club from a jug marked XXX, and the other drinks Cold Duck from proper Martini glasses. Tennis rackets, flannel, tennis skirts and trucker hats were all over the field. The Blue Bloods went out with an early lead, and by the third inning it was 9 to 2. The Shakedown rallied, and came back in the fourth with some more runs and some good plays. They got'er done, and shut the BB down from scoring anymore. The fifth inning was tense... the crowd wanted Mississippi to win. Something about their wide, toothless grins and the way they slapped each other's butts was just so cute. The Eagle's Nest starting playing more AC/DC than usual. Pat McCrotch was begging for her Jager, and got it. Romaine Jackson shed his suit and partisanship and paced the baseline, coaching MS to a rally in the bottom of the fifth. Balls flew through the air, runners in Timberlands rounded the bases. When the dust settled, and the hooch was all drunk, the Shakedown
FRUNT PG 1 PG 2 PG 3 PG 4