Short notes, long notes. Some noted plays, some plays already forgotten that should be mentioned.
Allée Allée! - French for Go! Go!
Alvin Alley! - World Class choreographer (Dance! Dance!)
Aileron! (Wing flaps - Fly Fly!)
Ali! Ali! Boom Ba Yea* (see below)
Chopper the catcher called it out on many batters: Alley! Alley!
Go Go? Dance Dance? Fly fly? What does it mean???
He actually explained it to us Saturday. "No it means 'Alloy! Alloy!'", noting the hitter's got an Aluminum Bat, meaning the outfielders should move in because he won't hit the ball as hard as with a composite bat.
But by Sunday we all forgot, or we didn't hear it, because we are old. The hearing aids were off.
In the mean time, Pope in left field is dancing left, dancing right, he doesn't know which gap to cover, he doesn't even know if it's his gap or Gene's gap or Bruce's gap, he just knows the ball's going in a gap. In left center, Bruce is just Go! Going, running in circles. And Lefty in RC, he's taking it literally...running around flapping his arms (not unlike a couple of swings in the last game), "Look at me, I'm FLYING!"
Somehow the ball got caught, and Chopper is already on to the next batter. "Popcorn" "with Butter!"
Wha?
Next year, to improve the team, I'm going to compile the CTM - Chopper Translation Manual. We will all memorize it, and then we will be truly invincible.
Although Four Championships in a Row in Orinda, we might be there already. We won by smashing Cal Bronco 17-1 (or 19-1 if you believe the blue). We crushed them like last year's sour grapes. And although the scores of the first three games were closer, we were never really threatened the whole weekend. Gene coined it the "Aura", maybe it is, but the other teams go into this thing, thinking, how are the Coneheads going to beat us this year?
I was worried this year. All season long we couldn't get a lot of guys to show up for the regular games. Ol' G a.k.a. Alfred E Neuman, kept saying no sweat, let's see what happens in the playoffs. Like Joe, due to a quirk of ethnic makeup, I am genetically wired to worry. After all, 8-3 is a pretty pedestrian record for the Coneheads.
Gerry, our .700 hitter, retired. Markley, our other .700 hitter, out with a bad leg. Don gone, no one to piss off Joe and give him his game face. Reggie gone to chase glory in the Ring Tournament. Knight has the temerity to let his personal life get in the way of softball. All gone. And then, Big D gets kidnapped, practically literally, and whisked off the the Forty Niner Super Colossal State of the Art State of the Art (double intentional) PRE-SEASON football game. This hurts. We are practically down to the minimum 10. How are we ever going to do this?
But last night I had a revelation. I was at a party in Marin. These friends of Julia's, a couple who raised their kids with hers, were having a Pisco Sour party. He had spent some time in Peru, and fallen in love with the culture and the food and especially, being a good drinker, the Pisco Sour, which is kind of the national drink, a mix of their local brandy and lime and other ingredients. Quite delicious, I might add. As was the food, as they created a bunch of Peruvian dishes, a shredded chicken thing, home made ceviche, some tasty spiced corn on the cob - the works. But yours truly could just think about how we were going to get our Knight to come play third. And I had misplaced my phone. I wanted to text Joe, to plot, but it was not to be.
I went outside - had a smoke, then closed my eyes. I hearkened back to my youth when I took up Transcendental Meditation - but I needed a new mantra. And then it came...Cohhhhhhhn.....Cohhhhhhhn, Cohhhhhhhhhn. I sat there and got into a trance...Cohhhhhhhn, and it was good.
And I had the revelation. As they say in the pros, when you win the Championship, you enjoy it for ten minutes, and then you are already thinking about the next one. Even today, Joe and I talked about how this was the second time in Conehead history we have won four in a row in Orinda, but now we have to get the fifth, which we have never done. So the real joy comes in the anticipation...Saturday night, knowing we had played well Saturday, and were in the driver's seat for Sunday even without D, and this edge, the angst of not knowing what will happen the morrow, the unknown, that is the great and focusing feeling.
We came out Sunday without all our guys. But take no offense any of you, the Coneheads can lose ANYBODY, and as long as we have at least 8 1/2 somewhat healthy bodies to throw out there, we will pick each other up, and carry the day. This is what it means to be a Conehead. Derek is out, and Haz goes to third base for a game. He makes a play, doesn't get the lead runner but gets an out. "I'll do better next time". And then Knight shows up on his White Horse (OK, Prius, after all this is the 21st century). Jeff changes his tune when Knight comes to the rescue to play third in the Championship Game. "We are undefeated with me playing third," he now says, with a smile.
Greg goes 3-4, with three knocks, just another day at the office. Or out of the office. It was great but (no offense intended again) I have a feeling that without our Knight we still would have won.
Joe is the best slowpitch pitcher in the land. But he is only playing half the game. Larry comes in every game in the middle innings AND COMPLETELY DOMINATES EVERY TEAM. I don't have the exact numbers of innings but he allowed something like five runs in 14 innings. In Slow Pitch Softball. This is against teams that score 20+ runs a game like the Broncos. And I have a feeling if I didn't tell Larry to pitch to him, he would have walked the Broncos big bat Brady when it was 17-0 and no one was on base, and we would have completed the shutout. Instead his solo home run was all they could muster when it counted most. Larry gets my vote for MVP. That was phenomenal. And I haven't even mentioned the catch he made on a ball headed hard and straight at his head, or the clutch hits he had.
Ol' G was extremely hot most of the season. The last couple of weeks, not so much. He kept thinking a foul ball to the right was a hit. Well he woke up and drilled not one but two homers Saturday against the Old Scouts. The first one, a two run job, produced the game winning RBI as it completed the scoring in the only real Conehead inning of the weekend. That inning (nine runs) was the microcosm of the weekend. We were down 11-4 in the top of the fourth. With two outs wee had only a man on first, and starting with Haz we smacked nine straight hits - the other big blow was Bruce's three run homer to get us close. I think that was the moment we all realized this was our year once again. Except G, of course, he never had any doubt.
And Joe - we beg him to bat, really it's only in your Head that you aren't good enough. He pokes it into right center and the ball skips by the same Big Bat who is an All World Fielder, and G, who is running for him, is once again off to the races. Two run triple.
Bruce hit three home runs with a gimpy leg - he did a pretty good Derek impression. Chuck was dirtier then I ever remember him this weekend. He had at least one dive play in the hole that was just impossible. He added a little of everything, lot of hits, walks, sac flies.
Lefty had the two most beautiful swings and misses Sunday. Complete with curtsies and a bow at the end. Then you look up and realize that he also had twelve hits over the weekend, and gunned out a guy at the plate.
Gene had a great regular season but was a little cold Saturday. I switched him and Haz, and how did he respond? 5-7 with a walk Sunday. In the mean time Haz was off in the first game (out of comfort zone because of playing third?) then went 4-4 in the penultimate game.
And Pope, in between dancing to Chopper's tune, thinks that he doesn't contribute enough. Besides being lockdown in left field, he had four doubles over the weekend - and most were singles he hustled into doubles. He's like a horse thief out there. In the second biggest rally of the weekend, six runs against Bay Alarm, we had tied it at seven in what until that point was a close game. Up stepped Pope, and his three run big fly rang Bay's alarm - the game was never out of reach as we only won 15-9, but that blow took all the wind out of their sails and they did not threaten us again.
And of course our first baseman. I'm just here to make you guys look good in print, but after turning the big six oh two weeks ago, I think this weekend I played first like I was...59 all over again. Scoops in the dirt, falling and stretching for the few errant throws, and I even had a few line drive hits and loud outs to go with the patented bloop doubles I seem to thrive on.
In other words, once again no one carried us alone, and we achieved our little corner of glory, even if for only ten minutes before we start to think of fall league and next year. It's a good feeling.
*Last night when I found my phone, which of course was in my car all along, there was this mysterious message on it (this is true, I played it for G and Haz, you can ask them). It went something like this in a thick middle eastern accent: "Hey Jeff, this is (unintelligible), I was switching through the channels and I came across the movie Ali. You know, 'Ali boom ba yea, Ali boom ba yea' and he chants this over and over...This was the people's chant in Zaire in the famed Ali Foreman fight, the Rumble in the Jungle, I looked it up...he closed with "I may be in the Bay next week so we can go golfing maybe" so I have no idea who this crank caller is but in light of Chopper's call, it's almost spooky.
Stats to follow but in closing...Ali, Cohhhn Ba Yea. Which means, loosely. Coneheads Kill.
Milestones:
7/28
Chuck 850 r (#1)
Pope 120 hr (#1)
Larry 450 rbi (#4)
Derek 200 r (#16)
8/4
Gene 250 g (#7)
Pope 30 sf (#8)
8/16 Game 1
Gene 400 r (#7)
Ol' G 50 2b (#15)
8/16 Game 2
Ol' G 30 hr (#8)
Haz 200 ab (#23)
8/17 Game 1
Pope 600 h (#6)
8/17 Game 2
Pope 40 gw (#1)
Gene 850 ab (#9)
Craig 200 h (#20)
Allée Allée! - French for Go! Go!
Alvin Alley! - World Class choreographer (Dance! Dance!)
Aileron! (Wing flaps - Fly Fly!)
Ali! Ali! Boom Ba Yea* (see below)
Chopper the catcher called it out on many batters: Alley! Alley!
Go Go? Dance Dance? Fly fly? What does it mean???
He actually explained it to us Saturday. "No it means 'Alloy! Alloy!'", noting the hitter's got an Aluminum Bat, meaning the outfielders should move in because he won't hit the ball as hard as with a composite bat.
But by Sunday we all forgot, or we didn't hear it, because we are old. The hearing aids were off.
In the mean time, Pope in left field is dancing left, dancing right, he doesn't know which gap to cover, he doesn't even know if it's his gap or Gene's gap or Bruce's gap, he just knows the ball's going in a gap. In left center, Bruce is just Go! Going, running in circles. And Lefty in RC, he's taking it literally...running around flapping his arms (not unlike a couple of swings in the last game), "Look at me, I'm FLYING!"
Somehow the ball got caught, and Chopper is already on to the next batter. "Popcorn" "with Butter!"
Wha?
Next year, to improve the team, I'm going to compile the CTM - Chopper Translation Manual. We will all memorize it, and then we will be truly invincible.
Although Four Championships in a Row in Orinda, we might be there already. We won by smashing Cal Bronco 17-1 (or 19-1 if you believe the blue). We crushed them like last year's sour grapes. And although the scores of the first three games were closer, we were never really threatened the whole weekend. Gene coined it the "Aura", maybe it is, but the other teams go into this thing, thinking, how are the Coneheads going to beat us this year?
I was worried this year. All season long we couldn't get a lot of guys to show up for the regular games. Ol' G a.k.a. Alfred E Neuman, kept saying no sweat, let's see what happens in the playoffs. Like Joe, due to a quirk of ethnic makeup, I am genetically wired to worry. After all, 8-3 is a pretty pedestrian record for the Coneheads.
Gerry, our .700 hitter, retired. Markley, our other .700 hitter, out with a bad leg. Don gone, no one to piss off Joe and give him his game face. Reggie gone to chase glory in the Ring Tournament. Knight has the temerity to let his personal life get in the way of softball. All gone. And then, Big D gets kidnapped, practically literally, and whisked off the the Forty Niner Super Colossal State of the Art State of the Art (double intentional) PRE-SEASON football game. This hurts. We are practically down to the minimum 10. How are we ever going to do this?
But last night I had a revelation. I was at a party in Marin. These friends of Julia's, a couple who raised their kids with hers, were having a Pisco Sour party. He had spent some time in Peru, and fallen in love with the culture and the food and especially, being a good drinker, the Pisco Sour, which is kind of the national drink, a mix of their local brandy and lime and other ingredients. Quite delicious, I might add. As was the food, as they created a bunch of Peruvian dishes, a shredded chicken thing, home made ceviche, some tasty spiced corn on the cob - the works. But yours truly could just think about how we were going to get our Knight to come play third. And I had misplaced my phone. I wanted to text Joe, to plot, but it was not to be.
I went outside - had a smoke, then closed my eyes. I hearkened back to my youth when I took up Transcendental Meditation - but I needed a new mantra. And then it came...Cohhhhhhhn.....Cohhhhhhhn, Cohhhhhhhhhn. I sat there and got into a trance...Cohhhhhhhn, and it was good.
And I had the revelation. As they say in the pros, when you win the Championship, you enjoy it for ten minutes, and then you are already thinking about the next one. Even today, Joe and I talked about how this was the second time in Conehead history we have won four in a row in Orinda, but now we have to get the fifth, which we have never done. So the real joy comes in the anticipation...Saturday night, knowing we had played well Saturday, and were in the driver's seat for Sunday even without D, and this edge, the angst of not knowing what will happen the morrow, the unknown, that is the great and focusing feeling.
We came out Sunday without all our guys. But take no offense any of you, the Coneheads can lose ANYBODY, and as long as we have at least 8 1/2 somewhat healthy bodies to throw out there, we will pick each other up, and carry the day. This is what it means to be a Conehead. Derek is out, and Haz goes to third base for a game. He makes a play, doesn't get the lead runner but gets an out. "I'll do better next time". And then Knight shows up on his White Horse (OK, Prius, after all this is the 21st century). Jeff changes his tune when Knight comes to the rescue to play third in the Championship Game. "We are undefeated with me playing third," he now says, with a smile.
Greg goes 3-4, with three knocks, just another day at the office. Or out of the office. It was great but (no offense intended again) I have a feeling that without our Knight we still would have won.
Joe is the best slowpitch pitcher in the land. But he is only playing half the game. Larry comes in every game in the middle innings AND COMPLETELY DOMINATES EVERY TEAM. I don't have the exact numbers of innings but he allowed something like five runs in 14 innings. In Slow Pitch Softball. This is against teams that score 20+ runs a game like the Broncos. And I have a feeling if I didn't tell Larry to pitch to him, he would have walked the Broncos big bat Brady when it was 17-0 and no one was on base, and we would have completed the shutout. Instead his solo home run was all they could muster when it counted most. Larry gets my vote for MVP. That was phenomenal. And I haven't even mentioned the catch he made on a ball headed hard and straight at his head, or the clutch hits he had.
Ol' G was extremely hot most of the season. The last couple of weeks, not so much. He kept thinking a foul ball to the right was a hit. Well he woke up and drilled not one but two homers Saturday against the Old Scouts. The first one, a two run job, produced the game winning RBI as it completed the scoring in the only real Conehead inning of the weekend. That inning (nine runs) was the microcosm of the weekend. We were down 11-4 in the top of the fourth. With two outs wee had only a man on first, and starting with Haz we smacked nine straight hits - the other big blow was Bruce's three run homer to get us close. I think that was the moment we all realized this was our year once again. Except G, of course, he never had any doubt.
And Joe - we beg him to bat, really it's only in your Head that you aren't good enough. He pokes it into right center and the ball skips by the same Big Bat who is an All World Fielder, and G, who is running for him, is once again off to the races. Two run triple.
Bruce hit three home runs with a gimpy leg - he did a pretty good Derek impression. Chuck was dirtier then I ever remember him this weekend. He had at least one dive play in the hole that was just impossible. He added a little of everything, lot of hits, walks, sac flies.
Lefty had the two most beautiful swings and misses Sunday. Complete with curtsies and a bow at the end. Then you look up and realize that he also had twelve hits over the weekend, and gunned out a guy at the plate.
Gene had a great regular season but was a little cold Saturday. I switched him and Haz, and how did he respond? 5-7 with a walk Sunday. In the mean time Haz was off in the first game (out of comfort zone because of playing third?) then went 4-4 in the penultimate game.
And Pope, in between dancing to Chopper's tune, thinks that he doesn't contribute enough. Besides being lockdown in left field, he had four doubles over the weekend - and most were singles he hustled into doubles. He's like a horse thief out there. In the second biggest rally of the weekend, six runs against Bay Alarm, we had tied it at seven in what until that point was a close game. Up stepped Pope, and his three run big fly rang Bay's alarm - the game was never out of reach as we only won 15-9, but that blow took all the wind out of their sails and they did not threaten us again.
And of course our first baseman. I'm just here to make you guys look good in print, but after turning the big six oh two weeks ago, I think this weekend I played first like I was...59 all over again. Scoops in the dirt, falling and stretching for the few errant throws, and I even had a few line drive hits and loud outs to go with the patented bloop doubles I seem to thrive on.
In other words, once again no one carried us alone, and we achieved our little corner of glory, even if for only ten minutes before we start to think of fall league and next year. It's a good feeling.
*Last night when I found my phone, which of course was in my car all along, there was this mysterious message on it (this is true, I played it for G and Haz, you can ask them). It went something like this in a thick middle eastern accent: "Hey Jeff, this is (unintelligible), I was switching through the channels and I came across the movie Ali. You know, 'Ali boom ba yea, Ali boom ba yea' and he chants this over and over...This was the people's chant in Zaire in the famed Ali Foreman fight, the Rumble in the Jungle, I looked it up...he closed with "I may be in the Bay next week so we can go golfing maybe" so I have no idea who this crank caller is but in light of Chopper's call, it's almost spooky.
Stats to follow but in closing...Ali, Cohhhn Ba Yea. Which means, loosely. Coneheads Kill.
Milestones:
7/28
Chuck 850 r (#1)
Pope 120 hr (#1)
Larry 450 rbi (#4)
Derek 200 r (#16)
8/4
Gene 250 g (#7)
Pope 30 sf (#8)
8/16 Game 1
Gene 400 r (#7)
Ol' G 50 2b (#15)
8/16 Game 2
Ol' G 30 hr (#8)
Haz 200 ab (#23)
8/17 Game 1
Pope 600 h (#6)
8/17 Game 2
Pope 40 gw (#1)
Gene 850 ab (#9)
Craig 200 h (#20)
