Score: 11-8
Location: Butler Holmes Park - Field 2 (Arlington, VA)
The day started off with an unpleasant surprise. Bluth (who claims to have shown up an hour early to play a full-length mental game with his sports psychologist) was the first to arrive on the scene where he witnessed an all-too-familiar scene of wiffle terrorism (see below).
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| The once majestic Butler Holmes Park - Field 1; now fenced off as a 'tree preservation area' |
We think terrorist drones must be scanning for corresponding dead grass patches of pitchers' mounds and batters' boxes. We hardly knew ye, Butler Holmes Park - Field 1.
So we considered alternative options and chose the path of least resistance: play in the adjacent patch of grass. It all seemed fine until about pitch #1 when we soon realized that 1) the field sloped down towards home plate, and, even more challenging, 2) now that the sun was coming out it was directly in the hitter's line of sight. But we played on all the same.
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| Glare. (Much worse than this picture makes it appear.) |
The chilly-morning game started off with some dinky singles and walks, and A-Man and I were able to manufacture a pair of runs off Des. Whenever one of us had a good AB we would bump fists, but in a very delicate way since the cold made it too painful. Their defense displayed some good leather right away, and Paul was honored to be dubbed 'Department of Defense', and then Bluth dubbed himself 'The No-Fly Zone'.
The Des-Paul-Bluth team then had their turn to try to put up some runs. Comically, each time a new batter stepped into the box, even though he knew the glare would be tough, he had to laugh at just how bad it was. On the mound I tried to use all these factors to my advantage, and I was generally cruising until Paul smacked a dead-red fastball right into the middle of my face on my nose and lip. It was amazing too because in addition to my 5 or so layers of clothing, I was also wearing a ski cap and goggles and a beardo attachment; yet the icy ball somehow found the one uncovered part of my face. I quickly fell to the ground in pain and shock; and I vividly remember hearing Desi's giggling. But after a minute or two I collected myself and took the mound to some classy applause. On top of that single I also surrendered a smooth-stroke dinger to Des, allowing them to notch it up at 2-2 after 1.
A-Man and I had a decent next few innings offensively, though I myself was pretty useless. And their stalwart defense didn't last past the 1st inning. Paul fell victim to the bobble, Bluth got psyched out and dropped an easy popup, and Desi charged in for a short popup but then inexplicably didn't extend his hands to make a play on the ball, allowing it to fall just a few inches in front of his face and drop for a foul. (I suspect he was too concerned about maintaining his good-looking preppy sweater.) Immediately following this poor display Desi reminded us that even in his Provo heyday he was awarded 'Worst Defensive Pitcher'. Now knowing that, none of us judged him too poorly.
On the Pace & A-Man defensive side I was struggling with my command but still managing to rack up quite a few strikeouts thanks largely to the combination of a falling curveball and the blinding sun. The general pattern for their offense was Bluth would use his psychological skills to frustrate me into walking him, Paul would get some good contact but often for well-defended outs, and Schlienel-Bagel (Des) would take some smooth pitching-wedge cuts and send the ball over the fence for a homer.
The game was back-and-forth each inning with the Pace & A-Man team maintaining a small lead throughout. In the 5th and final inning, with only a 2-run lead A-Man came up big with a 4-run double homer off the tin roof of the ramada. Ever resilient, Bluth then gave Des the reassurance that their team was still in good shape for a number of reasons, chief among them that they still had 'The No-Fly Zone'.
And so we headed into the final frame with an 11-5 lead. On the mound, as I struggled with my command, I was feeling the dread of giving up the lead and having to watch them celebrate. I had given up 3 runs and had a runner on with only one out to show for it. But then I was fortunately able to get a popup, and then faced Paul with 2 down. I got the count in my favor and went for the curveball which had been staying inside on me all day. I got it to break and dip right over the middle-high part of the strike zone for the punchout. Paul didn't like the call, and it's not a great way to end the game, but I firmly stand by it.
Game Highlights
- Next to the double-homer ramada sit 2 trash cans: 1 recycle and 1 regular. In an effort to promote earth preservation awareness in the younger wiffle generation it was decided that a ball hit into the recycle can would be awarded a 10x homer, while hitting the plastic ball into the regular trash can would be a minus-10 homer.
- There was a controversial play when A-Man made a great running catch at a would-be double by Paul. His speed was so great that after he caught the ball he ran headlong for 3 or 4 bounding lunges until he became almost parallel with the paved ground and had to dive forward into the grassy homerun territory where the ball popped out on contact with the ground. I ruled it an out given how long he had hung onto it, but was asked to provide some rule clarification, and their team suggested an asterisk in the final scoring might be warranted.
- At times, Bluth's psychological powers extended to his teammates. For example, when their team needed a big pitch Bluth would yell, "Bulldog!" at Des with great effectiveness.
- In spending the rest of the day with Des and some members of the Wiffle Wives Club it became apparent that Des was proud of his 4 homers and didn't care too much that the team had lost.
- Bluth opened up to us about trying to overcome his BYU sports addiction. We all sputtered off some possible alternative forms of entertainment for him but now I feel like it was a missed opportunity for some therapeutic healing.
Game report by Pace Barker
