Flooded Diamond Field
The Diamond field is flooded, mother nature had a field day during the early hours. We got a set of dugouts that are filled with men that are angry and are ready to wield a bat around, we must tread lightly. We can’t postpone this outing, some of the fellas made a long drive to get here. This is a thing we plan every year, it’s anual at this point. Might be one of the last surviving american traditions that occurs on U.S. soil. I know the japanese are still carrying on the torch of wearing Polo by Ralph Lauren. The tradition is that we agree every year on a handshake deal that we relieve our competitive souls with a little stick ball. We thought it would be a good idea after one of our buddy got some time after slapping his lady around too hard, he came out of jail a little fucked up. Last time I heard of him, he was doing origami under a bridge with mail envelopes that he steals from the post office and one of his creations fell into the water. He went to reach for it but started to strangle the reflection of himself and got carried away by the currents. To see who still has it from an athletic skilled perspective, we agree that no one should practice or train in preparation to this event. Of course we get a couple of men that look like they are on the sauce once in every other year. They usually claim that the Thanksgiving bulk and the cardiologist orders lead to that physique. This just riles up the fat natural fellas even more, it makes them the most motivated they have been all year. It’s like the same scenarios play over and over in their heads once a week up till event time, reliving old childhood glory. We all got that what if that lingers in the back of the head and it never goes away but you find away to scratch that itch for now. Here we are, figuring out he we go on. I gave that lousy groundkeeper a couple of dollars years ago to maintain the field and to put a tarp on it just incase it ever rains. The piece of shit must have took my money and ran like it was his life’s earning being handed to him this year. The diamond field is starting to become a square field; unshaved. It’s like they are remaking the “Strawberry Fields Forever” video and they needed the orange clay from the pitcher’s mound to rub on George’s jacket. We outta find that groundskeeper and wring his neck for this. I broke in my glove and powdered my balls for this! Oh boy I’m disappointed, I even brought a notary this year to hold the money pot. I got a raise at work and thought it’d be nice if we made it a bit more official. Next year i’ve thought about replacing the money pot with a lock box that is as heavy as a gun case. The money pot we been using is one of those blue buttered danish cookie tins, it’s starting to rust and Benjamin Franklin is looking like a Mets fan. Hopefully there is a next year, the tradition is starting to crumble. A couple of the fellas are starting to pine tar and roll up their pants into their socks just incase we have to play it louisiana rules. We can try to siphon the water out of the field but water would just roll down hill if we threw it on the sidewalks. Some of the fellas are heading to Denny’s and waiting it out to see if the field drys up after brunch. If I postpone it till next year then a new tradition starts, where we don’t follow the old tradition anymore. We’ll see if the down the road the mud goes.