That's what it was tonight. True grit. Big pitches in the clutch. Two-out RBIs. Daring — though sometimes idiotic (by me) — base-running. Impeccable fielding when we needed it. Where to begin? How about at the beginning ...
Heroics on the Gritiron
"Top of the first. Mac II is threatening. Men on first and second, nobody out. Dawkins checks the fan base, winds, delivers. It's a hard shot to Linkowski. He fires to Baum for one, a bullet on to Tilly. Double play! But wait! Nudnick's rounding third and is heading for home. Smith is flailing his arms. Tilly fires. Got 'em. I don't believe it! A triple play. The Reachers get out of it unscathed! Have you ever seen any thing like it, Geoff?"
"Well, actually, we were playing this game on a sandlot in Beverly Hills one beautiful Southern Cal day when John Wayne's son, Buster ... "
And then there was the top of the fourth inning, when it appeared for a moment that Kevin was reciting Chaucer and and the ump was hearing 50 Cent.
"Forbes has called time from his left field position and he's ambling in to the mound. He's looking Dawkins square in the eye. He clearly want to know what he's made of. Can you pick up what he's saying, Geoff?"
"I think I can, Scooter. Yep. He just asked Dawkins if he had anything left. 'Think you can get this guy, kid?, he said.' "
"'I can get him, Mr. Forbes.,' Dawkins said. He's staring right back at Forbes, Scooter, with nary a blink. 'Just give me one more batter,' he said."
So what does Kevin do? He closes out the inning without any further damage, that's what he does. Then we come back in the bottom on the inning and, down 5-1, whale the cork out of the Clincher, scoring five big ones to take a 6-5 lead.
And who should appear on the mound in the top of the inning to close it out? Robert "My Life's Too Short To Box With Fate" Gold, ready to gut it out on the long-toss rubber. And he does just that, picking up his first save of the season with a crafty array of inside spitballs and quick pitches.
All of these stalwarts — not to mention Arch, Ed, Fred and Bob, all of whom had timely hits tonight — are candidates for the Brazen Cojones award.
But I think all of those in attendance (as well as those who were not) will agree that the coveted Brazen Cajones has to go to the ace of our looney-bin, Jason Roif, who was sitting in his Lexus the whole time, with Groucho eyeglasses and a mustache covering his mug. Don't ask why (because it may have something to do with the unyielding, stern, hard-assed policies of the manager). But even as we appeared to be in dire jeopardy of entering what Bob Murphy used to call the Honeydew Season ("Honey, do this"; "Honey, do that"), Jason sat pat, his faith in his elders unshaken, only revealing his presence at the post-game handshaking rite.
Final score: 16 - 8.
See you Monday for an 8:15 start against the Greenwich Greys, boys. We've beat them once; let's do it again. Let me know if you can make it; I know Arch, Jason, Robert, Jim P. and Ed can.