What happens when you have a bunch of middle-aged men scanning the parking lot all night for a dame in an ice silver Audi R8 who has gams as graceful as Jimmy P. rounding third, as sweet as Rick B's stroke, as indomitable as Lary G's spirit? You get a bunch of old coots taking their eyes off the Clincher and getting their not-so-shapely behinds whupped, that's what.
Tell 'em, Mark. She's just a figment of your 'magination running away with you. She's an apparition, a sprite, a phantom. That sleek chassis is not coming. No how. At least for the likes of us. I'll leave it there.
Focus, boys, focus.
Robert "The Boss Gold has served notice that, for the sake of verisimilitude, I've got to throw a little negativity into these dispatches. Okay, then, I shall. We all sucked. 6-18 sucked. Except for all those guys who hit lines drives 'right at 'em, turned nifty DPs, patrolled the greensward with vigilance, had to pitch from the back rubber or just showed up.
As Alex Rodriquez so originally observed a few days ago, "Sometimes it's better to lose a blowout ..." Or, as our own Yoda Yogi might have been heard saying if he said it, "Tomorrow up the sun will come."
Next game is Thursday, July 10 at 7 p.m. Robert and Pete will be out. How about you?
And I sure do hope to get some BP in on Friday.