Not a big fan of that type of loss. Two on, no one out, bottom 8. No runs. Had a bad feeling after that. I think Mohr looked bad at the plate twice. Maybe just keep Nixon in there. I can't talk about this anymore. Nice shot of Kapstein tonight, though, when his cousin or whatever was pitching.

From the parts of the Dunbar game I saw, it would appear that Steinbrenner told the announcers to get yankee universe moral up by kissing the butts of Dunbar players at unnatural levels. There is more of Michael Kay's saliva on Mariano Rivera's ass right now than has ever been in his mouth at any one time. And the D-Rays frustrated me tonight, too, having a chance for a walkoff win, but losing in extra frames. (Note: I'm going to start using "yankee universe" as if it were a serious term that Dunbar fans actually use. It might be funniest that way. I just love it that they're trying to imitate us. Just trying to follow the lead of a winner. Ha.)

Enough about real baseball, let's get to the Wiffle Ball results.

Chan 002 000 332--10
Me 018 323 01x--18

WP: Me LP: Chan T: an hour (-ish?) A: 0

Any boob can see that bottom 3 was key here. The game was actually scheduled for five innings, so, technically, it was a 12-2 victory for the Me squad. But with that ten run lead, I agreed to give Chan as many innings as he wanted, what with it staying light out longer than we'd expected. Anyway, two 3-run bombs in the third put me in the lead to stay. I tacked on two more (and instituted an 8-run rule so things wouldn't get too out of hand) and cruised from there. I decided to experiment with a knuckler to start the game, and it turned out to be so effective, I stuck with it pretty much throughout, repeatedly baffling Chan batsmen.

I really considered bringing the camera to Central Park, to maybe take some shots of our little field. But I thought, Nah, that's boring. So I scrapped the idea at the last second. Sure enough, a piece of natural beauty struck Chan and I dumb after the game, and I had no way of documenting it. It was comfortable but overcast out, with the slightest of sprinkles falling intermittently. But as the sun went down, it peaked out enough so that the tops of the buildings along the park, on 5th Avenue, started glowing pink. But it didn't end there. Seemingly sprouting from the shining roofs, a rainbow started to appear. This was out over the "outfield" of our patch of dirt we called a baseball field. Left field. Then, looking out toward right field, we saw the other side of the rainbow appear. Finally, it fully connected on top. We stared for a while, trying to just enjoy it instead of kicking my proverbial self for not having the camera, imagining a time before cameras when there was no choice but just to enjoy something like this.

Then a middle-aged dude and woman came by with their very calm (aka the good kind) dogs. The dude asked if he could throw me some pitches. I knocked him all over the park for a while, and then we talked about how they liked the Mets, but moved from Boston in the early 80s and used to be Sox fans. But the key was that they hated the yanks, of course. He started saying, "Forgive me, but god damn the yankees!" It was cool.