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ASPEN — It was a joke. Unfortunately, it was also the first time someone took me seriously.
As we jogged off the field after the first inning Monday — well, most of us were lollygagging (you know who you are) — I said, “OK, team, let’s pack up the equipment.”
We had just surrendered six runs and committed what I conservatively estimate to be five errors. I was attempting to make light of the situation.
I’m already hearing the whispers. Some people have hinted they won’t be back.
Another says he can’t play because we have no left-handed gloves — I’m convinced he’s faking it. Others have developed “injuries” that could affect their availability. (Unless you’re Paul Conrad, it’s tough to get hurt in softball.)
The excuses keep pouring in. Apparently, when the going gets tough, the tough go bowling. I’m not ready to bail just yet — even though I do love bowling.
Needless to say, morale is low — things haven’t been this dire since we lost of eight of nine in 2006. I went to a sports psychologist and considered moving to Pueblo.
This season began with such promise. That promise has turned to anguish after a three-game losing streak and two straight mercies — they should call them poundings. We’re not a sinking ship, we’re the ship that falls off its trailer on the way to the launch.
We’re struggling mightily. Wait, we need a more ominous word than struggling. We’re experiencing a quagmire. A conundrum, if you will.
I will.
While other teams are scoring more than Larry Craig at LAX, we’re making opposing pitchers look like Sandy Koufax. After our meager output in the last two games, our three runs scored in the opener could qualify as an “offensive explosion.” (It was more like a cherry bomb, but you get the idea.)
We should ask for our batting cage tokens back. We should call out Louisville Slugger for giving us a defective bat. We should consider shaking hands before the start of games.
We should also try to keep our heads — and, more important, our gloves — up. Sure, losing is about as fun as exploratory dental work, but this is supposed to be fun.
I should heed my own advice. After all, in the hours after yesterday’s humbling defeat to baseball-pants clad Keelty Construction, I started worrying about my job security as manager. I feel like Willie Randolph. I’m waiting for my phone to ring.
If I bring beer to Monday’s game, I should be fine.
jmaletz@aspentimes.com
As we jogged off the field after the first inning Monday — well, most of us were lollygagging (you know who you are) — I said, “OK, team, let’s pack up the equipment.”
We had just surrendered six runs and committed what I conservatively estimate to be five errors. I was attempting to make light of the situation.
I’m already hearing the whispers. Some people have hinted they won’t be back.
Another says he can’t play because we have no left-handed gloves — I’m convinced he’s faking it. Others have developed “injuries” that could affect their availability. (Unless you’re Paul Conrad, it’s tough to get hurt in softball.)
The excuses keep pouring in. Apparently, when the going gets tough, the tough go bowling. I’m not ready to bail just yet — even though I do love bowling.
Needless to say, morale is low — things haven’t been this dire since we lost of eight of nine in 2006. I went to a sports psychologist and considered moving to Pueblo.
This season began with such promise. That promise has turned to anguish after a three-game losing streak and two straight mercies — they should call them poundings. We’re not a sinking ship, we’re the ship that falls off its trailer on the way to the launch.
We’re struggling mightily. Wait, we need a more ominous word than struggling. We’re experiencing a quagmire. A conundrum, if you will.
I will.
While other teams are scoring more than Larry Craig at LAX, we’re making opposing pitchers look like Sandy Koufax. After our meager output in the last two games, our three runs scored in the opener could qualify as an “offensive explosion.” (It was more like a cherry bomb, but you get the idea.)
We should ask for our batting cage tokens back. We should call out Louisville Slugger for giving us a defective bat. We should consider shaking hands before the start of games.
We should also try to keep our heads — and, more important, our gloves — up. Sure, losing is about as fun as exploratory dental work, but this is supposed to be fun.
I should heed my own advice. After all, in the hours after yesterday’s humbling defeat to baseball-pants clad Keelty Construction, I started worrying about my job security as manager. I feel like Willie Randolph. I’m waiting for my phone to ring.
If I bring beer to Monday’s game, I should be fine.
jmaletz@aspentimes.com
