Tuesday night sucked for LA baseball…but it was a great night for softball. At least for the Pasadena Parrots. I reckon it sucked for the Kung Paos.
That’s the score in the headline. 19 runs isn’t impossible in softball, but c’mon, it’s 19 runs. We f***in killed it.
(Mom said it was ok for me to write “shit” but I shouldn’t write out the word that starts with an F. I already was trying not to write it, although I did forget myself at least once. I reckon I’ll forget again. )
So, yeah, the Parrots f***in killed it. There are some guys on the Kung Paos that are pretty close to being assholes, so, yeah, we enjoyed kickin their asses. They were willing to give up after the top of the sixth. We insisted we finish the game. And scored five more runs. Good thing we did, or I’d have missed my grand slam.
The records our captain Josh keeps on the scorekeeping app he’s got show that shortstop Hunter Block hit fourth, went 4 for 4 and hit 4 home runs. I crushed one so far that I owe the team a ball lol.
Wait – it gets better. I think I invented some kind of cycle: four homers in one game, one a solo, one a two-shot, one a three-shot, and the last one a grand slam. What do you call that? Homering for the cycle? Somebody must have done it before me, but well…I’m gonna be telling people about it for a long time.
Hey, so would you.
So 4 for 4, 4 home runs, and 10 RBIs. That means six of our guys got on base before I got them home – you need help from your teammates to hit a grand slam. All 10 of us got hits, 3 other guys homered (including Keaton), and the other six runs got in thanks to a lot of extra base hits. 4 triples in a game is pretty dang good, too.
I’ll admit, the Kung Paos were without two of their best players. Their second baseman sprained his ankle on his treadmill, and their center fielder had to go to some black tie dinner with his wife. They’re still a good team. We were just fuckin killing it. Our fielding was totally on point too. They kept hitting grounders to short, so my arm was kept busy throwing to Joe over at first.
I threw to Keaton a few times as well. 4 seems to be the big number, since we turned 4 6-4-3 double plays. It was just one of those games when everything was going your way.
I’m not going to introduce the whole team (although you already know that the outfielders like strip clubs lol), but, since I mentioned him, I might as well tell y’all a few things about Joe over at first base, the third part of the gangsterass Block to Penner to Strauss double play. Joe’s 6’2” and around 275 pounds. He’s one of those big sloppy guys. You know, the kind that always has one tail of their jersey untucked. Also the kind that you reckon is never gonna get a girlfriend. Only Joe has one. She came to a game once so I’ve seen her. She’s hot. (He had a girlfriend before this one, too. Don’t underestimate Sloppy Joe. Yeah, that’s what we call him. But he calls me Blockhead, so we’re even.)
You obviously don’t want to depend on Joe’s base running. But we don’t have to. He can hit the ball harder than anyone on the team…he just has trouble making contact. So he either strikes out or homers. He never needs to run.
Most of the time he does strike out, but he’s an amazing first baseman. He’s got to have magnets or velcro or something in his glove. I can make the shittiest throws to first (yeah, I can make shitty throws) and somehow he’ll catch them. If there’s any way to make an out at first, we’ll make it.
Joe’s also a dude you want to have a beer with, which is exactly what we did after the game. After we stopped at the taco truck. (We usually go to the taco truck when everybody’s broke. This time we just wanted to save our money for the bar.) So Keaton, Joe, me and a couple other guys headed over to the bar where Keaton works and had a few to celebrate. Hey, I bet I made Pasadena softball history! I deserved a few.
I got home just in time to watch the Dodgers blow it in the 12th. For once, I didn’t care. Given how they’re playing and how we’re playing, the Parrots should probably challenge the Dodgers to a softball game lol.
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