San Francisco Tsunami

Friday, May 04, 2012

Wood Goes Limp, Banana Bread Delightful

Following up last week’s game/blog/assplay is not something I’ve been looking forward to. The storylines, the drama, the history, and the eloquence--there can be no match. But I’m not the next Daniels, I’m the first Laser Show. I have tried and true ways of doing business and I plan to stick to them: dick references and abrasive, unrelenting slander of the Last Great American Rebel Cattle Driver, Banana Bread.
Autocorrect on the eve of the game: “Last week we punched the bully right in the fucking face and stole his lunch money. Tomorrow we fuck his fried (friend) up too to be the new big swinging dicks!”

And so swung the dicks. A baker’s dozen worth of knocks. All Tsunami in the hit column (Toddamus notwithstanding, due to questionable priorities). Rowdy fans cackling in delight at the Wood’s misfortune. Autocorrect sending his warmest regards to the softballers for a stand-up single (next time call a Towncar). Everchill even smiled once, though I have no evidence.

Toddamus: “My stomach is a little confused, but I really like Amelia.”

The Tsunami ran the bases with wreckless abandon--calling on their signature lack of baseball instincts, marginal speed, diminishing coordination, and refusal to dirty their pants, to the tune of 9 runs.

Autocorrect: “Tom has taken 2 hours to drink one beer.”
Everchill: “He’s a well-known vag.”

Brother Mouzone aka Hacksaw was back to his usual tricks, whiffs and kindling for 6 innings, punishing the Wood to the point of chafing. Laser Show serenading his newborn demon spawn, Hung Dam, to pass the time. Banana Bread and Father Frankel play some fetch with Everchill (part 1 of that play was outstanding, T). Fielding is just boring, though.

With Laser Show fighting the demons of a mutant alien exorcism in his throwing arm in the 7th, Jon Danger Hirsch took the ball, shut the door. Mixing a Richard Simmons-esque slider with an ironic fastball through three innings, beating the Wood mercilessly. 9-3 W. 4-0. Great view.

Bump Kings:
Hacksaw: 6 ip, 13 k’s, 5 hits, 0 er, 1 backpeddler, 6 other bored fielders
Danger: 3 ip, 4 hits, 1 er, 7 mildly amused fielders

Dick-Swingers:
Banana Bread: 2-5, run, rbi
Cooper: 1-3, 2 runs, 0 practice cuts since I’ve known him, looks that kill
Frankel: 1-1, no soft-toss necessary
Autocorrect: 1-3, 2b, 2 rbi, run, SAC fly

Bottom feeders, fastball lovers:
Everchill: 1-3, Pissrod City, rbi,great eyesight at first base
Laser Show (w/Hung Dam): 2-3, 2 runs, great taste in music

On notice:
Aaron

Stock Rising:
Maximo

From the Enemies Perspective:
“At least they let us play 9.”

Glove Kings:
(Crickets...)

Larceny:
Lawn (1), Daniels (1), L. Show (2) Lets get back to running, shall we?

For the team:
Cooper, Autocorrect, Everchill (fuck those guys!)

Dick move:
Danger funneling banana bread, depriving others of its divinity, though it was his first solid meal in weeks.

Indefensible:
Backpeddling Banana Bread, post-game pizza waiter’s flat jokes, sluggishness

The most shocking thing you’ll see this Saturday:
Hyphen’s driver’s license photo

Memorable Quotes:

Nederostek Consulting: “I want the first batter I face this season to be Autocorrect.”

Tom’s Viking Quest: “From the back? Oh she’s stupid. Oh that hurts. That’s what the Greek’s do.”

Autocorrect’s Craigslist Ad if we win the ‘ship: “When you reach the end of level one, make sure to trigger the fireworks. This is vital to the entire experience. I must hear the fireworks.”

More from Craigslist Ad: “I will continue having sex until the level ends. DO NOT take the secret level skip. If you die I will pull out and spank you until the level restarts.”

Autocorrect: “Yesterday Tom informed me that he had a 1.5 year slump in college. Didn’t know that was possible.
Everchill: “In our generation we just called that the 90s.”

Radio Host (to Oil Can Boyd): “Do you think you would have had a better career if you hadn’t smoked so much crack?”
Oil Can Boyd: “It don’t work that way.”

Hyphen: “I’m the love-child of Tulo and J. Lin.”

Autocorrect: “And if I had a 12 inch dick I’d be a pornstar.”

That is all. Hog the Fog. Jorts mandatory.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

The 2012 edition of The San Francisco Tsunami is sponsored by Dollar Shave Club

The 2012 edition of The San Francisco Tsunami is sponsored by Dollar Shave Club. Dollar Shave Club couldn’t be simpler. Select one of their great razors, pay one low monthly fee, and they'll send ‘em right to your door. No more over-paying for fancy brand name shave tech. No more forgetting to buy your blades. Honoring our sponsor, here is an estimate of how often each Tsunami needs to shave (I guess you could also consider this a masculinity scale, from least to most):

Every February 29th (Infant Division):
Tom D'Antono
Todd Emr

With the Time Change (Denial Division):
Mike Abbott (current whiskers are four years in the making)

On Full Moons (Nice-Guy Division):
Matt Rowe
Walt Morton

Before Going to the Marina (non-Hipster Division):
Connor Buestad
Pete Lawn (eligible for one division only)
Loren Fraser

Daily (People I'm afraid to offend):
Jim Nederostek
Ken Hale
Vic Chu
Cameron Yuen-Shore

Despues de Speaking Spanish (Bi-Lingual Division):
John Ratto
Dan Larson
Tommy Salvatierra

Both Sunrise and Sunset (Jewish Division):
John Hirsch
Tamir Frankel

After Eating (Wookie Division):
Mike Carozza

Jon Danger Hirsch doesn’t give a fuck about the precise time Matt Foley wants him to play baseball

Jon Danger Hirsch doesn’t give a fuck about the precise time Matt Foley wants him to play baseball.  He’ll get there when he damn well feels like it.  He’s on JPT.  He and Lawn both.  Just be glad he brought a belt and a pair of socks he hasn’t recently made love to.

Oh, and do you really think Danger gives a fuck about the Gamecocks batting order? Go ahead, try to tell him it’s easier to get out the 9-hole hitter (contact-less in three previous at-bats) than it is to walk him before having to face the top of the order with men on base and the game on the line. Good fucking luck. Enjoy his vaguely jaundiced stare in response. Then watch the mound results that let you know he’ll do things his way, on his schedule, often with his best friend in the same room. Tag team!

Tsunami 4, Gamecocks 2
Brother Mouzone could probably use a little run support, fellas. There was that one good line drive by Lawn, but nobody was on base. Then Jake Taylor did rip one to left, but again, not with RISP. Instead we’ll settle for bloopers by Hyphen and Taylor to plate the four-pack of runs. Of course we still won, all thanks to the pitching. Stop spoiling us, Bro Mouzone, we’re not going to learn if our bad habits are reinforced with positive results!

Bump Kings
Brother Mouzone: 7 innings, 3 hits (zero hard), 1 earned run, 1 HBP, 1 BB, 12 Ks

Danger: 2 innings, 2 hits, 1 earned run, 3BB, 2 Ks

Big Hot Sticks
Everchill (Jake): 1. Hardest hit ball of the day. 2. An even bigger hit, importance-wise, just a wee bit into the outfield, but just when we needed it—driving in the decisive winning runs.

Frankel: Frozen rope down the right field line, sparking 8th inning mini-rally.

Lawn: Sure the CF froze, then came in, froze, then came in some more. The ball was crushed. Double. We need more of these.

Glove Kings
Ratto: It would take too long to describe. You had to be there. If you weren’t, you know what it was like, you’ve seen this dude do his thing before.

Larceny
0: Everyone afraid to steal off a lefty. And that Howitzer behind the dish.

For the Team!
Lawn.

One Dick Move
Gamecocks start “Jermiah #17.” Not on roster. Not registered with SFNABA. Naughty, naughty.

Two Varying Approaches, No Judgment
Mouzone: 7 innings pitched, 95 pitches
Danger: 2 innings pitched, 48 pitches

Indefensible
Nederostek Consulting ordering four chimichanguitas plates, two nachos, and two quesadillas at Cecilia’s. Finishing one chimi plate and one quesadilla.

Inexcusable
Zero dugout music. Laser, delegate in your absence. Nobody plays good baseball tight.

Quote of the Week 1: Autocorrect: “I was a complete flake. But that's because his team is a bunch of nerds and cheese dicks that I didn't really want to be around. I don't see any of them asking to call Aaron, or sending pictures of a dog breaking out if a slump by fucking a pig, or getting stranded on 3rd base consistently by some hot chick named Morgan that I haven't met yet.” 

Quote of the Week 2: Autocorrect: “I was a flake because I was busy doing what all those Orange wearing uniform pussies can't do.........getting laid. That was 2008-2009 and Fraser can verify those were epic years to be single.”

Quote of the Week 3: Autocorrect: “Tom its 12:30 in Boston, shouldn't you be trying to get balls deep in some chick who's only known adjective is wicked?”

Quote of the Week 4: Buestad: “I’ll see you Sunday.” Hell yeah! And welcome back.

Quote of the Week 5: “Nerds and cheese dicks.” Some things are worth repeating.

Quote of the Week 6: Laser: “This girl is dumpy. But I’m desperate.”

Quote of the Week 7: Autocorrect: “I should stick to what I know . . . bars, towncars, and talking shit.”

Quote of the Week 8: Danger: “I’m trying to eat wings and suck on tit.”

Quote of the Week 9: Danger: “I’m trying to suck on wings and eat tit.”

Quote of the Week 10 (tie): Lawn: “Bumgardner may have the ugliest wife in MLB.” Lawn: “I love this synagogue.”

Quote of the Week 12: Autocorrect: “What’s ‘NR’ by my name mean?”
Daniels: “Non-runner.”
Autocorrect: “Oh yeah, well God did that. When I was born, he looked at me and then checked the box: non-runner.”

Quote of the Week12: Mouzone: “If you guys could hit as well as you text we’d be unstoppable.”

The Wire Quote of the Week:
Bunk Moreland: “I’m just a humble motherfucker with a big-ass dick.”
Lester Freamon: “You give yourself too much credit.”
Bunk: “Okay then. I ain’t that humble.”

Potential Reasons You Weren’t Recognized in Quote of the Week:
1. You’re not on Tsunami groupme (and be glad)
2. You have a day job that requires, well, job stuff
3. Autocorrect said five funnier things than you did

From the Enemy’s Perspective
“Tattletales!”

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

San Francisco Tsunami:  No Longer the Fat Girl Anyone Can Fuck

The 2012 SF Tsunami have committed zero known parole violations since spring training. This year's edition, however, is much new and improved. Faced with an aging roster and championship window rapidly closing, team owner (and only league member to live through the Cuban Missile Crisis) Matt Rowe decided to push payroll beyond the luxury tax threshold in addition to ignoring the draconian league office draft slot bonus recommendations. Convinced it's the only way to prosper in the evermore competitive SFNABA, Rowe has dictated that all gloves, facades of pretense, and fans' soaking wet panties must come off in 2012. Newcomers this year include battery mates Loren Fraser and Tommy Salvatierra of the defunct but not forgotten Artichoke Joe's of San Bruno (Strong Wang, you live on in our hearts). Having played with each other for years, Fraser and Salvatierra display uncommon chemistry on the field and off, evident most clearly during the Tsunami's opening day victory over the Isotopes and the ensuing team debauchery. Also joining the Tsunami is Cameron Yuen-Shore, previously of the Diablos (and lifetime .897 hitter vs. the Tsunami). Cam is a nice, standup guy who's not sure how he wound up on this roster of hog-chasers and Roman bulldozers. He has agreed not to drink in public parking lots after games. Rounding out the offseason shopping for the Tsunami is Jim Nederostek. Jim does not appreciate this type of humor, so there is nothing funny to say about him.

Of course, in addition to Old Rowe, SFNABA groupies will recognize a few more veteran Tsunami faces still on the team. Laid back Mike Abbott returns as Manager. You won't catch him sweating unless there's no Racer 5 on tap. 2011 Co-Rookie of the Year Mike Carozza (also VP of Dugout Music) brings his weekly laser show back to CF, and Pete Lawn is still handsome in left despite all the late nights and fiber-less diet. Walt Morton was coaxed out of retirement to provide dugout candor and base hits, Ken Hale (league founder!) is back in the bullpen, as is Jon Danger Hirsch and a whole lot of penicillin. In the infield Tamir Frankel brings international tournament experience as well as a new parent's bloodshot eyes (welcome, Jack!). Vic Chu still wears the catcher's gear and is nicer than anyone you know. SS Todd Emr (Co-ROY), 2B Tom D'Antono and three-time Tsunami MVP John Ratto are all sleeping with the same seven girls, but only Tom has real feelings for them. Connor Buestad's whereabouts are unknown.

And on a final, serious note, the SF Tsunami have dedicated this season to one of the under-acknowledged working class heroes of the Bay Area: Aaron the Towncar Driver. This week's game, and this year's cumulative efforts, are for you, Aaron. May you inspire us to great heights.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Jon Danger Hirsch doesn’t give a fuck about painted eggs, pink bunnies or ash-stamped foreheads

Jon Danger Hirsch doesn’t give a fuck about painted eggs, pink bunnies or ash-stamped foreheads.  He’s a member of the tribe.  The global, not Cleveland-based one.  So don’t come to him with your little cups of jellybeans, your Cadbury Creams, or your damned Opening Day 2012 versus the Isotopes on Passover.  Making Walter Sobchak proud, Danger wasn’t there for the follow up to last year’s second round playoff tilt versus the Topes on the same field that last season ended.  Fortunately, he didn’t miss much, as Laser Show’s thorough and efficient recap demonstrates…

Tsunami 2, Isotopes 1
Loren shoves. Cam rakes. Sal has a gun. Laser throws better than he catches. We’re good. Somebody call Aaron.

Bump Kings
Fraser: 7 innings, 1 hit, 1 unearned run, 1 BB, 9 Ks

Laser: 2 innings, 0 hits, 0 runs, 3 Ks

Big Hot Sticks
Hyphen: 2B. Total laser to left that melted the LF.

Everchill: Don’t call it a comeback. Robbed of results but the reward is knowing who hit the hardest ball of the day. Next time find a gap.

Glove Kings
Black Label: Several nifty plays up the middle in support of the No-No.

Toddamus: Deep into the hole, throwing to first with his hole barely off the ground.

Omaha: The ball will find you! In the game for the first time since 2010, Omaha was sent straight back for a Lex bomb to open up the 8th inning. No problem. Business as usual. Smoothly tracked and caught.

Autocorrect: Even if the guy was safe stealing second, the throw was so damn good the umpire got excited and wiped off the runner.

Larceny
Black Label 1 (2nd base, 1st inning)

For the Team!
Daniels. Top of seventh. Right in the thigh. Didn’t even flinch. Lou’s hit me plenty of times before, he just had a different uniform on this time.

One Dick Move
Topes break up Fraser’s no-hitter in bottom of 7th with a leadoff bunt.
“Bush league!” Tommy says.
“I would’ve done it in a close game like that,” Coach Everchill says.
Who’s right? Bush League should be the name of a strip joint, I say.

Indefensible
Coach Everchill: “There was a no-hitter? I thought they had a hit early on.” Um, no.

Inexcusable
Lawn: Picked off first with two on two outs, and By A Catcher! Being handsome doesn’t even start to make up for it. -4 in the larceny derby.

Quote of the Week 1: Autocorrect: “So the whole week we suck each other off on this group text and then we beat the fucking topes and the chatter stops?!?! Wtf.”

Quote of the Week 2: Autocorrect: “I don’t just make sex jokes and talk about coke. I also like economics. I do.”

Quote of the Week 3: Autocorrect: “Hirsh is Koufaxing us? He’s not Shawn Green!”

Quote of the Week 4: Autocorrect: “The Mission? What the hell I want to go the Mission and have sex with some ironic chick for?!?! Oh, you’re fucking me, yeah, it’s so ironic!”

Mid-week text of the week, post-game edition: Fraser: “Tommy’s string of autocorrect errors is DiMaggio-esque.”

The Right Move: Coach Everchill, in a controversial move, names Fraser the opening day starter. Some took it extremely well, like Laser who saved his bullets for a shutdown two-inning save. Some had a hard time believing the decision, like Nederostek Consulting: “Management decided he’s starting? Management decided?!?! Didn’t he see my one bullpen in my slacks and tennies? What more does he want?” Fortunately for Everchill, Fraser rewarded his decision with 7 innings of one-hit ball and zero earned runs. Though some say Nederostek Consulting wouldn’t have given up that hit.

From the Enemy’s Perspective
“Who the hell was that tall guy?”

Sunday, May 08, 2011

Maybe our second basemen isn’t stoned after all

Sometimes folks are just chill. Just relaxed, decent, hard-surfing folk.  This is good news for us, bad news for the rest of the league.

Tsunami 10 vs Phitans 0
Cementing its place atop the league’s green ratings, the 2011 Tsunami traveled to Stenzel Park with ten men in three cars.  Not too shabby, eh, Laverne? Eager to draw an even record of 3-3 for the season, the Tsunami followed Black Label’s lead with patient at-bats and opposite field hits to score early and often against the Phitans starter.  Second Base turned back the clock to 2010 and ripped RBI hits to gaps and foul lines, probably only missing a Modesty Derby lead-tying dinger because of the epic Roman wind blowing in across left.  Laser Show was apparently pitching from 50 feet away, or so it seemed to the Phitans.  First-inning jam escaped, Laser Show dominated remaining 8 innings like Danger does the late-night pickings at the 500 Club, striking out 14 in the complete game shutout.

Burritos 4, Tsunami 0
A great post-game showing was diluted only by the unexpected total dominance of the bread loaf-sized burros rolled out by our friends in San Leandro.  Respect to George Human Ruth for choosing great restaurant and to Godfather for leading us in direction of gorgeous twenty-ounce Lagunitas.  Total participation: nine!  That’s enough for three-on-three-on-three in the halfcourt.

The Right Move(s)
Everchill conceives flawless batting order, powerful and balanced from top to bottom.  Keeps Black Label in bullpen for 8 innings, where he should be.

Glove Kings
Rowe:  there’s no right-center gap when Rowe is in right.  Learn this, people!

(Laser Show double-play to end Phitans day at plate would be seen here if not for Laser Show trying to play 3rd base from pitcher’s mound in 7th: E-1)

Bump King
Laser Show: 8 IP, 14 Ks, 0 ER (that’s what they call a Bully’s Shutout)

Big Hot Sticks
Toddamus: 3-5, 3B, 4 RBI, 1 Walkoff RBI
Black Label: 3-4, 2B, BB, 3 RBI, 1 CS (whoops, wrong section)
Laser Show: 1-3, 2B (it still counts if the wind hustled it), 2 R, SB, BB, 
Second Base: 2-3, 2B, BB, One drive destined for the sand box ripped down by the wind.

Line of the Week
Daniels to Toddamus, before going up to plate with one out, bases loaded and chance for walkoff mercy rule hit:  “You’re not getting up.”  (popped out to deep shallow mid-second)

For the Team
Not a single motherfucker tough enough.

K Derby
Laser Show: 27 (well, that was a distance-maker)
Danger: 8
Ivy League: 10
Ratto: 6
Uno: 2
Black Label: 0

Habit Forming
Black Label:  tagged on jersey by an opposing infielder with ball in glove, not on a base.  Third time this season!  Not recommended.

Modesty Derby
Daniels: 1

Neck-Snap Derby
Laser Show: 2

Ripped, Robbed or Jobbed
Daniels: Was he safe at first on would-be infield single?  He was thinking about taking second!  JOBBED.

Second Base: Turned on inside fastball off Fernando Valenzuela’s nephew. Hit it right into the blowers behind left field fence.  Nothing going yard in that direction on this day.  RIPPED.

M.I.A.
Ratto
World Baseball Classic
Just A Letter
Ivy League
Danger

From the Enemy’s Perspective
What’s the name of your team, again? I honestly can’t even read that. This-sun-aim?

Larceny
Laser Show 1 (5)

Larceny Derby*
Laser Show 5 it still counts, even if the ball gets by the catcher)
Daniels 4
Ratto 4*
Everchill 4
Black Label 3*
Chu 1
Buestad 1
*does not include pickoffs or caught stealing (to be tallied at midseason; CS = -1; pickoff = -4)

Postgame Thanks to the Scorer
Pitching Counts!  Yay!

Don’t Go Getting Our Hope UP
The triumphant birth of Runs Batted In!

Sunday, May 01, 2011

John Danger Hirsch doesn’t give a fuck if you don’t like the results

You think he does? Hell no, but Danger knows he gave it his all. Anyone else around here committing to pulling an eleventh-hour slumpbuster out of a shadowy BART car for the good of the team? Check YOUR commitment to the 2011 edition of the San Francisco Tsunami before you criticize.


Tsunami 3 vs Bay Sox 9
Ivy League brought his best effort of the season when the Tsunami needed it most. After escaping a first-inning, two-on, nobody-out jam, he cruised for four more innings until reaching his limit. The rookies brought the defense, Toddamus and Black Label smothering any ground snakes on the left side. The mighty Bay Sox, who ten-runned the Tsunami twice in a double-header last year, were held in check until finding momentum and confidence in a sixth-inning leadoff error. A couple relievers and one Laser Show twisted neck later, with Danger getting his leg work in across the softball fields, the Tsunami felt down two touchdowns. Coach Everchill broke up the league-MVP Botterman’s no-hitter in the fifth, at least, and Big Cat Uno returned from semi-retirement of hitting to go 2-4. Laser Show settled in after the rough start, and the top of the order rallied twice against Bay Sox relieve and former Tsunami Foley. We would’ve had them in game 2.

The Right Move(s)
Everchill gave the pill to Ivy League again, trusted him against the deep veteran Bay Sox lineup and was rewarded with

The Wrong Move (aka the trade of Kendrick Perkins)
Everchill pulls Danger for Laser Show, seemingly The Right Move considering Laser Show’s dominance vs. Topes, Red Giants and Aces and Danger’s two walks, one triple surrendered in relief of Ivy League. Still seemed like The Right Move when Laser Show had SFNABA legend (and former Tsunami) Kawasaki 0-2 with two outs and the bases loaded. But then a softball practice was interrupted on a nearby field.

Glove Kings
Black Label: Cookie Monster D at third. Clean sweeps of scud line drives and perfect bare-hand grab and chuck on dribbler off speedster.

Bump King
Ivy League: 5.1 IP, 5 Ks, 2 ER

Big Hot Sticks
Laser Show: 2-5, 3B, 2 R, SB
Big Cat Uno: 2-4
Daniels: 2-4, BB, R, SB, 2 RBI
Black Label: 1-4, 2B, RBI
Everchill: 1-4 (broke up no-no in 5th)

For the Team
Black Label: Don Fucking Baylor at this point. Wore a League MVP slider right in the soft spot of bone in center of left elbow. Just like they teach in college. And in the first inning again.

K Derby
Laser Show: 13
Danger: 8
Ivy League: 10
Ratto: 6
Uno: 2
Black Label: 0

Habit Forming
Just A Letter: tagged on jersey by an opposing infielder with ball in glove, not on a base. Second time this season. Not recommended.

Modesty Derby
Daniels: 1

Neck-Snap Derby
Laser Show: 2 (Not to worry, Grand Slams only count as one)

Ripped, Robbed or Jobbed
Danger: Shrunken zone for jort loogy reliever. No dice on consecutive two-strike counts. JOBBED.

M.I.A.
Morning’O
Ratto
Godfather
G. H. Ruth

From the Enemy’s Perspective
Good thing we’re not playing throw out your best and your worst inning. Cause then we would have lost.

Larceny
Daniels 1 (3)
Everchill 2 (3)
Ratto 3! (4)
Black Label 2 (3)
Chu 1 (1)
Buestad 1 (1)

Larceny Derby*
Daniels 4 (new leader!!!!!!!!!!!!!) (it doesn’t matter if they throw down, it still counts)
Laser Show 4
Ratto 4
Everchill 4 (it doesn’t matter if they hold you on, it still counts)
Black Label 3
Chu 1 (catcher steals should count double)
Buestad 1
*does not include pickoffs or caught stealing (to be tallied at midseason; CS = -1; pickoff = -4)

Repeated Postgame Thanks to the Scorer
Pitching Changes! Yay!

Just Forget It, At This Point
R.I.P. RBI.

Monday, April 18, 2011

It’s too cheesy to talk about how foggy it was that dark Sunday to play the Fog

You won’t find that kind of low-hanging fruit picked here. Not gonna do it. Leave that to media interns.

Tsunami 16 at Fog 6
Ivy League! Hope for the front of the Tsunami rotation was generated with bounceback first inning after leadoff score, solid 3rd after rocky 2nd, and dominating 4th . . . The bats continued their Topes-induced slumber until top of 7th, when the Fog parted to allow 8 runs after Daniels roped a leadoff single to center, ultimately scoring twice in the bat-around inning . . . George Human Ruth ripping double down line for only solid (uncaught) Tsunami knock in 5th, plating only second big green run. Then ripping 0-2, two-out single to left to score Daniels and ignite 7-run inning . . . Hardaway being perfect pain at bottom of the order, singling and scoring twice . . . Toddamus collaring first ever 0 for 6 . . . Toddamus and Black Label fighting for top Web Gem only two outs apart . . . the dugout finally realizing that “we only get to play baseball once a week” and “these things tend to snowball,” finally catching fire against hardworking Fog starter and then dominating final innings with proper flair . . . First post-game celebration beyond the sad Daniels-Everchill pairing of the first two games: 9 total, including this year’s #1 fan. 500 Club, as if you didn’t know.

The Right Move(s)
Everchill gave the pill to Ivy League again, trusted him to work past second inning control issues. Got rewarded with best-looking innings of season in 3rd and 4th. Went to Danger to start 5th even though Fog had gone 1-2-3. Danger cruises through four.

Glove Kings
Toddamus: You don’t know how he got there. He doesn’t know how he got there. Somehow he dove and actually sped up, gained height in the ear. Pocketed a rocket headed for centerfield. With a ten-run, last-inning lead no less. In the cold. Respect.

Black Label: Did he Jim Edmonds it? Hell no. That was a full-speed, full-extension-required headfirst dive to warm up the fans. Though next time calling it would be appreciated by the infielders, among others.

Bump Kings
Ivy League: 4 IP, 4 Ks
Danger: 4 IP, 2 Ks, 2 ER

Fun Stuff Between Two Veteran Red-Asses
“Run out your fucking ground balls!”
“What?”
“RUN OUT YOUR FUCKING GROUND BALLS NEXT TIME!” (goes to left fuming, commits error)

Big Sticks
George Herman Ruth, 2-5, 2B
Daniels, 2-6, 2 RBI, 2 R, SB
Hardaway, 2-5, 2 R
Everchill, 1-3, 2 BB, 2 R, 2 SB,
Black Label, 1-5, 2B, 2 SB

For the Team
Buestad: Not sure why. He wasn’t even throwing hard! Don’t you want to hit, son?

K Derby
The Scarlet Letter 12
Danger 8
Ivy League 5
Ratto 6
Uno 2

Habit Forming
Black Label: tagged on jersey by an opposing infielder with ball in glove, not on a base. Second time in three weeks. Not recommended.

Modesty Derby
Daniels 1

Ripped, Robbed or Jobbed
Daniels: pimp-slapped fastball to left to lead off 5th in attempt to spark dead offense. Robbed.

Toddamus: 0-2 center of the barrel missle to left field to lead off 2nd. Might have opened the floodgates. If it wasn’t directly at the only two feet of grass covered by the Fog’s left statue. Getting all of a last at-bat opportunity to avoid 0 for 6 but again choosing to hit a statue, this time in centerfield. Swing up, big fella, hit it over their heads. Robbed and then robbed.

M.I.A.
Scarlet Letter (one-game suspension away from new nickname)

From the Enemy’s Perspective
You can’t keep a good team down. Not for 8 innings. Not, apparently, for seven. Sure felt like we had em for awhile. Felt like they were ready to go home. Felt wrong, I guess.

Larceny
Daniels 1 (3)
Everchill 2 (3)
Ratto 3! (4)
Black Label 2 (3)
Chu 1 (1)
Buestad 1 (1)

Larceny Derby*
Ratto 4 (new leader!)
The Scarlet Letter 3
Daniels 3
Everchill 3 (it doesn’t matter how slide, the important thing is you get back up)
Black Label 3
Chu 1 (catcher steals should count double)
Buestad 1
*does not include pickoffs or caught stealing (to be tallied at midseason; CS = -1; pickoff = -4)

Postgame Thanks to the Scorer
Pitching Changes! Yay!

Incredibly Ignored Request For the Scorer
RUNS. BATTED. IN!

Monday, April 11, 2011

Jon Danger Hirsch Doesn’t Give A Fuck About Timing, Baseball Has A Code.

Jon Danger Hirsch Doesn’t Give A Fuck About Timing, Baseball Has A Code. Jon Danger Hirsch is going to protect Tsunami hitters, and he will send that message at primetime on every channel when the maximum viewers are watching. You can’t hit our rookies. You wanna open the game hitting our leadoff man? Bookend, motherfuckers.
Tsunami 2 at Topes 3
Black Label kept his eye on the ball to leadoff 18 innings against the 17-time defending champions. Kept his eye on the ball the whole way until his nose got in the way . . . Daniels stepped up to a blood-speckled plate and dialed 1994 for a replay of his first time, turned on a low inside fastball and took off for second as it cleared the leftfielder. Ran a hard 120 feet before recognizing no one else was moving, he’d simply hit the ball too far. Raced the rest of the way around the bases anyway. Zero showmanship . . . Banished slicing one of only 5 team hits to right, stealing 3rd, scoring on Daniels’ 0-2 RBI single to left . . . Banished just overpowering, striking out 9 Topes in six innings, only giving up one home run (to the 10th hitter; happens to everyone, we’re told) . . . Topes getting second run on throwing error, final on Danger making a statement to close game . . . Nothing to be ashamed of here, against any team, much less the The LA Sparks of the SFNABA.

Tsunami 0 at Topes 14
It’s hard to get rookies to listen. Particularly when they idolize Paul O’Neill. Paul FUCKING O’Neill. So Banished (one paragraph away from a new nickname) doesn’t like the umps and doesn’t like that he can’t date his daughter (the ump’s, not his own; don’t be sick), so he decides to petition for a two-game vacation after pitching one of best Tsunami starts ever in Game 1 . . . Daniels was the only repeat baserunner, staying hot for the day . . . Godfather proved once again he’s kryptonite to the perennial powerhouse Benders and Topes . . . Rowe turned back the clock to look flashy in left . . . Black Label got his honker to stop bleeding . . . and then the rains came, so that was that and enough said.

The Right Move
Everchill gives ball to The Scarlet Letter. Trusts rook on the rock for six against champs. Listens to Banished after fifth saying arm feels great, look, my hand usually shakes when I pithc. Shows hand to Everchill nad Daniels. Hand is shaking rapidly. Everchill goes for and gets one more.

Glove Kings
The Scarlet Letter: Sick laser show from 350 sign to 3rd base on fielded triple. In. The. Air. But it did arc, as Toddamus pointed out 46 times, otherwise we had him. Hilariously simple 200-foot rope to 1B to double-off runner who apparently lost ticket to laser show inning before.

Rowe: You can’t drop popcorn in left field. Even in the lights. Rowe is a vacuum. 3 chase-downs in the dark out of the bright lights.

Bump Kings
The Scarlet Letter: 6 IP, 9 Ks, 1 ER (way gone, though)
Godfatther: 2 IP, only wormburners and silly flies

Big Sticks
Daniels, 3-5, HR, BB, 2 RBI
Toddamus, 1B, 3 BB
Scarlett Letter 1-4, SB, RS

For the Team
Black Label, right between the nose and the upper lip. Right where a proper utility-man mustache could’ve protected him. Coach told, coach told em to grow a defensive salute. But of course coach plays infield without a cup, so who’s listening.

K Derby
The Scarlet Letter 12
Danger 6
Ratto 6
Uno 2

“In Spanish They’re Called Yown Rrrrrrrrrrrrruns” Derby
Daniels (1, off Stoval)

Ripped, Robbed or Jobbed
Moreno: two line drives (3 for season) sent cricket style at the pitcher’s twigs. Both kicked perfectly to first or second for outs. Robbed.

Everchill: Not only the most electrifying atomically-charged foul ball of the year. But also a hickory rocket straight into the 3rd basemen's glove that he still feels in his palm. Hit em where they ain't!

M.I.A.
Ivy League

From the Enemy’s Perspective
Gotta respect those dern tough cement-chewing Tsunami sons of bitches. Took us right down to the walkoff wire Game 1, coulda blown either way how the game was going. Gotta respect a crew that sticks to its principles, damn the timing or cost. And tough fer any outfit to bounce back for Game 2 after that crotch poke, plus all the rain coming down.

Larceny
The Scarlet Letter 1(3)
Daniels 2 (2)
Everchill 1 (1)
Ratto 1 (1)

Larceny Derby
The Scarlet Letter 3
Daniels 2
Black Label 1 (+1 corrected, Week 1)
Everchill 1 (-1 corrected, Week 1)
Ratto 1

Request For the Scorer
Pitching. Changes.

Repeated Request For the Scorer
RUNS. BATTED. IN!

Wednesday, April 06, 2011

Opening Day 2011: Jon Danger Hirsch Doesn’t Give A Fuck About Wearing Some High Schooler’s Hat

Tsunami 19, Red Giants 7
All about the debuts this time out (well that and some handy veteran production), but mainly the debuts: White-Lightning Pants leading off Tsunami season with BB, stealing 2nd, stealing 3rd, scoring on infield single; sac advancing two runners in 3rd; pregame laser show from CF; 3 Straight Ks to slam shut 7th (and final inning) after awesome Nuke Laloosh 4-pitch BB to open inning (featuring backstop dusting (no mascots were injured)) . . . No Nickname Yet getting first Tsunami hit (1st SFNABA hit in 3rd), at least 2 runs scored (7 or 8 more potentially after replacing non-runners); flawless infield D (between innings thrown-ground balls included) . . . Toddamus proving to be excellent platoon infielder vs. righties: frozen, knee-buckling-error-inducing drive to LF in first post-collegiate-domestic AB; 3 hits; decidedly better than horrible defense (see below: Kings, Glove) . . . Ivy League opening Tsunami career with 1-2-3 inning on Opening Day; 2 Ks; perfectly-calibrated-maximum challenge of Coach Everchill’s forehead vein capacity and circulation rate . . . then Everchill setting pace with 3 BBs (one the man way) . . . Moreno ripping one off of pitcher’s wheel, other off right field chalk for double (right time, too) . . . Chu a wall, only challenged once . . . Danger arriving to calmly extinguish fire without singeing pubic backpacker beard . . . George Human Ruth hitting one double to warning track, breaking sound barrier, didn’t even get half of it . . . Ratto effectively disarming inning-long car alarm annoyance . . . Danger coasting through order unscathed twice . . . No Nickname Yet getting picked off 1B but Chu scoring from 3B to make it look like we planned that . . . 4 Tsunami errors . . . 10-plus enemy errors . . . 10-plus Tsunami walks . . . Zero fistfights . . . Zero injuries . . . Two post-game bar attendees (very weak, lots of room for improvement).


The Big Picture
Looks like the most-contested Tsunami ROY contest in years. Four new Tsunami look to be major contenders . . . SP, SS, CF/P, IF/OF . . . Serious east coast bias among the voters doesn’t scare any of the four least coast natives now enjoying The City.

Glove Kings:
Toddamus: Sick, over-calmly pick of a line-driven, runner-screened grenade, flipped to Tamir for an inning-ending double play.

Tamir: Fresh-on-the-field, First-throw-of-the-year (touch even), Catch-and-Turn-Toss-Elevate Laser to First for an inning-ending double play.

W. L. Pants: Intimidated opponent/Amused-Inspired Tsunami with Pregame Laser Show from CF.

Bump Kings
Danger: 4 1/3 IP, 4 Ks, 0 ER

W. L. Pants: 3 Ks, 1 IP

George Human Ruth
#18: Titanic, freeway-attacking, night-bringing, backspun, ear-splitting, wood-bat-dynamite double three-hundred-and-ninety-five-feet to dead center field. 395. 395. 395. Off a 72 mph fastball. At night. Warning track power.

Big Sticks
Toddamus, 3-4, BB, 2B, 3 R
George Herman Ruth, 1-3, 2 BB, 2B, 2B-Robbed-By-Incompetence (+2rbis)
Daniels, BB. 3 R, 2 SB
Moreno (needs nickname), 1-3, BB, 2B
Ratto (Lexus is best nickname, but last name is way cooler), 1-3, 2B, 2 BB, 2 R
W.L. Pants (one-Lombard Sports-run-away from a new nickname), 1-3, 2 R, S, SB

For the Team
Everchill 1 (1). It his his elbow, okay? Right on the bone! That’s the only reason he screamed.

K Derby
Danger 4 (4)
W. L. Pants 3 (3)
Ivy League 2 (2)

Wrong K Derby (Won’t Be An Ongoing Feature)(Only Fun Once Then Would BE Mean)
Carroza 1 (1) (took it like a man)
Daniels 1 (1) {totally wined (it did almost brush jersey, above letters)} (still whining)
Chu 1 (1)
Tamir 1 (1) (ripped, robbed candidate)
Moreno 1 (1)
Danger 1 (just kidding; Everchill CS home B4 swing)
Hardaway 1 (1) (ripped, robbed candidate; total screwing)

Larceny
W.L. Pants 2 (2)
Daniels 2 (2)
Everchill 1 (strictly Pants’s caboose) (1)
? (potential missed SBs = +/- 2; send complaints to Godfather c/o Hale)

Undeserving
Daniels RBI single top 1: driven cleanly off the center of the handle to deep west of mound, just enough east of 3B. Crushed.

Ripped, Robbed
G. H. Ruth bases-loaded 2-RBI double down the line top 6: official not only ruled this true hit a catch (to what opposing SS told umpire—“honestly, he didn’t catch it”), but then umpire ruled catch a non-caught foul ball (putting Everchill back at 3B, Daniels to 2B, Toddamus to 1b, G. H. Ruth to batter’s box); but then Coach Everchill responded there was no way it was foul (said with gusto, but only because ball landed beside glove a few feet inside foul line for a fair double) so umpires conferenced to rule Ball In Fact Now Caught After All, Ruth Out, Daniels Out at 3B (but Toddamus safe at 2B despite not tagging up). So much awesome in one play. All of it wrong. Double play.

M.I.A.
Tarde (needs to participate for improved nickname).

From the Enemy’s Perspective
I should have never taken myself out.
I should have put myself back in earlier.
I shouldn’t have taken myself out again.
I should’ve put myself back in again.
We almost had them.
Next time.
If only I’d pitched more.

Past ROY:
1987: 1. Everchill 2. Oklahoma (R.I.P.)
2002: 1. Moreno 2. Levine
2003: 1. Brill (Uno) 2. Goldberg
2004 1. Hardaway 2.
2006 1. Tamir 2. Reverend Coffman
2007 1. K. Daniels 2. The Two That Shall Not Be Named (Sons of Laettner)
2008 1. Ratto 2. Danger
2009 1. Rowdy Roddy 2. Hot Stick Merritt
2010 1. Tarde 2. Hale (Godfather)
2011 ?

One Request For the Scorer
Runs. Batted. In.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

What’s a Bob Saget?

Guy walks into a bar, says: “Give me the Bob Saget.”

Bartender says: “What’s a Bob Saget?”

“Oh it’s simple,” the guy says, “it’s when you’re an Olsen twin, and Bob Saget buys you a milkshake, and then you wake up the next morning face down with a bloody gutted asshole.”

But I’m not here to roast Bob Saget. I’m here to talk about rainy days.

In Kasilof, Alaska we chased the salmon. Reds, silvers, kings. Tossed the pinks, sole and sharks back into the Cook Inlet. Woke up early for the 7 a.m. openers, got the skiffs into the trailers and the trailers hitched to the trucks by 6. In the water by 6:30, hurdling stacks of whitecaps out to the boss’s site in search of our dancing buoys, the pink and orange gumballs half a mile off-shore tied to the sandy Inlet floor with six-braided nylon cords. Reeled the buoys in, tied on one side of our two-hundred-feet-long gillnets, and roared straight at the approaching skiff bringing the twin buoy across the ripping tide. Grabbed the buoy from the frothing wake of the swerving skiff, tied off the other end of the net, got the hell out of the way before the tide took the net out of our skiff like Paul Bunyan’s hissing slingshot. High-fived like mad if we lost no fingers.

We repeated the set twenty-one times, laid a fucking wall for those salmon in under an hour. Then checked a few knots and pointed the skiffs back towards the five parallel lines of smoke escaping our beach-tent chimneys.

We ate like mad. Military speed in the cook tent: pancakes, sausage, bacon, eggs, biscuits, cereal; yes, all in one breakfast. If the pick was coming fast we’d wrap apple slices in bacon and roll those in pancakes, hop in the trucks back for the launch without sitting down. Always grabbed dry gloves, always, no matter the rush. Smoked four or five rolled cigarettes every thirty minutes on shore.

Went out and picked our nets, reeled them in over our skiffs like a bridge between buoys and pulled from one end to the other. Hustled every squirming or stone-dead salmon onto the hull of our boats before the tide changed and ebbed or flooded, emptied our nets like an envelope turning inside out. Ripped the fish from the nets. Snapped, shook them. Felt the firecrackers in our forearms—muscle fever. Cursed the rebelling discs in our backs. Looked up every once in a while and realized the office floor was a sea of blue hills and white foam, the cubicle walls cookies-and-cream topped volcanic peaks—handsome and intimidating motherfuckers rising in every direction except the southern door to the open ocean—and then reestablished our pace with the energy of swinging monkeys.

Came in, chucked the fish into totes, ate up. Lots: pizzas, hamburgers, tater tots, gravy, ham, beans; not all in one meal but single portions fit for wolverines. Went back out, battled the tides and the cold and the cramping of hands into cupholders, wrenches, clubs we just swung at the fish when we could no longer squeeze them. Over and over: pick, return, pitch, eat, dry gloves, six Advil, out to the nets, pick, return, pitch, repeat.

We knew that on off days we’d get plenty of rest, sleep past noon, soak in the sauna, recuperate. But an opening could last for 30 hours, more, just keep us cycling through the motions, spirits rising and falling depending on adrenaline, always eventually settling on “Fuck this, we’re never signing up for this hell on earth and water ever again.” Then we’d reach the closing bell, reel in the first net, fish and everything, all into our boat. Continued stacking up one after another, the twenty-feet-long skiffs sinking deep into the water under the weight. Hooting and hollering, the end in sight. We got macho again, felt the rush of finishing a marathon of labor, grabbed the lead lines and refused to switch to hauling in the lighter corks. Finally returned.

Finished the day pitching fish, untangling nets. Ate. Partied. Sucked on Busch Light like those cans had platinum nipples. Chain-smoked hand-rolled cigarettes and fought of Charlie horses from toenail to spine. And we did this rain or shine. No matter the temperature. No matter the tide. Any fucking day Fish and Game said we could give it a go.

Not like in baseball.

Not like in Alameda last Sunday.

Tsunami 0, Benders 0. Wives and girlfriends: 1.

Thursday, April 08, 2010

John Danger Hirsch doesn’t give a fuck what you think… (Heroes 3, Tsunami 4 in 10 innings)

John Danger Hirsch doesn’t give a fuck what you think about him forgetting a belt. He doesn’t care that you asked him before he got in your car: “Do you have a belt? Do you have socks and cleats?” He doesn’t care that he answered in the offended affirmative without even unzipping his half-packed backpack. He doesn’t care that two years ago you drove him yourself to buy a belt at Sports Authority. Politics, weather systems and transmutable physiological inconveniences never inconvenience this singular force of nature, so stop worrying already that he’d be hindered entering the big ballet only in his leotard, no tutu. Danger just wants the baseball in his hands on a weekend afternoon, seven fielders in black jerseys standing behind him, a brimming index of five-star accessibility/one-star beauties in his Blackberry, and a few rumors of an exceedingly generous nature floating around his place of employment. So why would you want him . . . any other way?

While it wasn’t enjoyable at the time, last year’s final record provides this year’s hearty and refreshed Tsunami with one motivating gift for the 2010 application: plenty of incentive for revenge. 8-12 puts up to twelve well-marinated proteins onto this season’s grill, so let’s see the positive in it. No sense dwelling on the past. Not on often-argued-about failed attempts to steal home that closed the door on a decidedly underwhelming season. Not on reckless pre-game Bay-to-Breakers* participation (cue the music for “Number 14s” first appearance in this blog). Not on last season’s straight out WBC-themed whupping at the hands of the aggressive, fleet and consistent Heroes who last exited our shared field as dominant but humble victors, 8-3.* And hopefully not on any ill-fated, overwhelmingly humbling, disastrous pick-off attempts at second base, no matter how recently or long ago it occurred. This year’s refreshed Tsunami spirit lives only in the present and future.

Of course nobody needed to tell Danger to seize the day last weekend. He didn’t switch shifts at work, calibrate his chemical foundation deep into Friday night, wake up Saturday and spray some Right Guard on Wednesday’s boxers to disappoint his growing legion of groupies that afternoon. No, Danger had a plan on Saturday: locate the fastball, drop the hook out of the sky, wear Coach Rowe’s belt. The results: 6 innings, 8 Ks, 2 runs. Of course the Tsunami did their best to keep Danger focused, waiting till the 5th to score 2 runs when Rolling Mo from RF sparked Eddie-Mo the Elder to 2b on a single and F. Ellis-Carroll decided to show coach Everchill he was here for more than defense with a run-scoring slice to right. Abbott followed with a roller to short that brought in Rolling Mo but Larson followed with a bed-wetting backwards K.

There were Ks for almost everyone, though, thanks to a spectacular outing delivered by the Heros ace #51, Akio. Outside fastballs. Down and outside fastballs. Painting the black. Breaking stuff in surprising counts. Akio held the Tsunami to just those two runs over eight, struck out 10 and allowed only two hits. Hirsch, Brill, Vazquez and Larson all narrowly avoided the first sombrero of the season, Larson perhaps only by sacrificing successfully twice and Hirsch by running out of at-bats. Fortunately for the team in black and green, however, Akio had to leave before the 9th inning after throwing 589 pitches through eight full.

Soon Rolling Mo sparked the second rally of the day again, this time lining a fastball down the line in the bottom of the 9th for a long double that forced him to sprint at least a third of the 180 feet to second base. F. Ellis-Carroll then stepped up and made-up for a teammate’s huge defensive gaffe earlier in the inning by hitting the longest single in Tsunami history straight over the CF’s head, and one of the most clutch. So clutch. Saved a tremendous effort by Danger and a surprising appearance by Number 14 in his first outing of the year. Yes, Number 14 not only arrived in cleats and without pre-game beverages, he also tossed four innings of relief, K-ing 6 and allowing only one hit, a high double to left that surprised more than E. Mo, Sr. among the Big Fat Outfield. Catorce gave up only one run, however, and in the top of the tenth he stranded runners at the corners to set the momentum-train rolling towards a Disney-movie ending for the Tsunami.

Abbott’s power was respected to the extreme, and he was walked on four pitches to open the bottom of the 10th. Coach Everchill signaled for a steal of second, and Larson took the opening pitch as Abbott deleted his emails, emptied his wallet of receipts, and slid into second base fifteen feet under the throw into shallow center. Crafty, the old guy. Larson decided to pop only one bunt attempt foul and moved Abbott to third on Coach Everchill’s orders, setting the table for Beustad and Vazquez to swing for a walk-off game-winning RBI in the three and four holes. Unfortunately for these big bats, however, four balls came Beustad’s way and one came directly Vazquez’s way, beaning him to load the bases. More than one impartial observer noted the disappointment in both batter’s reactions after taking a base instead of swinging for the game. That’s how we want them to feel. But of course two men’s disappointment can always be one man’s threesome, and we’re not just talking about our starting pitchers and long relievers working their magic from North Beach to Portrero Hill, no sir. Of course Morton the Elder made magic at the plate with his composite bamboo shaft and a 2-1 fastball against a drawn-in infield. Of course he lined it clean into left field. Of course we bounced off and slapped him on the helmet like American Legion players. Fucking awesome to have the Hero on our side this time.

Lost in the Shuffle: Beustad and Abbott joining Larson in the roadrunner derby, Abbott’s coming at a particularly significant time (and taking no shortage of time, one talent evaluator observed), and Beustad’s bordering on catcher’s indifference . . . Vazquez connecting for freedom in the bottom of the second but meeting a totalitarian wind blowing in from center field . . . Beustad making all the plays from SS in pinch duty despite recognizing his arm felt like dried bubblegum during warm-ups . . . Morton sensing a pickoff attempt and getting into a brawl with the infield dirt four steps left of first base, losing, but seeing enough of the humor in it to climb off his back with dignity as the baseball settled in the backstop’s pud . . . Rowe flawless in yanking bat away from particularly influential Heroes hitters in key spots . . . Fluffy camping on the infield sod and not giving into the running game . . . Moreno uncorking a laser just high from deep right . . . Abbott getting fussy with a sharp liner to his right with men on base, laying out and, back-be-damned, making the catch . . . Coach Everchill vowing to learn Spanish with avowed purpose of intercepting certain centerfieldish-sent communications . . . Brill earning a week’s worth of hot tubs and knee wraps with ten-innings of inspired catching duty . . . Frankel gutting out second-base duty with a still-barking slinger wing . . . Did we mention Brill caught 10 innings! That’s right. Not bad for a man just ten years older than twenty-three. You made those little Pumas proud, Coach . . . until next week, Sunday against the Benders at Encinal H.S. in Alameda. You know Danger will be there. He won’t miss it. So please bring extra belts.

Game Ball: Coach Everchill says Morton. The view here says Danger, Catorce and the veteran LF earned equal shares. They’re have to split it or share it, and in that case I’m not sure of the pronunciation, but I believe it’s spelled something like “ménage a trios.”

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Opening Day 2010: Blue Claws 3, Tsunami 11

Revenge is a dish best served cold, preferably around a stripper’s navel with plenty of greens to separate the sushi from the layers of Sam’s Club perfume. With this in mind John Danger Hirsch took the ball for the Tsunami on this 2010 Opening Day, intent on erasing memories of last year’s finale, a thorough spanking at the hands of the then-mighty Blue Claws, around about 22-3. Perhaps because he was uncharacteristically wearing a belt, perhaps because the color of his socks was surprisingly close to the spectrum of team colors, Danger looked the part of a new man from the beginning. Now while a cynic might say his smile was due mainly to the incredible luck of finding open service stations after midnight both the previous nights—no matter how run-down, beat-up, tunneled through and otherwise largely ignored by every other fixed-gear enthusiast the whole Mission-wide these stops may have appeared—the preferred view here is that Danger simply carried the smirk of the confident hurler, one who’d perfectly prepared his chemical foundation two weekends in a row, a hurler who knew the BCs were in for quite a surprise this go around, a man who knew that nobody or their brother cares to face an annoying lefty with three pitches to start a season. In any case, what can’t be argued is five innings of no-hit ball, seven Ks, only one base-on-balls, and zero regrets about Saturday night’s settling, er, choice for moonlight fueling. Keep it rolling, Danger! May the ghost of Whitey Ford guide you.

Oh, and there was some action at the plate, too. While Larson, Vazquez, Morton and Brill preferred to start the year off without raising any expectations, choosing to K and set the BCs up for a later-inning sneak-attack, freshly signed free agent Buestad decided to just risk a line drive to right in his first at bat and ended up scoring on Vazquez’s second-time-around double, a missile bathed in hot sauce sent screaming down the left field line that may have Coach Rowe’s significant other busy in the laundry room yet. Or at least the third basemen’s. Of course much respect was showered upon Larson for selecting to K again in lieu of a double play, keeping the bases splattered for the violent-swinging Vazquez’s Viking assault on the cowhide of a steer that clearly messed with his family.

Much appreciation was given to Coffman around the fourth inning for pointing out that the next person in a 3-ball count could move out of the way of a searing fastball, they’d get the base anyway. Only Dash and Abbott were disappointed to not have heard this earlier, both proudly sporting entirely unnecessary combat buttons after reaching 3-2.

Of course, just as any Tenderloin-appropriated Ziploc runs outs of contents sometime between the last coyote howl and the first rooster crow, Danger found himself out of bullets in the sixth inning, surrendering four consecutive lasers that reached a decidedly-suddenly perturbed and winded outfield (hey, they don’t call us Big Fat OF for nothing). Fortunately, however, Coach Everchill had a few tricks left in his own bag of goodies, immediately summoning Don Ratto from the hot corner to chuck heavy four-seamers at the Danger-adjusted lineup looking by now for loose breaking balls. Five more Ks, only two hits later, the Tsunami were headed to the 500 Club for an 11-3 victory celebration, even if only Abbott and Larson were able to attend. Word is they had no problem celebrating their accomplishments quite vocally, only finding resistance when often trying to heavily pat their own backs over and again.

Lost in the shuffle: Abbott, hitting leadoff, four vertebra fused together with public high school peanut butter, still managing a HBP (however unnecessary), BB, single, monumental foul ball, and sac bunt (again, however unnecessary, but you’ll find no judgment here!). Larson and Morton both avoiding season-opening sombreros despite the fastest two Ks possible. Ratto redefining clutch with two two-out , bases-splattered line drives for RBIs while the game was still tight. Brill remembering the size of his William Wallace before his fifth at-bat and turning the ball into an egg-white omelet the CF found on the warning track. Moreno tracking flies in right as smooth as Danger south of Market round 2 or 3 am Friday past. Dash picking it sick with the leather in his first Tsunami game, earning extra points for the high-degree-of-difficulty and perfectly-bounced throws to first, each seeming to hit the same sprinkler cover before landing softly in Brill’s big mitt. Fluffy handling a hot smash smoothly (okay, that sounds wrong) and throwing a dart to first, plus putting the best nickname league-wide into play. Chu tireless behind the plate, cannon-balling enough warm-ups down to 2nd, on the nose, that BCs stole 0 bags due to intimidation factor alone. Larson running just deep enough the wrong way into the gap before recovering to make slide-diving for an otherwise easy pop-up to left-center absolutely required. Buestad and Dash both ranging to the fence for insane grabs of foul balls In key spots. Larson teleporting from 1st to 2nd to take the team lead in SBs before fruitlessly diving a second time in center a few innings later. Rowe flawless in his signs and sent-runners. A huge net hanging over the batter’s box saving at least seven pop-outs. Best weather and field conditions we may have all season. Frankel attracting hordes of groupies as first-base coach with an attitude and an icepack under his wing. And a generally good time had by all.

Game Ball: Danger’s all the way. Please don’t get it dirty. We might need it later in the season.

More pictures from the game are here

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

More pictures (thanks Curt!)

http://picasaweb.google.com/Curtisp1982/TsunamiVsStorm#

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Pictures from Pac Bell Park (2003)

Friend me on Facebook if you can’t see these:

Tsunami vs. Steelheads, 2003