by Roger Swingle
Modsquad Reporter Extraordinaire
The squad came out of the gates like a nag ready for the glue factory in game 1. Their adrenaline level was comparable to yesterday's can of soda left out in the sun, flat and full of bloated dead yellow jackets. Running into outs, stopping dead between the bases and looking around, making hitting the cutoff and backing up plays seem like some long dead ritual from some long forgotten lovecraftian primordial civilization.
The Pernod ten seemed like the reincarnation of the 1927 murderers row Yankee team, reeling off runs between snickering at the ineptitude and disinterest of the dimers, like some rocker beating up Pete Townshend's mod doppelgänger in quadrophenia.
Not much to report in the way of stellar plays in game 1, and Dr. Kevorkian arrived in inning 5 to pull the plug in a much needed mercy killing.
Now the good part. After a much needed pep talk by Nick, I think he said "Let's Go" and everyone shrugged and said "ok" the squad put 4 up in the first, only to watch the 'nods gain ground and take a 10-6 lead. At that point the scorekeeper passed the book to Mike, Felix's ride, hoping to change the luck of the team. The crucial moment was the 6th inning, when the mod squad tied the score on a gorgeous string of hits, and a few miscues by the Pernods, who maybe were finally feeling a little tightness as to their position in unseating the champs. A key hit by Alan with two down in the 7th, after the squad let up a run in the bottom of the sixth, tied it up again.
After a scoreless 8th, the mods put up 4 in the ninth to take it to a final this week, weather permitting. As a bystander, I must say this team, the reigning champs, showed the caliber of determination reminiscent of londoners during the blitz, taking all that their opponents could throw at them, and emerging victorious. Stellar batting by Greg and Nick kept us in it, and all contributed in the win with timely hits and exemplary defense in game 2. So now we wait for Tropical storm Lee to leave the area, and await a final tilt in the gloaming sometime soon.
A word to Pernod, be afraid, be very afraid
AP
M. Thoneberry
Modsquad Reporter Extraordinaire
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| © Linda Dias |
The Pernod ten seemed like the reincarnation of the 1927 murderers row Yankee team, reeling off runs between snickering at the ineptitude and disinterest of the dimers, like some rocker beating up Pete Townshend's mod doppelgänger in quadrophenia.
 |
| © Linda Dias |
Now the good part. After a much needed pep talk by Nick, I think he said "Let's Go" and everyone shrugged and said "ok" the squad put 4 up in the first, only to watch the 'nods gain ground and take a 10-6 lead. At that point the scorekeeper passed the book to Mike, Felix's ride, hoping to change the luck of the team. The crucial moment was the 6th inning, when the mod squad tied the score on a gorgeous string of hits, and a few miscues by the Pernods, who maybe were finally feeling a little tightness as to their position in unseating the champs. A key hit by Alan with two down in the 7th, after the squad let up a run in the bottom of the sixth, tied it up again.
After a scoreless 8th, the mods put up 4 in the ninth to take it to a final this week, weather permitting. As a bystander, I must say this team, the reigning champs, showed the caliber of determination reminiscent of londoners during the blitz, taking all that their opponents could throw at them, and emerging victorious. Stellar batting by Greg and Nick kept us in it, and all contributed in the win with timely hits and exemplary defense in game 2. So now we wait for Tropical storm Lee to leave the area, and await a final tilt in the gloaming sometime soon.
A word to Pernod, be afraid, be very afraid
AP
M. Thoneberry
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