Ephraim Pai had a bad day. He played poker for eleven hours and ended up winning exactly 27 dollars. At one point he had been up over four hundred. He knew there was a spirit residing in the chair that he had been using and although he had replaced the chair he was almost sure the spirit had followed him. He knew how devious these spirits could be and he held them almost completely accountable for his string of bad luck. Of course the fact that he had tried to draw to an inside straight at least three times had nothing to do with it.
He put the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking spot. He had been playing poker at the home of one Charles Ignatz. He always wondered what kind of a name Ignatz was. German? Jewish? Czechslovakian? He didn't bother to ask because he thought Charles might be offended. Charles was a rather overweight balding gay man who wore loud tropical shirts, drank quantities of gin and tonic and smoked salem 100's while they played cards. Ephraim didn't drink or smoke but neither bothered him. He could play cards in the middle of a blizzard sitting on a block of ice.
He knew his wife would not be happy with him if he told her how much he made so he had stopped telling her. She had an income from her family that they used for for all the bills and if Ephraim didn't ask her for money he wouldn't hear any grief. His wife was a strange bird who was pretty easy going and usually seemed happy although she didn't talk much and spent most of her time reading books that Ephraim had never heard of. Ephraim didn't read much. He watched some tv but most of the time he was playing poker or looking for a game. He had quite a few friends who regularly hosted poker games and Ephraim would sometimes drive two hundreds miles for a good game.
He pulled into the driveway of his house and his wife and son were standing on the front lawn.
"Look what Johnnie found."
His wife held up a one hundred dollar bill.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Mega Million Fever
from sf gate:
-- If you knew one person in Canada, and you had to draw at random one name out of a hat containing the names of every person in Canada, you would be 5.7 times more likely to draw your friend's name than hit the Mega Millions jackpot.
Source: Mike Orkin, Ph.D., managing scientist at Exponent Corp., statistics professor at California State University East Bay
-- If you knew one person in Canada, and you had to draw at random one name out of a hat containing the names of every person in Canada, you would be 5.7 times more likely to draw your friend's name than hit the Mega Millions jackpot.
Source: Mike Orkin, Ph.D., managing scientist at Exponent Corp., statistics professor at California State University East Bay
Monday, June 20, 2005
happy father's day
My dad, living it up in Puerto Vallarta. At father's day yesterday out in Livermore he paid my nephew Alec $1 for each fly he killed(in the house). Alec made $12, although three of them were from a spider web.
The Source
JABBERWOCKY
Lewis Carroll
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Lewis Carroll
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Downing st. memos..ho hum..
Why is it that the mainstream media here in the U.S. have been treating the Downing Street memos as some kind of quirky European boo-boo? Oh... Ho hum, those silly Brits with their snooty sense of propriety about International Law.
When I did see an article in the U.S. press the emphasis was on the fact that we knew we didn't have an exit strategy instead of the real story which is that the whole entry strategy was a calculated, cynical, unlawful, unconstitutional manipulation of "Intelligience" to justify and scare the public into accepting a pre-determined agenda to invade a country that posed no real threat to the United States.
Is the whole Ho -hum quality to the non-reporting of this story because it's pretty much old news? Didn't we already know that Bush and his pack of lying cronies did everything they could to sell us on this debacle? How many different reasons were given by the Bush administration to justify the war...something like 34?
Don't we already know that we were screwed and are still getting screwed?
To the tune of how many billions?
And instead of having this stupid war to consume our minds, money, and energy, what could we have done as a nation in the meantime?
Healthcare? Shore up Soc. Security? Gain real intelligience about how to identify and reduce the possibilites for terrorist action in the future?
ho hum, ho hum.
When I did see an article in the U.S. press the emphasis was on the fact that we knew we didn't have an exit strategy instead of the real story which is that the whole entry strategy was a calculated, cynical, unlawful, unconstitutional manipulation of "Intelligience" to justify and scare the public into accepting a pre-determined agenda to invade a country that posed no real threat to the United States.
Is the whole Ho -hum quality to the non-reporting of this story because it's pretty much old news? Didn't we already know that Bush and his pack of lying cronies did everything they could to sell us on this debacle? How many different reasons were given by the Bush administration to justify the war...something like 34?
Don't we already know that we were screwed and are still getting screwed?
To the tune of how many billions?
And instead of having this stupid war to consume our minds, money, and energy, what could we have done as a nation in the meantime?
Healthcare? Shore up Soc. Security? Gain real intelligience about how to identify and reduce the possibilites for terrorist action in the future?
ho hum, ho hum.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Last Day in Vegas chapter six
On his twelfth birthday Johnnie decided it was time to spend some of his ill-gotten gain. He had waited for three years thinking that the authorities and/or the family of Richie Patterson would probably catch up to him. He realized they probably didn't know the value of the baseball cards and so were oblivious to their financial loss and he had counted on the fact that since Richie was not allowed to play with even toy guns he would probably not tell his mother that he had traded the cards for a broken pellet rifle.
Johnnie had hidden the money inside the wall behind the bathtub. He had double-bagged it and when he retrieved it he found it was still in good condition. He still hadn't come up with a plan of what to do with the money. He knew that if he started buying things his naturally suspicious father would wonder where he was getting the money and would probably assume that johnnie was shoplifting.
Johnnie decided what he needed was a lawyer. Someone who could invest the money for him, create an account for him, like a trust, and wouldn't tell his parents. He assumed that this would not be an easy thing to do for he sensed that most lawyers didn't have time for crazy kids and their ill-gotten booty. He needed someone who was slightly crooked themselves but not crooked enough to want to face the spectre of being known as the lawyer who had fleeced a twelve year old asian kid.
Johnnie got the yellow pages down from the shelf in the kitchen. He started thumbing through the pages and found the section on lawyers. Some of them had big ads. Johnnie knew his man would not have a big ad. He started reading the names that were listed with just an address and phone number. Most of the lawyers were located downtown, near the Capitol, or in the industrial park area. He was looking for someone in an out-of-the-way location.
He came upon a name. Richard Zellmer. 116 Farthing street.
"Farting street" Johnnie said aloud. "That's got to be my man."
Johnnie knew Farthing street was adjacent to the railroad tracks on what was known as the poor part of town. Johnnie tried not to ride his bike around down there because he had been chased and had rocks thrown at him by name-calling local kids.
They had called him gook-boy and chinaman. There weren't too many asians in Austin in those days and even though it was fairly liberal for Texas it was still redneck country.
Johnnie went back into his room and took the bagged money back to the bathroom and stowed it away again. Then he thought about it and pulled out two one hundred dollar bills. He packed up the rest and pushed it into the wall behind the tub. He put the money in his sock, re-tied his shoe, got his bike from the backyard and headed off into the hot Austin summer afternoon.
Zellmer's office was on the second floor of what looked like an old run-down condominium of the stucco variety. The r at the end of his name had fallen off or been pried off so the sign said Richard Zellme Attorney at Law.
'Buy and Zell me' Johnnie thought to himself.
When he got to the door it seemed more like an apartment than an office and Johnnie could hear a television from behind the door. He wasn't sure if he should just go in or ring the bell. He rang the doorbell.
He could hear someone moving around inside and then a voice.
"Hold on, I'll be right there."
More sounds of things being pushed around as if Zellmer was frantically cleaning up in expectation of a big client.
Finally the door opened and a man who looked like he had just woken up from a three day binge opened the door. His hair was greasy and pushed back. He needed a shave desperately. His shirt was wrinkled and had what looked like spaghetti sauce splattered on it. Johnnie thought for a second that it might be blood and then he realized if it was blood it would be probably be brown.
"What do you want?"
Zellmer's professionalism didn't seem to extend to a twelve year old asian kid wearing a Texas Longhorns baseball hat.
Johhnie was a bit taken aback. He was starting to rethink his plan. The new plan was to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible.
"Well, what do you want? Ya little fuck."
Now Johnnie was pissed. He didn't give a crap for this low life but he realized he probably wouldn't find anyone more suitable for what he had in mind.
Johnnie bent down and pulled one of the hundred dollar bills from his sock.
"Are you Richard Zell-me, the lawyer?"
Zellmer looked irritated.
"Zellmer. Yes, I am a lawyer. What do you want?"
Johnnie waved the hundred dollar bill in front of Zellmer's bloodshot eyes.
"Want to make some cash?"
Zellmer's eyes widened. This was a first for him. Most of his clients were small-time divorce cases, petty criminal defense cases, or boring procedural trust issues.
"What's the deal?"
"May I come in?" Johnnie decided to play it cool. He wanted to handle himself like James Garner from the Rockford files.
"Yeah, yeah. Come on in." Zellmer opened the door.
Johnnie walked in and took a look around the room. Empty pizza boxes were strewn about haphazardly. The coffee table was covered with empty beer bottles and a spilled ashtray. There was a small mirror on the table with smudges on it. Around the room papers and boxes of more papers were strewn about as if someone had been rifling through them looking for something. The carpet was shit-green and most of the furniture looked like it had come from the Knights of Templar thrift store down the street. A large color TV was on with the sound down and Gene Rayburn was silently presiding over the Matchgame 74 crew. Charles Nelson Reilly looked like he was having a good time.
"Nice place you've got here." Johnnie remarked snidely.
"Ok wise-guy, what's the deal? Where did you get the C-note?"
Johnnie stopped and thought for a second.
"It's not important where I got it. I just want to know if I can hire you to do something for me."
"What's that? What is it you want done and let me tell you I don't do too much for a hundred bucks."
"I've got more. That's the problem. I came into some cash and I can't let my parents know about it. My father's got a gambling problem and I want to keep it away from him. I want you to set up an account for me so I can buy stocks and stuff. I'll pay you two thousand dollars to set it up. But I want it all done with receipts, notarized, the whole deal."
"Two thousand bucks. That's not bad. How much money do you have kid?"
"I want to invest ten thousand dollars."
Zellmer stood there and thought about it.
"Okay, let me do some research and I'll see what I can do. When can you get me the two thousand?"
"Here's a hundred bucks. I'll give you the rest when I see the papers and have made sure the account is for real."
Johhnie held out the the bill. Zellmer snatched it from his hand and held it up to the light.
"Okay kid. Come back on Wednesday and I'll let you know what I've come up with."
Johnnie left, got on his bike and rode home. Before he got home he took out the other hundred dollar bill and when he walked in the door he started yelling.
"Mom, mom! Look what I found! A hundred dollar bill! On my birthday!"
Johnnie's mother Su Han Yan Gow put down her copy of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead and stared with her mouth open at the hundred dollar bill.
Johnnie had hidden the money inside the wall behind the bathtub. He had double-bagged it and when he retrieved it he found it was still in good condition. He still hadn't come up with a plan of what to do with the money. He knew that if he started buying things his naturally suspicious father would wonder where he was getting the money and would probably assume that johnnie was shoplifting.
Johnnie decided what he needed was a lawyer. Someone who could invest the money for him, create an account for him, like a trust, and wouldn't tell his parents. He assumed that this would not be an easy thing to do for he sensed that most lawyers didn't have time for crazy kids and their ill-gotten booty. He needed someone who was slightly crooked themselves but not crooked enough to want to face the spectre of being known as the lawyer who had fleeced a twelve year old asian kid.
Johnnie got the yellow pages down from the shelf in the kitchen. He started thumbing through the pages and found the section on lawyers. Some of them had big ads. Johnnie knew his man would not have a big ad. He started reading the names that were listed with just an address and phone number. Most of the lawyers were located downtown, near the Capitol, or in the industrial park area. He was looking for someone in an out-of-the-way location.
He came upon a name. Richard Zellmer. 116 Farthing street.
"Farting street" Johnnie said aloud. "That's got to be my man."
Johnnie knew Farthing street was adjacent to the railroad tracks on what was known as the poor part of town. Johnnie tried not to ride his bike around down there because he had been chased and had rocks thrown at him by name-calling local kids.
They had called him gook-boy and chinaman. There weren't too many asians in Austin in those days and even though it was fairly liberal for Texas it was still redneck country.
Johnnie went back into his room and took the bagged money back to the bathroom and stowed it away again. Then he thought about it and pulled out two one hundred dollar bills. He packed up the rest and pushed it into the wall behind the tub. He put the money in his sock, re-tied his shoe, got his bike from the backyard and headed off into the hot Austin summer afternoon.
Zellmer's office was on the second floor of what looked like an old run-down condominium of the stucco variety. The r at the end of his name had fallen off or been pried off so the sign said Richard Zellme Attorney at Law.
'Buy and Zell me' Johnnie thought to himself.
When he got to the door it seemed more like an apartment than an office and Johnnie could hear a television from behind the door. He wasn't sure if he should just go in or ring the bell. He rang the doorbell.
He could hear someone moving around inside and then a voice.
"Hold on, I'll be right there."
More sounds of things being pushed around as if Zellmer was frantically cleaning up in expectation of a big client.
Finally the door opened and a man who looked like he had just woken up from a three day binge opened the door. His hair was greasy and pushed back. He needed a shave desperately. His shirt was wrinkled and had what looked like spaghetti sauce splattered on it. Johnnie thought for a second that it might be blood and then he realized if it was blood it would be probably be brown.
"What do you want?"
Zellmer's professionalism didn't seem to extend to a twelve year old asian kid wearing a Texas Longhorns baseball hat.
Johhnie was a bit taken aback. He was starting to rethink his plan. The new plan was to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible.
"Well, what do you want? Ya little fuck."
Now Johnnie was pissed. He didn't give a crap for this low life but he realized he probably wouldn't find anyone more suitable for what he had in mind.
Johnnie bent down and pulled one of the hundred dollar bills from his sock.
"Are you Richard Zell-me, the lawyer?"
Zellmer looked irritated.
"Zellmer. Yes, I am a lawyer. What do you want?"
Johnnie waved the hundred dollar bill in front of Zellmer's bloodshot eyes.
"Want to make some cash?"
Zellmer's eyes widened. This was a first for him. Most of his clients were small-time divorce cases, petty criminal defense cases, or boring procedural trust issues.
"What's the deal?"
"May I come in?" Johnnie decided to play it cool. He wanted to handle himself like James Garner from the Rockford files.
"Yeah, yeah. Come on in." Zellmer opened the door.
Johnnie walked in and took a look around the room. Empty pizza boxes were strewn about haphazardly. The coffee table was covered with empty beer bottles and a spilled ashtray. There was a small mirror on the table with smudges on it. Around the room papers and boxes of more papers were strewn about as if someone had been rifling through them looking for something. The carpet was shit-green and most of the furniture looked like it had come from the Knights of Templar thrift store down the street. A large color TV was on with the sound down and Gene Rayburn was silently presiding over the Matchgame 74 crew. Charles Nelson Reilly looked like he was having a good time.
"Nice place you've got here." Johnnie remarked snidely.
"Ok wise-guy, what's the deal? Where did you get the C-note?"
Johnnie stopped and thought for a second.
"It's not important where I got it. I just want to know if I can hire you to do something for me."
"What's that? What is it you want done and let me tell you I don't do too much for a hundred bucks."
"I've got more. That's the problem. I came into some cash and I can't let my parents know about it. My father's got a gambling problem and I want to keep it away from him. I want you to set up an account for me so I can buy stocks and stuff. I'll pay you two thousand dollars to set it up. But I want it all done with receipts, notarized, the whole deal."
"Two thousand bucks. That's not bad. How much money do you have kid?"
"I want to invest ten thousand dollars."
Zellmer stood there and thought about it.
"Okay, let me do some research and I'll see what I can do. When can you get me the two thousand?"
"Here's a hundred bucks. I'll give you the rest when I see the papers and have made sure the account is for real."
Johhnie held out the the bill. Zellmer snatched it from his hand and held it up to the light.
"Okay kid. Come back on Wednesday and I'll let you know what I've come up with."
Johnnie left, got on his bike and rode home. Before he got home he took out the other hundred dollar bill and when he walked in the door he started yelling.
"Mom, mom! Look what I found! A hundred dollar bill! On my birthday!"
Johnnie's mother Su Han Yan Gow put down her copy of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead and stared with her mouth open at the hundred dollar bill.
Idaho?
I remember being in Idaho back in the sixties when I was kid. I'm not sure what we doing there. Maybe we were on some family vacation in our red squareback VW or perhaps when we were moving to California from New Hampshire. All I remember is being in Sun Valley, Idaho, which is a big ski resort, in the middle of the summer and it was hot. I remember being in a hotel or restaurant, someplace kind of nice, but they had what looked like aluminum foil in these neat square panels on the walls and people had pressed or scratched their names and initials all over the walls. I thought it was the coolest thing.
That's all I remember of Idaho.
That's all I remember of Idaho.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Last Day in Vegas chapter five
It was a green vinyl handbag with a long thin strap. He lifted it up and set it between his legs as he drove. He pulled out a leather wallet and opened it. Her California drivers license said her name was Eleanor Susan Capwell. 168 Morning Dew Lane, Capitola CA. Eyes green hair brown 5'9" 137 lbs. DOB 6/12/1965.
She had 43 dollars in her wallet and several credit cards. Inside the purse was also the nickel plated .38 as well as several lipstick cases, a compact, an hotel key for room 569 at the Belaggio, a pack of spearmint gum, a pack of unfiltered Camel cigarettes, a shiny lighter that looked expensive, and a tattered paperback copy of Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.
'Hmm' Johnnie thought to himself. ' A literary psycho'.
'Or a literary hit-woman. No, she was no hit-woman. That was obvious. She had said her gun was named revenge and she meant it. But what had he ever done to her? He didn't remember her but that didn't mean much. There were countless times Johnnie had been told of things that he had done that he had no recollection of the next day. Perhaps this was one of those cases. Had he slept with the woman and not called her the next day? He had known women who had freaked out about that but being killed for it seemed a bit excessive. No, it had to be something bigger than that. Money? Did he steal her money? Did he shame her in some unforgivable way. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' He thought. 'Had he "scorned" her'?
He pulled one of the Camels from the pack and lighted it with the expensive looking lighter. He had cheated death once today, a few more cigarettes couldn't hurt.
What it was he had done to this woman to drive her crazy he would have to figure out because she probably wouldn't quit now.
He thought about going to the police but he knew they would be no help. After countless run-ins with the local police Johnnie had a bit of a reputation as a ne'er-do-well. They would be happy to see him gone. They might even consider helping her. No, he was going to have to deal with this crazy lady himself. Perhaps now that he knew who she was he could scare her off. Then he remembered the gleam in her eye as she had said 'Revenge' and he wasn't so sure.
She had 43 dollars in her wallet and several credit cards. Inside the purse was also the nickel plated .38 as well as several lipstick cases, a compact, an hotel key for room 569 at the Belaggio, a pack of spearmint gum, a pack of unfiltered Camel cigarettes, a shiny lighter that looked expensive, and a tattered paperback copy of Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.
'Hmm' Johnnie thought to himself. ' A literary psycho'.
'Or a literary hit-woman. No, she was no hit-woman. That was obvious. She had said her gun was named revenge and she meant it. But what had he ever done to her? He didn't remember her but that didn't mean much. There were countless times Johnnie had been told of things that he had done that he had no recollection of the next day. Perhaps this was one of those cases. Had he slept with the woman and not called her the next day? He had known women who had freaked out about that but being killed for it seemed a bit excessive. No, it had to be something bigger than that. Money? Did he steal her money? Did he shame her in some unforgivable way. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' He thought. 'Had he "scorned" her'?
He pulled one of the Camels from the pack and lighted it with the expensive looking lighter. He had cheated death once today, a few more cigarettes couldn't hurt.
What it was he had done to this woman to drive her crazy he would have to figure out because she probably wouldn't quit now.
He thought about going to the police but he knew they would be no help. After countless run-ins with the local police Johnnie had a bit of a reputation as a ne'er-do-well. They would be happy to see him gone. They might even consider helping her. No, he was going to have to deal with this crazy lady himself. Perhaps now that he knew who she was he could scare her off. Then he remembered the gleam in her eye as she had said 'Revenge' and he wasn't so sure.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Baseball in the Big House
Today was the day. Off to prison. No, not like that, or for that, should i say. A guy that occasionally plays with my pickup hardball team hooked us up with a woman who organizes baseball teams to play against the San Quentin Giants. We sent them our driver's license #'s and Soc. Security #'s and passed the screening process and today at 8 am we showed up at San Quentin. On the drive over the prison jokes were never ending. After waiting around for awhile at the entrance we went through two checkpoints and then walked through the main courtyard, around a building, and POW we were in the yard. I think most of us had assumed that we would be separated from the general populace by some kind of barrier but no, we were right there walking through the inmates.
They have a field that the inmates built that covers about half of "the yard" and it's pretty nice although the infield has no grass. It was a beautiful day and there were lots of guys out in the yard. Most of them wearing their prison blues but a lot of them had their shirts off sporting a variety of tattoos. One that stood out was a guy who had Co Co County across his stomach(Contra Costa County). They didn't really look all that scary which might be misleading.
Charley Manson used to be at San Quentin and it was said that he used to run out onto the field while they were playing. I would have liked to have seen that.
In addition to the ball field there is a basketball court, horseshoes, and even a tennis court. There was a doubles match going on and one guy was wearing tennis whites. Probably a white collar criminal who somehow didn't make it into the country club correctional facility.
There was also a large bandstand with instruments already set up. The band hadn't started yet and the sound system was blasting the Allman Bros. song "In Memory Of Elizabeth Reed". I didn't ask how she died.
I think we were a little nervous.
We were only allowed to bring our baseball stuff, no cameras, phones, street clothes, etc. Cigarettes are okay but only for another three weeks and then they become "contraband".
We got our cleats on and took some infield. I immediately let a ball go through my legs and Aaron, who was trading off with me at shortstop said to be careful 'cause I was showing weakness.
I wasn't really that nervous...what was the worse that could happen? A shiv in the kidney? hmm.
The game started. Their pitcher was called Stretch for obvious reasons. He was about 6'6" and built like a rail. He had a pretty quick fastball and a hard late breaking curve.
First inning was scoreless 3 up 3 down on both sides.
Top of the second we got a bit of a rally going and scored 3 runs to take the lead on some hard won hits. We had eighteen guys (which was too many) and everybody was batting. I batted tenth and at my first at bat I sat on his curve and whacked one down the third base line. Unfortunately the third baseman made a fine play and I was thrown out. But I felt okay with that and at the bottom of the second went out to play shortstop.
Of course the first batter would hit to me. I fielded it cleanly and threw him out at first. Yes. My first put out in prison. Sweet.
The next guy up for them ropes one to right center that bounces over the barbwire topped chain link fence. Ground rule double. As he pulls up at second I say, Hey, nice hit. He doesn't even look at me.
Okey dokey.
After that was a bit of mayhem as they scored 6 runs and got our our pitcher fairly rattled. He isn't one of our regular guys and since he had organized the event he had started himself as pitcher. He definitely would not have been any of our guys first choice. After the inning ended he said he wanted to throw one more inning and was pretty much told to hand the ball over to someone else. It didn't really matter though, they ended up scoring eighteen runs total to our four. Aaron, the other shorstop, hit one over the right field fence for a home run which was our only other run in the game.
I got up again in the sixth and got a base hit over the shortstops head. We ended up only getting six hits and I think, the official tally on our errors was also six, but I think we definitely had more than that.
During the game some of the inmates came up and chatted with us though the fence near the dugout. They were good guys and were giving us shit. They particularly liked Brian and got on us when he was pitching and we made some errors. Of course Brian had dropped two easy fly balls when he was playing centerfield but they didn't mention that.
The inmates could walk all around the yard and even stand or sit at the edge of the outfield against the fence. There were a bunch of guys out there and the rule was it if it hit them it was a ground rule double. In about the eighth inning a guy was sitting out there and he had a giant silver belt buckle that was reflecting the sun right into the batters eyes. He was totally oblivious and the home plate umpire had to yell out to him to cover it up.
At a couple times during the game suddenly all the inmates would freeze and get down on one knee. It was kind of eery. When there is an emergency the guards ring a bell and all the inamtes have to get down and freeze so the guards can see what is happening. We were told to remain standing. Then they would sound the all clear and everything would go back to normal. It happened twice while we were there and no one on our team heard the warning bell. All of a sudden the players would get down and we would realize the bell must have gone off.
It was a good game, we had fun and afterwards we lined up to shake the opposing teams hands and they all seemed like nice guys who were appreciative of us for coming out to play them.
We have plans to go back and play them again. Hopefully with the jitters gone and a trimmed down team we can be a little more competitive. I'll definitely go back-I'm batting .500 in the Prison League.
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