Wednesday nights, from late spring through summer, I play softball. It is my job to do the game recaps. I try and make them somewhat interesting (in the past I have referenced anyone from Nietzsche to the Muppets), not just a who scored what, how. Below is the intro of the recap of yesterday's game:
As a four year veteran of the [office's] softball teams, I have become at peace with the fact that we may never be good. The somewhat absolute truth about our chances on the softball field -- for those new to this office, they are poor -- can be comforting. Kind of in the way an old, favorite sweater is. In the end, you know you are probably going to lose, so just enjoy a nice spring day and try not to get into trouble for drinking remarkably beer-like beverages on the Mall.
Some folks on the team, though, come into every season thinking "this might be the year." Sorry, I have to be a wet blanket. That is not the audacity of hope; that is the insanity of hope. The kind of hope that has people spending thousands of dollars over their lifetime playing the lottery. And losing 99.99% of the time, wining $5 dollars every now and then. Sometimes the payoff can come from hard work; ultra longshot aspirations that would require some sort of divine intervention creates false expectations. It reminds me of the old joke: a guy is talking to God and asks him what a million years is to him. God says a second. The guy asks God what a billion dollars is to him. God says a penny. The man asks God for a penny. "Sure," God says, "In a second."
Yet, yesterday's game provided dangerous grist for the hopemongerers on our team: a crushing 22-6 victory for [our team] over [the other team]. I don't know much about them either; I just wish we could play them every week. They could be the Washington Generals to our slightly better Washington Generals.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment