Well Fans, Saturday May 9 goes down in the books as much for its heroics as for its ignominy. The game began with a challenge: Republican Dave and Compleat Pete Berwald vs. Steady Glen Cebulash, Kurt "Dr. K (and it ain't for Kant)" Mosser and Hans "the nuclear option" Soo. Early on it seemed like the Oakwood "3" would dominate and by the end of the 2nd inning (with a gorgeous 2 RBI triple by Cebulash) it looked like a done deal. But then, at the top of the 3rd, Cebulash, usually a reliable junkball hurler, got lit up for 9 runs. Compleat Pete took him downtown twice, first with a 3-run dinger and then with a grand slam and, it pains your humble narrator to have to say this, but that insufferable gas-bag rocked the park. To add insult to injury, Hans, a pitching phenom with the grit and grace of a thorougbred, gave up two runs in the top of the 4th to end the longest scoreless streak in the history of the league. It was noted by one and all that the sun, high and mighty though it was, shone a little less brightly for the remainder of the day. That's all the news from Mudville this week fans, but here's another exciting edition of "Profiles in Wiffle Courage":
Pete Berwald - Le Chien Chaud
It's a little known fact outside the Low Countries, but after steamed mussels and ungodly amounts of mayonnaise, the Belgians prize a good game of wiffle ball above all else. Legend has it that as the Nazis invaded from the east, the valiant Belgians hurled homemade grenades, fashioned with trademark wiffle holes, at a stunned and ill-prepared German Army. Nowadays, as peace and prosperity reign, from the stately homes of Charleroi to the little phlegmish village of Vosselaar, wiffle ball remains a national passion. Why, you ask, do I mention this? Because, in the sleepy Wallonian hamlet of Saint-Hubert (patron saint of macadam and other hard surfaces), lies the ancestral home of one of America's finest practitioners of the plastic arts: Peter Berwald. From an early age Berwald was taught to repeat the motto of his forebears, "J'ai toujours des balles en plastique a` l'esprit". Which, roughly translated means, "I have plastic balls on my mind all the time". Primary school brought, along with excellent penmanship, an invitation to play on the state wiffle team. Over the next few years, doggedly pursuing his dream of dominance on the national stage, Pete perfected wiffle-craft like none before him. He was all set to break into the bigs with a professional squad when, alas, tragedy struck. On the eve of his first day as a rookie pro-wiffler, his natural proclivity for showboating got the better of him and he attempted to put an entire wiffle ball into his mouth. Emergency physicians tried desperately to remove the ball without harm, but it was necessary to graft tendons from both arms onto his jaw in an attempt to restore full movement to his mouth. While that goal was accomplished (and then some) his pitching and hitting were never the same. For a few years he played in the ham and egg leagues for small town squads in far off places like Vermont and Arkansas, but it was clear to him, and his many fans, that his glory years were all behind him. Resigned, but not bitter, Pete settled down to a quiet and peaceful life with his wife and children in the (unbeknownst to him) mecca of wiffledom, Oakwood, Ohio. Before long he joined up with the local "nine" and soon after took over as commissioner. Where will it all lead? No one can say for sure, but as an older and wiser Berwald joked at last year's annual awards ceremony, The Wiffies, "I'll put this ball right up to my mouth, but I won't put it in". We'll see fans, we'll see.
copyright: Hagiographies "r" Us, 2009
Pete Berwald - Le Chien Chaud
It's a little known fact outside the Low Countries, but after steamed mussels and ungodly amounts of mayonnaise, the Belgians prize a good game of wiffle ball above all else. Legend has it that as the Nazis invaded from the east, the valiant Belgians hurled homemade grenades, fashioned with trademark wiffle holes, at a stunned and ill-prepared German Army. Nowadays, as peace and prosperity reign, from the stately homes of Charleroi to the little phlegmish village of Vosselaar, wiffle ball remains a national passion. Why, you ask, do I mention this? Because, in the sleepy Wallonian hamlet of Saint-Hubert (patron saint of macadam and other hard surfaces), lies the ancestral home of one of America's finest practitioners of the plastic arts: Peter Berwald. From an early age Berwald was taught to repeat the motto of his forebears, "J'ai toujours des balles en plastique a` l'esprit". Which, roughly translated means, "I have plastic balls on my mind all the time". Primary school brought, along with excellent penmanship, an invitation to play on the state wiffle team. Over the next few years, doggedly pursuing his dream of dominance on the national stage, Pete perfected wiffle-craft like none before him. He was all set to break into the bigs with a professional squad when, alas, tragedy struck. On the eve of his first day as a rookie pro-wiffler, his natural proclivity for showboating got the better of him and he attempted to put an entire wiffle ball into his mouth. Emergency physicians tried desperately to remove the ball without harm, but it was necessary to graft tendons from both arms onto his jaw in an attempt to restore full movement to his mouth. While that goal was accomplished (and then some) his pitching and hitting were never the same. For a few years he played in the ham and egg leagues for small town squads in far off places like Vermont and Arkansas, but it was clear to him, and his many fans, that his glory years were all behind him. Resigned, but not bitter, Pete settled down to a quiet and peaceful life with his wife and children in the (unbeknownst to him) mecca of wiffledom, Oakwood, Ohio. Before long he joined up with the local "nine" and soon after took over as commissioner. Where will it all lead? No one can say for sure, but as an older and wiser Berwald joked at last year's annual awards ceremony, The Wiffies, "I'll put this ball right up to my mouth, but I won't put it in". We'll see fans, we'll see.
copyright: Hagiographies "r" Us, 2009
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