Softball Wrap Up by Oscar McPhee

The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
15 June 2008
Vol. 42, Pg. 426-428

"Softball Wrap Up"
by Oscar McPhee

It's been a not so bloggy couple of weeks for yours truly, but the time is nigh to tell all my rabid fans what ever became of that scraggly softball team I was coaching.

Two weeks ago, my Attaquers played Shamika's team in an official game for the first time. For those of you who are confused, ACCION had two softball teams because of the huge amount of kids interested in playing. It's obviously been a source of huge rivalry between the kids all season, so this was a good chance to release that tension. The game was incredibly ugly, won by Shamika's Sasquatches 16-14. More errors were made than I can even count, especially in the last inning, which we came into up 12-10.

And the, the playoffs. Sasquatches vs. Attaquers for the right to play in the Championship game. This was much better played all around, and we came into the last inning down 4-3. My kids finally worked the count, drew walks, and drove the ball when it mattered. 5-4 Attaquers.

Championship vs. Anthony's Knuckleheads. This is the team that we lost to on the first day of the season when I almost fought with the coach, the team that demolished us 23-2 the following week, the team that survived us 9-8 on a bullshit call the week after that. And my kids played the game of their lives. Pitcher Marvin had something like seven strikeouts, Trevor made at least four good plays in his debut at second base. Coming into the last inning down 2-1, we had a shot. Coming into our last at bats down 6-1, not so much. Unfortunately, the last play of the game was controversial (as seems to often be the case with these officials, who will not be invited back next year): Treavis scored from third after an out at first, but the ump said he had not tagged up.

Bullshit.

After the game, I told my team that it's a Goddamn messed up world, and they will be cheated by it more often than they can imagine, but that all they have control over is themselves. And the way they played in that game was incredible, and I was so proud of them, and they had nothing to be ashamed of. Then we shook hands with the hated Knuckleheads. Then we got light. Then they dumped the cooler on me.

The Knuckleheads looked confused that we were the ones celebrating, probably wondering if they had, in fact, won. They had. But so had we.

Jizz Game

Jizz Game
The American Journal of Sporting Opinion
14 June 2008
Vol. 22, Annex 15 pp. 22-29

by Marty

Baseball, seen by many as a bastion of American Glory, fades from her consciousness to her subconsciousness to her subalternconsciousness until it is a relic of the past. Hotdogs on hot days a distant memory, teens across the providence U.S.A. are freaking for "Jizz Game." Easily the most extreme of a sporting culture now in the throws of a hypoxia of extremity, "Jizz Game," or JG, or The Magnificent Sporting Competition (its really just a matter of regional preference) has already claimed the lives of four of its younger players. What could be viewed as a tragedy though has brought increased interest to a phenomonen already viraling out of control on the internet.
At faculty dinner parties and speaking engagments, attempts to explain what goes on at a "Jizz Game "match"" always fall short of capturing the hysteria, the triumph, the pain of what transpires in schoolyards and schools and houses and apartments. Yeah though I walk down that road once again in the interest of setting description to page and page to the annals of history.
One participant, lets call him Geoffrey, stands astride and with his back aligned, perpindicular to the ground, he begins masturbating fervently. The other participant, again, for convenience sake, also named Geoffrey pours lead based paint of a pastel shade onto the torso and feet of masturbating Geoffrey. Geoffrey pours the paint slowly, but as soon as the paint has been fully dispatched, Geoffrey takes off like a fire cracker to track down a Toyota 4Runner model hybrid SUV and begs its owner to loan it to him. Once in posession of the vehicle, Geoffrey drives at a rapid pace to where Geoffrey is masturbating still. Both participants wait with the engine running until the paint is fully dry, at which point Geoffrey leaps, cock in hand into the open trunk of the Toyota. Still masturbating furiously, Geoffrey and Geoffrey speed down Highway 7 until they reach the New Mexico state line, at which point Geoffrey bails on the truck and runs out into the desert thinking about his greatest failures and crying. Geoffrey continuines masturbating in the trunk for thirty more minutes and then finds the town councilman of whatever pincipality he finds himself in at that point, probably Mesa Valley.