STRONG PLAY CREATES CAPE CONTROVERSY

Dave O voted for Mailbar before he even left the field. “Malibar is playing through the pain,” Dave insisted. “His back is broken in three places, his shoulder is a useless piece of hamburger attached with rubber bands, and yet at first base he was like plastic man—a stretching, bending, elastic vacuum ready to do amazing things to catch the modest efforts put forth by his infield colleagues.” He shook his head slowly. “I was deeply moved by his play tonight.”

Malibar cast his ballot in typical fashion. “Fucking Zin gets my vote,” he shouted. “A text book smash-mouth triple in the first inning that drove me home scoring a run. God I wish I had hit like that tonight. He was amazing in the field with several great plays and then, and this is what really blew me away, he gets a WALK in the late innings and goes on to score. Zin plays with his head unlike the rest of these jerks.”

Zin tossed his vote to his comrade in the outfield. “I am really torn between voting for Marty, Keith or Mike. I mean, we really had them tonight. We had strategy and we had speed and we had the warm companionship that comes from being so far away from the actual game. Marty stands out, I guess, because he hit a home run that sparked that first inning rally. Some would say his strike out late in the game would offset that, but I'd punch those people in the mouth if they said it in front of me. My vote is for Marty Owens. Absolutely.”

Marty asked who already had votes. When I wouldn't tell him he stepped out on his own. “Keith went three for three tonight,” he said. “Ever since he started to obsess about batting you can see the improvement. Plus, he had a great catch. I'm a fan. Keith it is.”

Keith didn't hesitate. “Black is back, I tell you. That guy was all over the plays in right and since he got to the bar has been drinking so heavily that you got to vote for him. I'd also like to vote that he is most likely to throw up tonight. Are we taking a vote on that?”

Black was a little drunk when I got to him. “I'm not sure who to vote for,” he said. “I'm thinking about voting for Brodie.” Just then Tom Burrell brought a fresh pitcher to the table and refilled Mike's glass. His eyes teared up. “Bricker, I'm telling you something straight so you listen to me because I'm totally serious. Are you writing this down? Cause I'm going to tell you that I'm voting for that Tom Burrell because I totally love him you know what I mean?”

Burrell blushed. He was expecting someone to notice his solid play in the field, the terrific hit he had that landed him standing up on second base. But a vote is a vote. It was his turn and he pulled me aside and confided that he felt the deserving person for the cape tonight was none other than Gary Aurit. “Gary got two hits tonight from sheer intensity—he beat them out like his life depended on it. In our final inning that was a lead-off hit that could have started a great rally. It gave us hope and I'm voting for that.”

Gary had a mouthful of greasy cheesy eggie goodness in his mouth, on his chin, all over his fingers when I found him to gather his vote. “Hmmmf. I'm voting for the spine of this team. For the guy who we simply fall limp on the ground without. He keeps us standing up straight. He doesn't need to go to the chiropractor. Because he is a healthy spine—well formed and strong. No degenerative spine disease here, no way.” I knew what he meant, so I turned away from him and wrote down his vote: Doug LaPoint.

Doug was philosophical about who he wanted to get his support for the Cape. “I'd like to vote for some of the people who aren't here,” he said. “Charles isn't here because he has to help people at the Franklin station use the new light rail. This seems like a worthy thing to do until you weigh that he is a graphic designer not some sort of light rail expert. Or Meadows or Keekley for that matter both who should be here but are somewhere else instead.”

Doug drank some of his beer and continued. “But I don't want to throw my vote away. I want to have my vote count. There is no electoral college here, so each man must make a decision that pushes us closer to a valid cape owner. And I've got to say that the last minute rally staged by the bottom of the order was worthy of this consideration.”

“Not your participation Bricker,” he was quick to add. “Infielder's choice is not really a contribution. But Gary and George both got on base when we needed them. They gave us a chance to see another inning and perhaps a favorable score. Gary had the cape recently, so I'm going with George. He is our X-factor and I'm putting my weight in his corner.”

I had to interrupt George's passionate speech about Bruce Springsteen as a Rock's most lovable loser to get his vote. He looked at me with wild eyes and said, “Brick, I'm voting for you.” And he gave me a bear hug that squeezed the air out of me. I thought I was going to pass out and then he released me and shouted at the top of his voice, “ Baby this town rips the bones from your back, It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap, We gotta get out while we're young!”

I tallied the votes and announced that there was no consensus. “We'll need to do another round gents, there is one vote for everybody.” And someone, yelled out: “CAPE GOES TO THE TEAM!” and then everyone was yelling and jumping around and slapping each other on the back and spilling beer everywhere.

So the cape is given to the team tonight, because tramps like us, baby we were born to run.

Footnote:
Many of you have asked where Jeff Weness is lately. He and his wife had a baby boy about three weeks ago but there were some complications. Good news is that they are home now and that baby Ryan is doing much better. Bad news is that Jeff will likely not be back this season. Apparently Jeff hasn't updated wookiebush.com with pictures, so your best bet is to read the site he set up when they were at the hosptial.