Monday, July 30, 2007

Captain's Log - Day 36

I've given in to the immense and unbearable pressure that certain individuals have put on me and created this Captain's log. It will serve to chronicle the mundane events, absurd ideas and nigh-incoherent ramblings that make up my every day life. This is not to say, however, that I will be making an entry every day. Only when fancy strikes me, as she often does, will I inscribe upon this digital stone which I carved out of a mountain without hands.

And now a tale.....

Chapter 14

The Last First-Baseman

Baseball was a terrible game and everyone knew it. It only stuck around because the villagers were the most blood-thirsty animals ever known to walk the Earth. Of this, Norman was convinced.

He stared across the field to the pitcher's mound, where the hulking and obviously Mongolian pitcher grinned back with a broken-toothed smile. The man licked his blood covered scimitar, making apparent his evil intent and wound his fur covered torso to throw. Norman licked his lips and tensed his muscles, tightening his grip on the shield on his arm, ready for whatever the barbarian could give him.

The arrow struck.

A horrible gurgling sound erupted as the pitcher grasped at the shaft protruding from his wind pipe. Seven players for the Norse Thundergods burst from the dugout and engaged the surprised Mongolian Golden Horde players in mortal combat. "Fools," snorted Norman as he seized his chance and ran toward first base with every ounce of speed he could muster. They would win this game today.

They had not been ready for the fierce and deadly attack, these supposed great conquerors, thinking they would ride back on their fine geldings and shoot from a distance. The Thundergods had been watching film all week in preparation however, and had taken great pains to be ready for this tactic. They had brought heavy wooden shields and used the famous Roman "Testudo" formation to advance quickly and fatally on the hopelessly unprepared outfielder cavalry.

The surprised mongols were being cut down like wheat and there were only six left as Norman rounded third, heading for home. Victory, would be sweet. He would dine with fine wenches and fine food this night, and live to play another game. This was what it's all about.


Basically, baseball would be a lot cooler if it went more like this. I would probably forget all about football. And think of the economy this sort of sport would generate. I just don't see the downside.