How I Met My Nickname

“Grandpa Mac! Tell us a story! Tell us the story about the ball!”

“You mean that neon yellow softball in the place of honor on the mantle, the one with all the signatures on it? That ball?”

“YES! Tell us the story!”

“Aren’t you little rascals supposed to be in bed? Besides, I’ve told you that story a thousand times. I swear, children these days have the attention span of a gnat. 

"Why, back when I was a young person we didn’t have these new-fangled brain implants. We had to get our information from our phones or tablet computers, just like God intended (Phones and tablets were things we had to use to communicate with other people and watch youtube videos because – ah, never mind). Why you kids barely comprehend the notion of storing information in your brain at all. 

"Leave Grandpa alone. He is tired and needs his bourbon.”

“Come on GRANDPA, we wanna hear the story. Pleeeease…”

“Fine, fine. I can’t say no to you little brats anyway. Ahem. Ok. Here goes. Are you paying attention this time?

“I remember it like it was just last Wednesday. Your grandpa was part of a softball team back then, in a small Philadelphia-based league of roughnecks and hooligans called the Center City Softball League. I don’t mind saying that your grandpa was kind of a star of that team, in his own right. 

“Anyway, that particular game, the one where I got the ball, it was on a somewhat rainy Wednesday at a field called Edgeley #3. Now, the CCSL wasn’t known for top quality groundskeeping, but Edgeley #3 was actually in pretty good shape, considering. The infield was all dirt, but it was mostly soft and generally smooth, not like that broken concrete at Dairy #4 that would tear chunks of flesh out of your leg if you tried to slide into second base, it was just a terrible—“

“GRANDPA! That’s boring.”

“Right, right. The point is that the field was in pretty good shape. Kind of a shame we only had one more game scheduled there the whole season. Anyway... We were playing a group of Nomads from South Philly. They were undefeated on the season to that point, and although the Green Tambourines – that was the name of our team – were not at the complete bottom of the league standings, we were coming into the game on a bit of a losing streak and most people didn’t think we had much of a chance to win. It was a pretty big mismatch, at least on paper.”

“Grandpa, was it like the USA vs. Russia in the 1980 Winter Olympics at Lake Placid?”

“How the hell do you know about that?”

“WikiBrain just suggested it as a related link to your story because it was a sporting contest that was also perceived to be a big mismatch on paper.”

“Maybe you should just pay attention to the story that you INSISTED I tell you, instead of playing around on WikiBrain. Anyway, sure, I guess it was sort of like that. The Nomads lived up to their reputation – they were excellent in the field and at the plate. They seemed to have a good strategy for hitting with wooden bats. See, a lot of CCSL players – including a few Tambourines, if I’m being honest – still hit as if they were using aluminum bats, trying to rip the cover off the ball. This meant a lot of easy fly ball outs, especially against teams with a talented outfield. The Nomads seemed to have a knack for placing the ball around the field wherever the fielders weren’t, and sacrificing power for accuracy. It worked.”

                “Is that what YOU did, Grandpa?”

“Oh, no… Your grandpa wasn’t some chump who had to throttle back the big guns in order to get base hits. I just looked for the gaps in the outfield, and then hit the ball there so hard that the fielders couldn’t get over in time to catch it. That’s how I was able to hit two home runs in that game. Yep! TWO HOME RUNS.”

                “Two REAL home runs, Grandpa?”

“Fine, if you little pains in the ass want perfect accuracy at the cost of a better story, I’ll admit that the first one was more like a triple plus an error on the Nomads. But that second shot was a fully legitimate home run. You should have seen it, kids! I was racing around the bases while the Nomads turned and chased after the ball that had just zipped past them. Credit to those guys, they didn’t give up on it, and there was very nearly a play at home plate. Unfortunately for the Nomads, but perhaps luckily for Grandpa Mac, the relay throw came in a little high as I slid into home and kicked up a spray of dirt. 

"We’ll never know for sure if a more accurate arm could have changed the outcome of that play, but between you and me -- they never had a chance. The Nomads were so impressed with my play that the entire team signed a softball and presented it to me after the game. That’s the ball up there on the mantle, kids. It’s one of my most cherished possessions from my days in the CCSL.

"They started calling me ‘Special Sauce’ after that game, because my play was so special, and um, saucy. At least I think that’s where the name came from.”

                “Grandpa, did your epic home run win the game for the Green Tambourines, beating the fearsome Nomads like Team USA beat Russia in 1980?”

“Err, no, unfortunately. We lost.”

                “Oh. It must have been close though, right?”

“Not really. Now go to bed.”                                                                         

Final Score: SPN 16, TGT 5

NEXT GAME: Monday, June 2nd at Edgeley #8 vs. PMA

Editor’s note: We’re glad that our team photographer made it back for this game, so we don’t have to try to compensate for shitty pictures with lousy editing. We’ll leave that to BC, as frankly they’re much better at it anyway. Also, it takes way too much time. More photos from Wednesday’s game below.

I'm all for calling your shot, but Dusty, you're pointing to foul ground.

Annalee making a run for it.

Rafter making a run for it.

Reinforcements! ...Well, more beer, anyway.

I missed the memo about the uniform pants. When
did that happen?

Courtney is unimpressed with Adam's apparent base hit.

Kinda creepy, Adam.

We lost, but we can still laugh, right?

Double-fisting is for amateurs. Two beers, ONE fist.