Utilities
2004 Stats
Standings/Leaders
Team Stats
Game Summaries
2003 Stats
Standings/Leaders
Team Stats
Game Summaries
Photo's
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Anyone interested in filling this space with their own weekly or monthly
submission, please, contact me. You may write about anything you'd like,
doesn't have to be politically correct. But, does have to be within the
realms of good taste. And, if it pertained to this league or softball in
general, that would be even better. You may use your real name or a
pseudo-name it doesn't matter. Contact me
at codybobsdad@ameritech.net
and put Lake Front Page as the subject. I know we
have a few creative minds out there, I read the Message board, too. Give
it a try, I'll post all submissions, just try to make it interesting.
Here's our
first and only submission.
And, it's some damn fine work. This piece was
unsigned, but, the email address appeared to be from Keith Skully.
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Dalhaufer at the Bat
The
outlook wasn't brilliant for the Anchor Bar that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Big Goss died at first, and Little Goss did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
Mr. & Mrs. Dalhaufer got up to go in deep despair. The rest
clung to hope and others did not seem to care;
They thought, "If only Ron could but get a whack at that —
We'd put up even money now, with Dalhaufer at the bat."
But Skully preceded Ron, as did also Storming Norman,
And the former was disgruntled, and the latter inebriated;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat;
For there seemed but small chance of Ron getting to the bat.
But Skully let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Storming Norman, the journeyman, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Norman safe at second and Skully a-hugging third.
Then from five throats and more there rose a lusty bark;
It rumbled through the field, it rattled in the park;
It pounded on the bases and recoiled upon the flat,
For Ron, smiley Ron, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Ron's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Ron's bearing and a big ass smile lit Ron's face.
And when, responding to the jeers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Ron at the bat.
Twenty eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
Five tongues laughed when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the goaded pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Ron's eye, a smile curled Ron's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Ron stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the scrawny batsman the ball unheeded sped —
"That ain't my style," said Ron. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
From the benches, lacking people, there went up a muffled laugh,
Like the giggling of school children in his not too distant past;
"Kill him! Kill the dork!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not umpire raised his hand.
With a smile of dumb ass familiarity, Dalhaufer's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the umpire, and once more the sphere flew;
But Ron still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!"
"Fixed!" cried the maddened fan, and another answered "Fraud!"
But one smiling look from Ron and the audience was awed.
Then his face grew stern and cold, they saw his face strain,
And they knew that Ron wouldn't let that ball go by once again.
The smile has fled from Ron's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is quiet due to the futility of Ron's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are drinking, with mullets all about;
But there is no joy in Greaselake — weedy Ron has popped out.
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