From :  Ed Agner
Sent :  Monday, August 4, 2003 10:35 AM
To :  Bill Barnwell, Philip Rippa
Subject :  OK. MY GW Grand Slam

So we played Saturday morning and it was like 3000% humidity with fog, but it wasn't too hot until the late innings when the sun popped out - then we all
just hoped for rain and lightning to put us all out of our misery.  Thusly, early-on no one could really see anything hit in the air because of fog, and later in
the game no one could see anything in the air but the sun - so it turned into one of those ugly games were no one REALLY wins.  So very ugly. 

All the same, my little team of losers is somehow hanging in with the second best team in the league. And we're down 3 in the bottom of the 7th and I've
already ran a frickin' marathon in CF as usual.  So I'm spent and my legs are rubbery and I just want to go home. 

Anyway, bases juiced (SOMEHOW), no one out and I hit a liner into CF (since my opposite-field approach had been stymied by them putting in a good RF and anythingI pulled went straight to the 3rd baseman), they're playing me straight away so I've got a HUGE frickin' gap between the RCFer and the LCFer. 
So I'm watching the ball and I'm thinking maybe.  Then the RCFer starts making up ground and as I trot to first I yell out, "Aww, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuu..." and then the crash just as the RCFer got his glove on the ball and "----uuuUUUUUUUYUUCK YEAH!!!"  The LCFer took out the RCFer like Ronnie Lott killing someone over the middle and the ball went rolling and they're both dead and I'm stoked - and running like Sid Bream. 

So their entire team goes sprinting out for the ball as the two OFers lie motionless and like 7 hours later I'm rounding third heading for home as they're getting the ball in and the race is on.  I probably should've stopped, but...Ehh, I had gone too far at this point. So, I'm all Enrique Wilson; slipping and sliding around and all ugly and goofy and shit. 

I look up and their catcher is just standing there right on top of home plate, without the ball and without any intention of moving - smiling at me and
daring me to do it.  And I'm thinking - do I kill him or do I slide?  You know the answer. 

So I plow into him just as the ball bounces in front of the plate - BAM, Rose-Fosse: he goes flying, I skid across home and we're both bleeding internally, who knows where the ball is. 

So when I come to, the other team's yelling and screaming about a no-contact rule, their catcher is lying there with buzzards flying over him and I have
no clue where I am.  Their manager is going Billy Martin on the umpire, I'm dead, my team's all like "DUDE, Fucking awesome hit on the catcher," instead
of, you know, CELEBRATING VICTORY, and our manager has NO CLUE about ANY rules whatsoever let alone enough about a no-contact rule to argue all this.  

And I'm lying there, trying to regain my senses and catch my breath fearing that the ump was gonna call me out after all that.

So after like 10 minutes of yelling and screaming and me lying there, crying in pain, the ump lets the run count since it was the catcher's fault I had to kill
him.  

We play again tomorrow and I don't know if I can raise my arms.  If we win, we're guaranteed second place.  I can barely move here and yet...you know there's no way I'm passing up playing.  Hopefully it rains us out so I recover a bit.  As is, I seriously doubt I would have even Ben Grieve's range in the OF.