“Where all the women are strong, the men are good-looking, and—ahhh, who are we trying to kid?”

One recent evening, as your faithful Mouthpiece was poised at his PC to interpret the rumblings of the Beloved Voice from On High, i.e., the Historian, an entirely different voice came droning through the ether. After a lot of talk about Bunsens and Tolleruds and a few more baritone gospel solos than the Mouthpiece generally cares to hear, the voice began to talk about softball. Well, sort of. “Go to J.R. Mac’s,” the voice intoned, “and order a burger. Not the quarter-pound burger basket—the full-size burger. When it arrives, do not eat it. Lift the patty from the lower bun and look carefully at the grease residue thereupon. You will see a face.” The Mouthpiece complied with these instructions, and it was true. There was indeed a face limned in burger grease on the fateful bun: the very face you see above. “Have you seen this particular image before?” the voice demanded. The Mouthpiece answered that he had seen it, and he’d always thought it was a pretty funny spoof on Truman Capote. “Rubbish!” thundered the voice. “This is the face of a softball fan. A softball fan who has seen your team play every game this season. A softball fan who is shocked, baffled, stricken, perplexed, nonplussed, bewildered, and mortified by your team’s performance between the immortal foul lines that stretch to infinity…” At this point the Mouthpiece thought he detected some faint, high-pitched giggling, which turned out to be the Historian, who’d been impersonating the other famous voice from on high all along. “Man, I had you going, though, didn’t I?” the Historian said with a cackle. “And let’s be honest: When it comes to the season of aught-three, that face says it all.” ¶ Well, okay, so it wasn’t our best year. An overall record of 11–17, after a 5–2 start? Losing 7 games straight, and 11 of 12 at one point? Suffering the most catastrophic collapse in team history? Hey, let’s look on the bright side. Genaro Vasquez played in dress loafers, a species of sporting style not seen since the glory days of Arthur Hoehn and his magic Birkenstocks. Randy Greenly walked a guy in a velour leisure suit—is this a great country, or what? Best of all, unlike last season, only our pride was seriously wounded. And for that, we’ll always have Mac’s. ¶ The Wick? Age—most notably, “Gary’s effing back.” Hopeful sign: best bevy in years! New tradition: the wake moves chez Davies/Scheck (same festive moping; less dog hair).