We are not your batting practice.

Whew. Everything went well today, although only nine people showed up. Sometimes I feel like we're a gypsy baseball team, roving from field to field, moving under cover of night and trying to avoid high school kids and meatheads and pseudo-authority figures demanding permits.

Some guys from an adjacent field sent over a representative to see if we wanted a little action. We agreed, and the next thing you know these five hulking he-men were taking the field. Believe me, their skill levels were a country mile beyond ours, and before it got too dark to play they were ahead 6-0.

It doesn't take a genius to figure why they wanted to scramble with a bunch of scrubs such as ourselves. I'll grudgingly admit that it was good practice for us, but if those gorillas think they can use us like that every Sunday, they have another thing coming!

Quick shout-out to Armando and Sons Meat Market in Pawtucket. I thought it'd be a darling little butcher shop in my neighborhood. I was not prepared for the crowds and the insanity and the hot, hot meat cutters. They have a cafeteria, too!

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