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| League History: 1994 |
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By the time our league legend Scott Carmichael started growing pubes, the pioneers of this
league had already been wifflin' for years. Scott was one of those pioneers alongside "The Ladies' Choice" Joey Creighton
and his younger, somewhat heavier brother Terry. The three laid claim to the Creighton's backyard many a summer days in
those formative years, pitching plastic like September would never come. The game in its infancy was related to "Wiffle
Ball" in the traditional sense only because the boys were using the yellow bat. Even at a young age, they were
intelligent enough to swear off the terrible ball. The bases sat in a pool, and the players had to swim to them. The
"field" was a jungle of flora, rocks, and wooden decks which fielders had to traverse with great care or else feel
the wrath of Ol' Man Creighton. Bats would fly out of the hands of batters who had not properly dried off after
getting thrown out trying to swim to 3rd. Really, it's a stretch to call what they were doing "sport." But they
were having fun...or so they lead me to believe, annonymous writer.
In 1994, one thing changed: they started keeping track of their stats. It was rough at first. Too caught up in berating
each other over the fact it took them years to realize that stats would enhance the game, the actual methodology of
their stat-tracking was primitive. They scored games with pencil and paper. Regular, wide-ruled notebook paper. They
were also playing in a pool, so by the time the second batter of the game fouled off the first pitch he saw, the paper
was soggy and the markings were illegible. Proving that there was indeed something in the Chico, California water, the
league would not bring an actual scorebook into the game until 1999. Ridiculous.
By now you all know who Joey and Terry Creighton are, and you know Scott Carmichael. You've seen their numbers, you know
they can ball. Now picture them a few inches shorter, a few dozen pounds lighter, and with virtually no body hair (aside
from Joey, who came out of the womb with ass hair). These were the "Big Three" in the league. After them, the talent
nose-dived to Nick Seiler, a local anorexic who refused to play fast-pitch, and a hodge-podge of unathletic relatives
who very well may have gone an entire season without a hit if they played in 2003.
Nevertheless, the seed was planted.
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