KGJWFBL

The Truth hurts

Sure, we could go on and on about how we beat them three times out of the first four meetings by a combined score of something like 79-10, or how one of the games' final score was 44-0, or how the only time they beat us was actually us beating ourselves, or a number of things about hitting homeruns off them, striking them out at will, or taking their girls from them. But we're above that.

No, we're simply thrilled as a league that there was another league out there as retarded as us, who had as much fun with the game as us. In reality, the scores didn't matter too much if the fun quotient was high, and high it was. Taking trips down to SF, as a league, to watch the Gaints in Pac Bell, followed by nights of karaoke or death metal, followed by days spent below an overcast sky at a slummy "park" where we swung a foam bat at a foam ball that was probably intended for juniors half our age. Watching them sweat through their shirts when they'd come up here, not used to temperatures above 70 degrees, let alone 100. On paper, it sounds lame, but when you're standing at MGM Field, striking out the side, or taking some chumpstain named Clint Woods deep, it's not hard to recall a day only years ago when we thought our game would never leave our backyard.