Piss Poor Planning leads to Piss Poor Performance

The Sun is shining, the weather is fine, the NSL is where the old become young, when they cross the lines. I couldn't have been any more nerved up for my opening day game vs. the Barbarians on Monday night, I spent the morning in a manufacturing plant drilling holes in the ground to figure out how much of the waste stream of heavy metals and solvents had leaked into the surrounding soil. Fuckin' pissah. I burned off half of my olfactory nerves when I smelled one of the samples, my sense of smell is now non-existent.

So nerved up that I was praying that the rain that was coming down in Freetown, Ma, on the border of Rhode Island, was falling on the Island as well. Twas not the case, it was friggen' beautiful. I finished up around 1 pm, and decided I had done enough work for the day. My previous job was as a land surveyor in West Bridgewater, MA. So, I decided to take the exit I misserably took for two years and maybe stop in and see my former colleagues. I grabbed a turkey pita from the farm near my former office to eat on the way home. This just isn't any ordinary turkey pita, the turkey is carved out back and is stuffed into a pita with home-made stuffing, cranberry sauce and light mayo. I hopped back in my vehicle and proceeded to drive right by my former employer, even ducking a bit when I saw someone coming out of the front enterance. Social Anxiety, I think so.

A very low stress, low impact day, which should have left me with plenty of time to get prepared for the game. Unfortunetely I didn't do anything I planned on doing. As a matter of fact, I did everything I could to make it more difficult to prepare.

I came home and ducked under a blanket and watched the sox in 2, a great game in which Nick Green threw the Red Sox' hopes of winning into the right field grand stands, his 8th error of the year. I said to myself at that exact moment, man I hope I don't play like him, he just sucked his own dick. I fell asleep, woke up at 5:15pm and in a frenzy gathered my baseball shit and hoofed it towards my truck. No pregame stretching, no batting cage, no food, no drink, nothing.

Got to the field around 5:35 pm and remembered I had no lace in my right cleat, awesome. I was in an all out panic attack, scrambling to find a lace. I handed the reigns over to C. Turner to do the line-up and any pre-game rub downs. Grabbing the nearest bike, I peddled like E.T.'s homo buddy to scour my truck for a string or a lace. Front cab, nothing, rear cab, zip, bed, garbage. Alas, the sweatpants I wore down have a lace in the waist. As I arrived at my truck I noticed Serip had arrived at around the same time, and with what I think was Slow Ride blaring out of his speakers, he told me he needed the mellow music to keep his heart from beating from his chest, I looked at him,all geeked out, and gave him the hand gesture for nervousness, an open hand slap to the chest, mimicking a heart beating. No other words were exchanged.

I grabbed my sweatpants and attempted to remove the string from the waist. It didn't pull right through as I had expected, it was stitched all the way around. I ripped the thing with all the force I could possibly muster, nearly cutting the palm of my hand. I pulled so god damn hard that I ripped the actual pants to shreds, but the string would not break free. Adidas must have stitched this string in with fucking teflon.

When I got back to the field it was nearly game time, and I had no choice but to grab the white lace out of C.Turner's tennis shoe (these are legit tennis shoes, I don't use the term freely to describe sneakers), and lace up. No time to warm up my arms, legs, or liver, and it was time for the coin flip.

The first play I get is a lazer beam off the bat of E. Macrina. I Scoopy-Doopy-Doo, take the ball out of my glove, and proceed to throw it into the stands. Macrina scored the first run of the ball-game and The Barbarians never even saw us in their rear-view.

Fuck you Nick Green, suck your own dick.