Turn out the lights…

No, really, turn them off. It’s over. Like a TV dinner at 425 degrees for 35 minutes, it’s done (perhaps overdone). La saison est un fait accompli. It’s toast. Pull it out and butter it up. And a beautiful evening in which to end something. Instead of bundling up in layers, dreading the setting of the sun and the rapid cooling of the earth, we were able to enjoy one of the hottest nights of the year. Unlike last season where we were hoping snow didn’t interrupt our game, we were more worried about someone suffering a heat stroke. Even though we played a week later this year since the climate over the summer was somewhat moist, we had little to worry about in the way of typical fall weather.

Every step seemed to be a profusion of sweat, increasing the temperature of one’s inner core each time you just stood up off the bench. Although we saw no precipitation from the skies, there was ample amounts being generated by our bodies, making every move a damp, clammy motion. And that was just the women. No, really, just kidding. The men became wet as well in their efforts to obtain heat exhaustion. Physical reactions best suited to other locations, but preferably avoided out on the diamond. We’re old. We’re due some creature comforts, comforts more easily achieved when not attempting to avoid undue perspiration from running about in temperatures more suited to languid movement. Definite shift in seasonal patterns. Apologies to all those who still like to deny climate change. Unlike those of us playing baseball into the night with the benefit of artificial lighting, you may still be living in the dark. On to the results. Wholly unexpected was Bat Busters pulling off the win and the playoffs championship, with Budweiser pulling up last, able to securely win the final position. The other two teams were able to finish somewhere in the middle, able to console themselves that, although didn’t finish first, they didn’t finish last. Unfortunate that most only remember who finished first and those who came in last, so they may be doomed to slowly fade away without any recognition as the annals of history compile. If you can’t be first, be last. Life is usually better when handled in extremes.

That said, with the vast range of total points between teams this season, might be time to think of shaking things up before the advent of next season, meddling with the rosters. A change is as good as a rest (even if we have lots to time to rest). However, discussion best left to the professionals. Way above my pay grade (and effort level). As with most of the season, we still did our best to wreak havoc and sustain injury. Accidents do happen and we may be more prone, since we take a bunch of older folks, throw in some bats and balls, add some physical activity and make them run amok. At our age we are prone to injuring ourselves but, add in the rigours of baseball and others do their best to assist as well. Errant bat swings, foul tips into the spectators, line drives bouncing erratically off the infield all add to the joy of the game, the recreation more fully enjoyed when interspersed with a degree of hazard, where the risk is only overcome by the fear of enjoyment. More worrisome when some seem capable of hurting themselves just in the process of walking up to home plate. No less fun but sometimes a bit of a bother. Just a wee bit. No worries, as most of us once again survived the rigours of the game, physically intact if not of sound mind. And to be fair, some of us showed up with a mind akin to playing hard rock through a blown speaker. So best to be pleased to just leave the diamond with all your physical capabilities intact, under your own steam (which most were generating in the heat of the night). Thanks need to go out to everyone for partaking in our yearly seasonal endeavour, so thanks everyone. Special thanks to Sandra for endeavouring to keep our monstrosity somewhat organized, to Diane for keeping our check book balanced and to Sid for keeping us honest, if not civil. And kudos to the rest of those maintaining the structure of the league, keeping us together while others may simply throw in the towel and allow us to full into disarray. Okay, further into disarray.

Thanks to all who showed up a wee bit early, dragged the equipment from its resting place and set it out on the diamond. Special thanks to those who put in the extra effort to set up the pitching screen (in this exact position, please). A complicated affair, but the life you saved may have been your own. And thanks to the pitching screen for taking all those line drives and effectively stopping them from hitting our pitchers in the face or other body extremes much lower in the anatomy. A simple inanimate object that is an unsung hero of the game. As usual, thanks to the captains of making the voluntary effort for keeping us organized and in position, if not in line. Thanks to all the spectators for showing up, even if they are simply drawn to the fact we tend to make spectacles of ourselves (like moths to a flame). As for the rest of you, well, thanks for showing up. Enjoy the off-season and take the time to further harass your teammates by staying in touch.