Mystery Science Theater: 2004

Well, apparently when Rob and I have the same adventures, we blog about the same things. But hey, there's two sides (at least) to every story, and some of my readers eschew Rob like Boys Scouts avoid the front lines. So, in that spirit, here's my account of "our weekend, which comes at the end of the week" That's a direct quote from Josh as he blessed the meal. The meal I'm refering to was the Friday night dinner we had at the Ryder's place. Despite the living room and kitchen looking like Monster House got cancled half-way through a remodel, I think there's a certain open aired charm to it.

After dinner, we ajourned to the backyard to fire Josh's trebuchet. That's right, as ironic as it may seem, Josh has long been constructing a trebuchet. Needless to say we let Tim nowhere near it, but had a good time firing it at cars, sweatshirts, and me. It would be the first time this weekend that I would unnessarily put myself in the way of a projectile to find out if it hurts or not. Anyway, once the trebuchet grew tiresome and we were growing short on time, we doned our protection against the frigid 70 degree night (in my case a killer 80's jacket) and headed to the ball field.

At this point my title makes sense. I started lacing into the softball players. I really ripped them apart. And Josh's team wasn't even playing yet. Seriously, they can't allow base stealing in this sport. If they did I would reasonably expect 3 runners to make it home before the ball even got to the batter on a pitch. They "throw" the ball (if you would go so far as to call it that) and time seems to stop. It's like watching bullets in the Matrix. "Are you telling me I can dodge softballs?" "I'm telling you that when you're ready, you won't have to."I was having a good time just making fun of the ridiculousness of the sport itself, but then I was presented with an entire enemy team to rip apart. It should be noted that this is a Christian Men's league, and that I did have to tone it down a bit. But I still got in some good stuff; I feel I would have made Crow proud.

Eventually we found the ultra competitive guy as predicted by Rob, to our surprise he was on our team. His name was Gary, and he was a douche. You know those baseball Dad's who go crazy in the stands if their kid makes an error, and you know that the kid gets no food unless he wins? Picture that guy playing on a men's softball league... poorly. He actually yelled at Josh to "Throw the BALL" and when (at the appropriate time) Josh did throw the ball to Gary, Gary missed the catch. We then had an über dork to make fun of. We began speculating on what tragic events Gary must have lived through that this game is so important, did he blow a shot at the Major Softball Leagues on a catcher not throwing him the ball? Does he have an endorsement deal he has to up hold? What's his deal? Then after the game he stormed off to his mid-life-crisis on wheels and rambled out of the parking lot.

And that was the game. Rob, Tim, and I now comprise the Gary fan club and are commited to following him around patronizing him at every mistake. "It's ok you missed the ball Gary, it's not like it was thrown directly to you, blame the world Gary..." Seriously, we have shirts! The night ended (as most good nights do) with ice cream and Next. I'll end this post on a wildly inappropriate exchange I had with Tim's dad:

Tom: You know what I like to do with Magic Shell?
Scott: Pour it on Mr. Freeze and watch him harden?
Tom: ...
Scott: That didn't come out right.