Micah, ill-prepared for last season.

This is my Glove. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

Sitting here, with the gear laid out on the bed, I begin my meditation for the new season. It’s been a long year to consider the lessons learned of the past. What could I do to better contribute to that wonderful corps, the 20-Minutemen?

My glove is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I master my life. My glove, without me, is useless. Without my glove, I am useless.

In some ways, I feel that I had the most to prove during the offseason out of anyone else on the team. After all, I did show up to the first game in a pair of jeans, because of a complete lack of ownership of shorts. So a thorough shakedown was in order. In order to fully meditate on the situation, I traveled to the wild desert region of New Mexico known only as Las Cruces.

Continued …

I blame Zeus, that bearded bastard.

NOT Micah.

Sitting up there on Mount Olympus, hurling bolts of lightning and blasts of rain down on our fields with little-to-no concern about how he’s totally screwing with our game schedule. As it stands, we the proud few, are already facing a pair of daunting Triple-headed-monsters with bats and clubs in hand, and our brave, brave general, Sir Ian. Boldly running off to the arid land of Las Vegas in order to do…important general-type things, surely. He is certainly in no way abandoning us to our fate. No, he probably realizes that we are once again facing a flooded battlefield and consequently: more delays.

If this keeps up, I fear the escalation shall continue, with 4-5-and six-headed Hydras soon on the horizon.

So what steps can we take to stave off this onslaught of torrential rain? With this question in mind, I donned my investigative battle gear, and dove through the internets to see what information I could find. Rather quickly I found a story about archaeologists for the University of Pennsylvania Museum that found a Mycenaean cult dedicated to the Olympian lord  that, among pieces of silver and bronze statues, “early writings suggest that Mycenaean cult members sacrificed animals [mostly sheep and goats]— and possibly even humans”(link)

Hmm…

Considering modern opinions of such things in western cultures, I have a modest proposal adapting the ideas:

• Instead Silver and bronze I’m thinking he’ll settle for a cashier’s cheque. (From someone other than AIG)
• Instead of sheep or goats, I propose a Baconator from Wendy’s with a Frostee. (A combination to which I’ve never been able to say no)
• If any of the more dedicated players wish to volunteer themselves for the final piece of the…uh, never mind.

I’m not saying this will work, but after almost a solid month of rain-outs, desperate times call for desperate measures. It’s either this or we build an Ark.  Though, looking over my notes, I see there may be a tiny flaw in my logic.

It could, after all, be Thor. And I have no idea how to perform a blót.

Micah’s powers of deduction sometimes fall short.

I was 24 years old when I acquired my third superpower.

Since the first is a closely guarded (yet well-documented) secret, and the second is hardly worth mentioning, we shall instead focus on the third. The fact that it pertains to our team’s ability to play this weekend is the reason it warrants discussion at this time. But first, a brief prologue:

At the spry age of 18, on a clear summer night very unlike the one in which this story is being written, a drunk driver decided that it would be a wild adventure to take a left turn through the driver’s side door of my car. The unfortunate thing that I’m sure he didn’t consider at the time was that I happened to be driving my car at just that moment. Once the noise died down and the smoke cleared, I was left with the contents of my trunk now in my back seat, the majority of the back is now the passenger seat area, and the headrest for the passenger seat is well … gone. It flew out the windshield, only to be found a week later. Oh, and I had some strange soreness in my left hip.

Continued …

The author and his wounds.

Silver Spring, Md. | Three weeks and six games into the season, I finally succumbed to our coaches impassioned pleas, and volunteered to be a contributor to the team Web site. The reason I held off from stepping up initially was that I was at a loss as to what I should actually write about. Should I write bold tales of heroism and teamwork each week as we struggle ever onward towards a post-season? Nah, Ian has that covered with a measured eye that has a better understanding of the sport than I ever will, and with a better memory for specific happenings. Should I ruminate on upcoming matchups? Again, with this being my rookie season with the Minutemen, I am at a loss to speak of other teams, and even the angle of being a rookie is being charmingly covered by Amanda Erickson’s weekly contributions. So again, what to write?

Then, while soaking in the tub, barely able to walk after throwing my back out because I live in a constant denial of the 15 years that has passed since I last set foot on a softball field, I came upon a solution. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. First things first: an introduction. My name is Micah Pearson, and my place in the Express fold is that of “Professional Nerd.”

Continued …