OTTAWA – Richard “wild thing” Bujold arrived at the diamond but something seemed different about him. No, he was still adorned with his trademark pizza stained jersey, wool socks and steel-toed work boots, but his visage seemed out of character. No longer convivial, his face betrayed a man besieged by inner demons. Still smarting after his demotion by steve “field marshal” saunders to his doghouse after standing up the team last week, his gaze was now steely-eyed and almost serious looking. His composure was different too. There was no laughing and knee slapping to be seen. He sat in the dugout, alone, contemplative, expressionless, angry. A man determined to regain the trust of his teammates and more importantly his captain. He knew he had a steep—nary impossible--hill to climb.

The game started with the fun bunch fielding only nine players including a new recruit. Jordan “jc” Clark, meghan’s boss and owner of the westboro shopper’s drug mart who was filling in for one of the myriad of missing fun bunch players. “jc” had been trying for months to get a try-out with the renowned fun bunch, and finally his persistence had paid off. “field marshal” harrumphed his displeasure, however, when he showed up in the dugout sporting running shoes and not baseball cleats. He made a mental note of this brazen disregard for proper attire. “This kid better be something else on the diamond”, he thought to himself.

Bell diamond has a massive outfield so it is imperative to have four outfielders. However, with only nine players, the fun bunch had no one to play rover. That left huge gaps just over the infield. Two fun bunch players had said they would arrive to the game late, so the team would just have to make due until then.

When the rebels came to bat, they immediately noticed the huge voids in the outfield and commenced an aggressive campaign to target those zones scoring two runs in the top of the first. Jess “bullseye” belanger and Mark “polygon” pintar then got aboard in the bottom of the first inning bringing “field marshal” to the plate. He made quick work of the first pitch thanks to his trusty Louisville slugger and parked the ball over the right field fence for a three run homer. Fun bunch now led 3-2.

As the game progressed, the fun bunch maintained their lead but only by the slimmest of margins. Meanwhile, the game provided some highlight reel plays. “bullseye” was hitting the ball a ton all night long. In her second at bat, she crushed the ball all the way to the fence for a stand up triple. Paris “songbird” Patricelli had been working hard in boot camp determined to master the power swing and was hitting the ball harder and farther every at bat. Meghan “marathon” Saunders was putting on an impressive display as she sprinted down the line to first base resembling a female version of usain bolt , her feet barely touching the ground as the rebels became more frustrated every inning at their inability to throw her out. “watch out, she’s fast”, came their warning to no avail.

Leah “the roadrunner” Morrell, despite starting the game a little sluggish complements of her pre-game meal at the local “bier garten”, caught a rebel baserunner trying to stretch a single into a double. Fielding a terrific throw from scott “boom boom” saunders from the outfield she turned to see the runner half way to second base. “field marshal” positioned himself to cut off the runners retreat and urged “the roadrunner” to “throw the ball”. But Leah’s eyes grew wide like saucers as she accelerated towards the rebel player, now resembling a deer caught in the headlights of an on coming semi. He started to run back to first but slipped in the dirt. He righted himself and started to run again but it was no use. “the roadrunner” was upon him like a lion sinking it’s claws into a helpless gazelle. He yelped as she slapped him hard with her glove, making sure she struck him with all her might, just like “field marshal” had taught her.

As the game wore on and the rebels were unable to overtake the fun bunch , their “fun” demeanor quickly went south. First they accused the fun bunch of calling their outfielder an “idiot” when he made a spectacular catch. At which point their catcher proceeded to stomp around the infield looking for the guilty party to “fess up”. Then another batter hit a ball into the outfield and “field marshal” – playing first—went to the bag by instinct to get ready for a play. Quickly realizing there was no play to be made got out of the way but that was not good enough for the rebel dugout as expletives and threats came flying fast and furious in addition to great plumes of blue cannabis smoke.

In the fifth inning, the next rebel batter hammered the ball hard through the infield. This was going to be extra bases and would most likely make it all the way through the gap in the outfield to the wall. “wild thing” sprung into action at the crack of the bat and began charging hard in a vain attempt to cut off the ball. His Kodiak work boots sent huge divots of grass flying in all direction as he dug in and closed the gap like a man possessed. The ball took one final bounce and “wild thing” made a desperate lunge, arm outstretched , glove fully extended and yearning for redemption. Defying the laws of Newtonian physics, he somehow managed to caress the ball with the tip of his glove and reel it in like a prize salmon. His momentum at this point prevented him from stopping. Preparing for the impending impact with the ground, he extended both arms to break his fall. Upon touch down he collapsed into a tight ball and did a barrel roll that would put an Olympic gymnast to shame. One complete turn later he was back on his feet , perfectly positioned as he fired a strike to first base, behind the runner who was caught completely off guard. Forced to jam on the brakes, the rebel who was nearly at second, reversed course and began a hasty retreat. With the ball on it’s way, the runner made a last ditch attempt to avoid the tag as his foot found the base barely before the tag was forcefully applied with a loud whack.

The entire diamond sat in stone-face silence. You could hear a pin drop. What had they just witnessed? The diamond began slowly spinning. Turning and turning in the ever widening gyre. The falcon could no longer hear the falconer. Things fell apart as the centre could no longer hold. Mere anarchy was loosed upon the world as Richard “wild thing” Bujold looked brilliant.

With the score now 16-13 for the fun bunch, and time running out, they entered the last inning. The “endless” inning. With nerves fraying, this was going to be a long inning. Down by only a few runs, and with their “bag of dirty tricks” nearly empty, the rebels would now pull out all the stops to win this game. Leah “the roadrunner” Morrell cast her eyes heavenward and shook her head. “Where is ‘the wrangler’ when you need him. He would be the perfect foil for this rebel chicanery. An well-placed elbow to the face here, a firm knee to the solar plexus there and these ornery rebels would smarten up like a spoiled child spanked by a fed up parent”. The thought made her giddy and she let out a little giggle. She quickly covered her mouth with her glove and looked around but no one had noticed her faux pas. She giggled into her glove again.

The rebels soon had two outs with two runners in. The score was now 16-15 for the fun bunch.

With the tying run at third, the next batter crushed the first pitch into deep left field. Scott “boom boom” Saunders positioned himself carefully beneath the ball near the warning track. The runner at third hunkered down, like a jaguar, preparing to run home on the tag play. “boom boom” took one last look at the runner at third before he caught the ball. “boom boom”, normally a quiet and reserved individual was fed up. He had endured eight innings of the Rebels at their worst and was going to make a statement right here and now. His niece paris “songbird” Patricelli was positioned with her foot firmly on home plate with her arm outstretched to left field as she had been taught by her uncle the “field marshal”. From the outfield she looked like an ant. “boom boom” took a deep breath and time seemed to stand still as he reeled back and threw an absolute rocket towards the plate. The runner on third sprung out of the starting gates. The race was on. “boom boom’s” throw was not parabolic but almost flat like the trajectory of a gunshot so great was the velocity. “song bird” locked onto the incoming missile and braced herself for impact. As the runner bore down, he heard a sound like a steam whistle as the ball sailed past his head now only steps from victory. The ball skipped once, a short hop just in front of the plate. “song bird” realigned her glove as taught in “boot camp” . The ball squarely found the back of her mitt and she squeezed hard through the searing pain now moving up her arm. The rebel umpire looked about to cry. The runner from third was a good foot away from home plate when “songbird” had made the catch. Looking nervously into his own dugout, his lower lip began to tremble as he was faced with a moral dilemma. Face the wrath of his overly stimulated team or make the correct call. He stood there transfixed for what seemed like an eternity before a meek noise emanated from his pursed lips. “out”

OTTAWA- It was another sweltering day in the seemingly endless heat wave that had descended upon Ottawa for the better part of a month. Nevertheless, “field marshal” scoured the internet looking for a “red hot deal of the day” on one of his collection of discount golf web sites. There was so many today, it would be hard to choose. One in particular caught his eye. Chateau Cartier, 10:48, $26. Bam! Chateau Cartier was a short, “feel good” course that was very forgiving and only about five minutes away as the crow flies. He quickly booked the round as he giggled with delight. That would leave him plenty of time to finish the round and get back in time for baseball.

This was another of his favorite courses. One he had played so often he could now do so blindfolded. Actually that might be fun to try one time just for a lark, he thought.

His playing partners were nice enough chaps. Paul and Eve were brothers-in-law who lived in the south end of the city. Eve it turned out was a new immigrant from Holland, who had just experienced his first winter in Canada this past year. “It sure is cold here”, he said matter-of-factly. “field marshal” just nodded in polite agreement. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that it only gets worse the longer you live here. Paul was a marketing entrepreneur who had only recently sold his online marketing business to Arlene Dickenson of Dragon’s Den fame.

After some friendly banter “field marshal” donned his “game face” and hunkered down with the sole intent of “going low”. On every hole he provided his playing partners—both of whom had never played the course—some key advice. Where to position your drive, how much of the corner you could cut, the perfect layup spot, distance to the flag, tricky green slopes, hidden hazards, the list went on as his compatriots gobbled up the badly needed intel with great verve.

This wasn’t going to be a stellar round. “field marshal” figured that out after the third hole and his third consecutive par. He took his foot off the gas and relaxed a little. Heck it was a nice day and he was playing with some friendly duffers, his sub-par round would have to wait for another day.

After seventeen holes , three bottles of water and two gatorades, “field marshal” had finally reached the eighteenth. The round’s last potential hurrah. It was a short par 5 – only 500 yards and another of field marshal’s favorites. He explained where to position your drive for maximum impact. “Stay away from the right hand side. You can get blocked out by the trees”. No sooner were the words out of his mouth when Eve hit one way right over the cart path. Paul followed soon after--only even further right onto the 16th fairway. “field marshal” let out a sigh as he lined up his ball. “Guys you didn’t take any of my advice”, he said jokingly as he wound himself up like a corkscrew. He knew halfway into his back swing that this was going to be good. He uncoiled like a python and pummelled his defenseless titleist pro-v1 so hard that it seemed to whimper in response. It took off like a rocket. His playing partners watched slack-jawed as it headed in laser-like fashion to the exact spot on the fairway he had shown them only moments earlier where it landed with a thud.

“Meet you guys on the green”, “field marshal” yelled to his partners as they trudged off to try and find their wayward drives. Meanwhile “field marshal” approached his drive and was ecstatic. He couldn’t have possibly hit it any better and come to think of it never had. This was his best drive ever on this hole by a mile. He grabbed his trusty bushnell pinseeker laser finder and zapped the flag. It was blue indicating the hole was at the back of the green. 184 yards, slight tailwind. “field marshal” was always wary of blue flags. Probably the worst mistake you could make was to roll off the back of the green when flag hunting blue flags. Better to be cautious and land a little short and try to get some roll. He drew out his callaway forged 6 iron, like a knight drawing his sword before a great battle. He knew this green quite well and it was tricky. You definitely did not want to be putting down hill. Very fast, very sloped. He would aim dead center with a bit of draw that would be perfect.

He aligned himself and took two practice swings. Both flawless. He struck the ball and it was a beauty. It sailed towards the dead center of the green as planned. It was a little thin however so the trajectory was lower than he would have liked. It was coming in hot and hit the front edge of the green. Then the draw spin took hold and rolled the ball all the way to the back of the green before it settled on the edge directly below the hole. “field marshal” couldn’t believe his good fortune. His so-so round just got a lot better. He licked his dry lips as he put his 6 iron away and walked towards the green. Paul and Eve were still looking for their balls.

At the green, he uncovered his taylor made daddy long legs putter with custom super-stroke extra wide grip. Despite his mediocre round, the daddy long legs had been good to him. He had drained a ton of par-saver putts today thanks to its uncanny precision. On a whim, he lifted it close to his mouth and whispered, “please daddy long legs just help me with this one last putt, I would really appreciate it”. He lowered it down quickly and looked around. No one had seen him.

He surveyed the green. He was thankfully below the hole. This was probably the toughest hole on the course if you are above it. It was deceptive. If you had not played this course before you would not realize the speed or notice the break. He knew he could be firm with his putt to keep it on line. Since he wasn’t putting across the green there would be only minimal break – maybe one balls worth. Eve and Paul unfortunately did not fare so well. Eve was at the top of the green. Even with a boat anchor he wasn’t going to be able to keep his ball on the putting surface. Paul was even worse. He was going to have to putt down the green and across it. A hopeless task. If he could get it to stop within 10 feet of the hole it would be a miracle. Both players gave it a go with predictable results. Eve’s ball sailed by so fast he was going to need a wedge to get it back on the green. Paul completely misread the break and the speed and left himself another tear-jerker putt for bogey. “field marshal” politely let them finish before he settled in. He visualized the ball path and speed. He took two practice putts to dial in the weight , then he aligned the daddy long legs and let it go. He hit the sweet spot bang on. The ball surged one ball outside the hole as planned. As it lost speed it started to break, looking good half way to the hole. It was still ascending the hill, and continued to lose pace. Did I hit it hard enough? Did I get the right line? “field marshal” was overcome with self-doubt. The ball was inches from the cup and dropping fast. It caught the outside edge and began to teeter. It rolled around the rim and started to descend. It landed with a plop at the bottom of the cup. He had done it. He had made his eagle. He whispered “thank you” to the daddy long legs as he let out a sigh of relief.