Daily Conundrum
Would you rather find a bone in your chicken sandwich, a rock in your salad, or packing foam in a bag of M&M’s? Think carefully; it could happen.
There's no crying in Wiffle ball!
It isn’t every day a town has a Wiffle ball tournament. Nor would I wish it so. This past weekend a friend and I drove to northern Ohio to visit some other friends and play in their church’s annual Wiffle ball tournament. Last year I slipped and fell flat on my face at first base. I’ve been looking forward to redeeming myself.
The tournament was organized into three fields, with six teams playing at once, progressing in some kind of double-elimination system. My ignorance of sports precluded any understanding any of it. I just swung and ran when they told me. My team, the Evil Good-doers, decided we needed walk out music. In a moment of inanity I chose Phantom of the Opera. (I know that’s ridiculous, but another guy had Kiss the Girl from Little Mermaid.) Somehow we made it through two games. I helped win the first with a home run and helped lose the second by getting tagged at first. I was pretty happy with that.
Afterwards we got ice cream from a local hole-in-the-wall grease spot. I celebrated/consoled myself with a 32 oz cookies and cream shake. Yes, it was ridiculously large. And good. If it wasn’t five hours away I would be dead of them by now.