THE EJECTION

My seasons for both the Thunder Dogs and the A’s are over.  Both teams were eliminated early in the playoffs of their respective leagues.  But I will leave you with this memory of the Zorrilla, an incident that happened in my final game with the A’s.

We, the Oakland A’s of East New York, had a double header against the Chicago Cubs, also of East New York.  We were in 3rd place.  Cubs were in 1st.  But if we could win both games, we’d switch places with them and be in 1st going into the playoffs.

It looked like rain.

They won the 1st game.  And they were winning  the 2nd game 3-0 in the 5th inning in a drizzle.  We had runners on 1st and 3rd, 2 outs, none other than the King of Jewish Baseball at the plate with a chance to tie the game or at least score a run and cut down the lead.  A genius base-knock, single up the middle, run scored, they’re winning, 3-1.

Now I am on 1st base. Our center fielder is on 2nd.  Orlando aka Babe Ruth is up.  He crushes a ball down the left field line.  I start jogging, a no-doubter.  We’re winning 4-3.  Right?

Their dugout screams in Spanish that it was a foul ball.  By the time I get around the bases to home plate, everyone’s there– both teams, coaches, umps.

Their head coach who looks like a Somali Pirate as you’ll see, goes nuts on the 3rd base umpire who called it a home-run.  The umpire ejects the coach. The Pirate is ferocious and is, if half-heartedly, going after the ump.  Their assistant coaches and their catcher hold him back.

Minutes pass.

He persists.

He throws a punch at his own assistant.  After trying and failing over and over again to physically get to the ump, their coach walks down the left field line and tips all the temporary barriers that keep the fans off the field and disappears into the street behind the bathrooms.

I did not think order would ever be restored.  But somehow, after 15 minutes, both teams return to their dugouts, and the game is back on.

Jose Reyes is up.  1st pitch curveball.  Strike 1.

After the pitch, their assistant coach takes all of the bats and all of the helmets in their dugout and kicks them and even picks some up and throws them.

The home plate umpire ejects him.  The first coach, the Pirate, comes running back on the field with a garbage can over his head and throws the can behind 3rd base.  There is garbage everywhere.  All players and coaches and some fans now pour back onto the field.  It’s people restraining people from other people restaining people.  It is madness, a battlefield the likes I have not witnesses since the Great Collision of Tel Aviv in 2007.

But I digress, for after checking the magical YouTube, I, King of All Jewish Baseball, deem this, what will be known going forward as THE EJECTION, or THE GREATEST EJECTION OF ALL TIMES, abbreviated simply GEAT (pronounced JEET), a grade A, world-class tirade of genius magnitude.

We are lucky to have had the King, Ruler, and Sovereign Leader of The Softball Team The Shatters, Aaron Wolfe www.aaron-wolfe.com, in attendance, bravely huddled under an umbrella, risking his camera in the name of a possible outburst.  It is true what they say, if a picture is worth a thousand words, then a video, which is literally just thousands of pictures, is worth, if my calculations are correct, yes, they are, 1.3 million photographs.  So, without further use of many  more words, exclusively from the King of Jewish Baseball, in accordance with the King, Ruler, and Sovereign Leader of The Softball Team The Shatters, we bring you, THE EJECTION.  That’s me on 1st base!

We apologize and warn you about the face-to-face contact you are about to have with the King of All Jewish Baseball, for it has been known to cause blindness.  It was not his intention to interfere or put your health at risk, he simply lost his head momentarily and spoke directly to the camera trying to provide commentary as is his habit.  And we beg of you just one more consideration… Keep in mind the video is two minutes.  The actual delay was thirty. High theater with an overhand garbage can toss finish (you see the can at the end of the video).   

Roll it…

But, alas, we lost both games.

One of their guys hit an almost identical 2 run-homer down the left field line tying the game, 5-5.

What seems like hours later, still drizzling, we’re in the bottom of the 10th inning of game 2.  They have 2 runners on base.  Ray divises an elaborate bunt coverage.  But it does not matter.  Bunt goes back to the pitcher. I roll to the ground to get out of the way to give him a throwing lane to Ray covering 3rd base.  Pitcher mishandles the ball, rushes a throw to 1st base, throws it into right field, runner from 2nd base scores, game over.

My final thought on the Zorrilla, after this incident, and after the season, is that the winning the Zorrilla means something.  There is a sense, even if false or somewhat inflated, that the games are important.  And so they are.  Our second baseman made and error in the first game that cost us two runs and was benched.  And our manager was fired after the game because we lost both.

Just as the winning run scored, the rain came down from the sky above, and everyone ran for their cars.

And that’s how it ended, suddenly, without discussion.