THE UMPS

1 Feb

Israel Baseball is growing like Sea Monkeys.  But with more players, teams, and games, you need more umps.  So, 3 weeks ago, we began the official Israel Association of Baseball Umpires Course.  Every Monday night, at Baptist Village, 6 of us gather, the SOON TO BE ANOINTED NEW UMPS OF THE IAB.  The course is lead by none other than, that’s right, faithful reader, you guessed it, Neon Leon Klarfeld aka The Overseer and Protector of All Jewish Safety, Wellbeing, and Barbecues aka Jewish Santa Clause aka Jewish Wizard of Oz, and also, Chief Umpire in Israel.

Neon Leon teaching us in the classroom.

Neon Leon teaches us in the classroom.

Umpires are historically in a category of humanity– nay, sub-humanity, all to themselves.  Who is willing to put up with it all? – The long games? – The abuse?  At best, an ump is invisible.  At worst he is a demon, an idiot, blind, drunk, stoned, taking bribes, favoring the home team, a clown, “horse shit”.  There is no glory.

Anyone available to officiate a youth baseball game on a Friday afternoon holds a certain station in life – broke, unshaven, recently divorced, balancing clumsily on one leg, changing into uniform in the parking lot, hiding behind the open trunk of a ’74 Impala in lose, dirty tighty-whiteys.  Limping slowly to the field, 5 minutes late, feeling around in their pockets for game balls.  What saint can handle all this?  And know the rules?

The love.  The tenderness.  The tears of the ump.

No one knows.

As a player, I have been taught systemic hatred of umps.  They only mess the game up.  Get rid of them.  Replace them with computers, anything is better than this weirdo.  But no– now I am, or will be, one of the weirdos too.  Things have changed.

You still think it’s funny, easy?  I invite you, Dearest Idiot, to see if you have what it takes to know the most, and receive the least, study the rules, and still be called a moron, to eat the shite of the world, and stand strong, stoic, arms crossed, confused, scared, facing scruffy coaches and players, in short, to be an ump.  I present to you, Ladies and Geetles, one question from one homework assignments.  Keep in mind, these scenarios are endless.  Good luck…

  1.  With a runner on first, batter hits a line drive up the middle which deflects off the pitcher’s glove, hits the field umpire and is subsequently caught by the second baseman.  R1 thinking it a catch tries to make it back to first base.  The second baseman, thinking it a catch, throws to first for the “double play”  and the ball arrives at first before either the batter or R1 get to the base.  The first baseman tags the base.  Place the runners.

Whats that? – You have no idea? – Your head hurts?  Yeah, that’s what I thought, you DO NOT have what it takes.  So allow me, King of Jewish Baseball, certified ump, to explain.

The hitter is out at 1st base.  The runner going back to 1st base is safe and remains at 1st base.  The ball hitting the ump was the equivalent to the ball hitting the ground, so it is not a catch.  The force is off once the out on the batter/baserunner is recorded at first, and the runner from 1st, R1, as he is known, is allowed to return to the base.  If the ball had just hit the pitcher, and then the 2nd baseman caught it, it would be a double play, batter-baserunner would have been out on the catch, and R1 would be out with ball arriving to 1st base before him.  But no! Because it hit the ump, no double play, runner on 1st, 1 out.

Now, get out of my face, return to your dugout, place your whole ass on a bench, and make sure next time you come out here, you know what in the hell you are talking about.  Do you hear me?  As a matter of fact, did he go, yes he did, strike three, you’re out, game over, you’re ejected, lifetime ban.

It is not easy, this ump life, the studying, the ridicule.  But we carry on anyhow.  After all, no umps, no game.  We make things official.  We are the judges, upholders and keepers of the rulebook, THE GREAT BLIND AND DRUNKEN GODS OF BASEBALL, and in the end, you will submit to our will.

An angel.

The future umps of the IAB.

THE CAR

25 Jan

So, my transformation, from American literary genius, to a real-life citizen of Israel, the King of All Jewish Baseball, is almost complete.  The ministry of absorption, of transportation, city inspectors, this tax, that parking app, paperwork.  But one piece was still missing, a car, our great symbol of stability, and mobility, at the same time.

After 6 months living in Israel – a nice, round number for review, I will note, leading THE MOST POWERFUL BASEBALL ORGANIZATION IN THE WORLD, I have had 6, or 7, cars, I can’t remember.  I am an expert, now, also, along with being a professional blogger and the most important artist of the century, a professional car renter, test driver, they know me at Hertz, laugh every time I walk in.

If I had known, I would have documented the whole thing better, as is my habit, let nothing slip by, write it down, make a list, photos, or it never happened.  But, regretfully, dear reader, I did not get it all, as well as I would have liked.  But I will, now, anyhow, using only the power of Mickey Sabbath, and my phone, of course, piece it all together for you.

It started with this modest little baby blue beast, a nice car, small, manageable, so long ago,I don’t remember if it was fast or slow.

Car 1.

Car 1. Blue Kia Picanto.

After just 1 week, I had had to turn the in for a van.  It was time for baseball camp, and I was the bus driver, so I exchanged Car 1, for Van 1.  I do not have a picture of the van.

After camp, I received as a gift from the Gods of Jewish Baseball, what came to be known as THE GREAT AND FAITHFUL MOBILE OF JEWISH BASEBALL, the car, thus far, I had the longest, a brown Suzuki Splash.

Car 3, the Splash.

Car 3, the Splash.

The Splash made it through the Succot Clinics and nearly 2 months on the Battlefield.  But then, the NUMERFUL AND WICKED ENEMIES OF JEWISH BASEBALL unleashed a plot to destroy the Splash.  Broken glass everywhere.

An attemped assisnation

Assassination attempt.

But we will not be stopped.  Like Malcolm, King, and Reagan, in the face of death threats, we picked ourselves up, and continued on…

No big deal.

No big deal.

But a King of Jewish Baseball can only drive a windowless Sukuzi full of Priceless Baseball Equipment for so long, so we exchanged the Splash.

The guy at Hertz said he had never seen a car returned in worse condition, covered in the dust of the Earth, and Bird Shit, missing a window, water bottles and crumpled flyers promoting the Plentiful Programs of Israel Baseball strewn about, phone chargers, coffee cups.  He looked around as is if, just by being in the presence of the car, he was somehow in danger.

Goodbye Grand Master Splash.

Goodbye Grand Master Splash.

But then, a new hope, a beautiful Nissan .

Car 4.

Car 4.

The next day, Hamid drove his van into us, another attempt to slow the proliferation of the Kingdom of Jewish Baseball.

Noooooooo. Hamid, you asshole!  The Nissan.  You didn't hear me honking???

Noooooooo. Hamid, you asshole! The Nissan. You didn’t hear me honking???

We continued on, the Hannukah Tournament, carting 4 coaches to Baptist Village every Wednesday for National Team Practice, remembering car start codes and license plate numbers.

One must not just test drive cars, but actual car rental companies.  My time with Hertz, after 6 months, had ended.  Time to create confusion somewhere else and start looking for a car not to rent, but to buy, to own, property, something to destroy that we can call our very own.

Cars in Israel are insanely expensive, exactly twice as much as in the US, because of a 100% car tax.  But I had always heard an Oleh Chadash like myself, as we’re called, those who have, for one reason or another, recently moved to Israel, were to be rewarded for our braveness with an exemption from the dreaded 100% car tax, so I went for the top, a deserving car, an honest new Honda, or Hyundai.   But being an Oleh Chadash isn’t what it used to be, the tax break has been reduced to nearly nothing!  The new cars were 130k Shekels.

So we took our love of cars to Avis where they sell used rental cars cheaply.

Arthur's desk.

Arthur’s desk.

I found a most Israeli model, a Mazda 3, nice car, they’re everywhere.  But who has 70 Thousand Shekels just laying around?  My collection of fake gold jewelry is worth only a combined 30k, I was 40k short.  So I went to a GREAT INSTITUTION OF PERFECTION AND FLOORS, the bank.  And in the meantime, was given this free loaner from Arthur at Avis.

Car 5. Chevy Cruz.  Slow.  Handles poorly.  Bad Visibility.  Uncomfortable.  Shit on gas.  Rating: Shitty .

Car 5. Chevy Cruz. Slow. Handles poorly. Bad Visibility. Uncomfortable. Shit on gas. Rating: Shitty .

As you know from my brief experience trying to get my license, and as a professional Jury Dutyer, back in the New York Days, Bureaucracy is Kryptonite for the King of Jewish Baseball, if you will, takes my strength, gives me mall legs.

With an attitude like that, I was, after 1 full-day, well spent, I must say, sitting in the bank, fantasizing long winded inner monologues about bureaucrats, the world has become too complicated, too hard to navigate, the weak rule the banks, and the world, I was, ultimately rejected for a loan for the car.  You can’t trust an Oleh Chadash with history with cars like mine, he could leave, burn the car and leave, drive it into the ocean.  I called Arthur, deal’s off, Arthur, I am sorry, what should I do with the free car you gave me?  I will bring it back as soon as possible.

Let’s go check Auto Deal, they have deals, on autos.  A Volkswagen, multi media, sun roof, black, a remote control in the car, it smelled like cigarettes, had probably been driven by a Jewish Muslim Wizard Gangster, radio probably half blown out, remote control, though, sold.  Back to the bank.  They won’t give me a loan for a Mazda, but they will, it turns out, give me one for a pimped out black Jetta.  Stamped.  Approved.  Boom.

But no!  Not so fast. It’s only been 5 months, accidents, break-ins, love found, and lost, at Tel Aviv’s most forthright and spectacular car rental agencies, more coffee, the bank, insurance, taken full days of the present, and more off the back end, nothing can be this easy.  Let’s keep looking.  I hear there are deals on cars up North, let’s check it out.

Another Mazda 3.  Financing.  Mazda 3, “the most popular model in Israel”, along with the Hyundai I-30, which I also test drove.  I am transforming, becoming Israeli, might as well drive the most Israeli car.  Let’s do it.  And so, here it is, Car 6, or 7, MY car.  The one I will know better than all the others, though our love is still new.

The Mazda.

The Mazda.

I returned the car to Arthur.  The free loaner.  But no, not free, unfree, the opposite of free, money, 6,000 Shekels.  What the fuck, Arthur, bro?  You told me you used to want to be a Formula 1 driver, but now you’re renting cars at Avis. We got personal.  We are cool.

So, like all things, it is not done.  I may owe Avis 6k, or 2, or they may throw it all away, their mistake, they’ll let me know.  And there is more to be done, check the spare, owe more money for the new car, a lot, pick up the original copy of the registration, not get in an accident.

The race continues.

34

2 Jan

It is 2014.  So allow me to take this opportunity to selflessly grant you and your family a Happy New Year.  Though it is unlikely, may you enjoy health and riches, as I do.

But not only is it a new year, another, more important, holiday is upon us, my birthday.  Despite thinking of me, often, I know, as an omnipresent gaseous cloud with the ability to shape shift and occupy the body of any sentient being, I am a real a man, with a real date of birth.

My birthday, as Sovereign Ruler of All Jewish Baseball, my numerology, if you will, was carefully calibrated by the MANY AND JUST GODS OF JEWISH BASEBALL, and, naturally, I was assigned the perfect day to be born, a new year, a new baby– almost perfect.  Like everyone, as the year changes, so does my age.  But not like everyone, because of the year I was born, 1980, my age changes to the same number as the year.  For example, the day it became the year 2000, I turned 20.  Think of it like an eclipse.

But no! The Gods changed their minds, messed up, lost track of the days, and instead of the perfect birthday, January 1st, I was born on the 2nd, the forgotten day, the day that is not a day, the Day The Earth Weeps, the day we go back to school, or work, the REAL 1st day of the year.  Celebrating a birthday on January 2nd is like going for a jog the day after running the New York City Marathon.  And so this was my destiny, the boy without a birthday.

But I did not come here to divulge the mathematical secrets of my powers, or complain, though I have.  I came to say that I, King of All Jewish Baseball, professional blogger and dancer, the greatest exaggerator of all time, am getting old.  This year, it becomes 2014, and I become, do the math, 2 + 0 + 1 = 3, add the 4… 34.  My projected rookie season in the Major Leagues, according to this Ouija Board, will be in 2018, at 38, a bit later than planned, but still pretty good.

So, I have 4 years to get ready.  I think I am on track, have a  good pace going.  I Cross Fit 3 days a week with the National Team.  I sleep with my concubines submerged in a flotation tank inside a hyperbolic chamber full of Dead Sea Mud.  And I receive a full blood transfusion every 3 months, like Bartolo Colon, where all my blood is drained, mixed with the blood of 1,000 lambs and Madonna’s tears, and injected back into my lifeless flesh.  And I am good for 90 days.

And with this modest routine and prophecy I enter my 34th year on the planet, if my memory serves correct, suffering, striving, with you, ready to the lead the many millions of JEWISH BASEBALL WARRIORS, and readers, of course, into the grand future past post Y2K pre apocalyptic millennial era.

Follow. Your. Dreams.

Follow your dreams.

JEWPANESE

22 Dec

I have refrained, most honorably, may I add, from writing about Youk on this, the greatest blog of all time.  But with news of him signing in Japan for the 2014 season (http://www.nydailynews.com/sports/baseball/youkilis-leaving-mlb-play-japan-article-1.1554521), I must speak up.  Youk, you have been stealing what is rightfully mine for too long.  And now you want to go international too!

Imagine, if you can, Ladies and Geetles, dearest, faithful reader, a young KOJB, my first Big League game, Fenway Park, Red Sox vs. Athletics, bleacher seats, right field.  I was not prepared for the size of the field, the brightness, the green, the brown, the crisp white uniforms, Henderson, Canseco…  The game was tied 1-1 going into the bottom of the 9th.  Tom Brunansky hit a solo walk off home run on the first pitch over the left field fence, the Green Monster. I made up my mind, one day I would be the 3rd baseman for the Boston Red Sox.

Fast forward.  I am on the fast track to Fenway.  I’ve been invited to visit the University of Cincinnati, they can’t resist me, want to see if they can tame the wild young stallion, harness the power.  Watching practice, the 3rd baseman is fat and slow.  He has a funny name no one can pronounce and no one will ever know anyways, unlike my name, which everyone will know, he is nobody, and I am the future starting 3rd baseman for the Red Sox.

My first day of practice, we are hitting partners.  He is funny.  And he has a weird batting stance.  He definitely is no good.  We’re both Jewish.  Brothers!  From then on, we hit together at practice, and throw together before games.

images

Youk in college.

Fast forward.  2004.  I am sitting at a bar in New York City watching Youk win his first World Series with the Red Sox, the first Red Sox Championship in 86 years, the curse of the Bambino, broken, the comeback against the Yankees after being down 3 games to none, first time ever.

How could this happen?  Betrayal.  It was supposed to be me!  I never even started at 3rd base in college, except when Youk moved to short stop for half a season, instead being banished to catcher, tortured behind the plate. I thought we were friends, bro.  We had a seder together!

Youk went on to win 2 championships in Boston, 3 time all-star, Hank Aaron award-winner, gold glover, finished top 5 in MVP voting multiple times, set the record for errorless games for a 1st baseman, and, eventually, moved to 3rd base, the final dagger in my back, my rightful position.

So I found new turf.  Went out into the world, into the frontier, the unknown, international baseball.  I played in the Israel Baseball League, and in Germany the next year.  I went to the Dominican and Puerto Rico.  I was slowly becoming an expert on international baseball, the King of All Jewish Baseball.

Now, after all these years, Youkilis wants to swim out into open water, too, leave his comfortable little bubble, the so called “Major Leagues”.  Well, bring it on, bro.  This is my domain.  You have no idea what awaits you, the harsh reality of non-America, the language barrier, monopoly money.  You think the Tokyo Dome is nice? – Think again.  The place is a dump.  If you needed a contract to play international baseball, you could have just asked.  The Tel Aviv Comrades were prepared to make you the generous offer of 350 shekels a week.  But suit yourself.  If you want to play in a lesser league where not everyone on the field is Jewish, go right ahead.  Let’s see if you can handle it…

Youk, you are good, and you are brave, and we are rootin’ for you more than you know.

Prepare yourself, Japan– World, a big bright Jewpanese Star is coming, Ichiro, Matsui, Daisuke, all in one, and his name… is YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUK.

Go Golden Eagles.

photo

Young KOJB and Young Youk before a game at Duke.

THE SCHOOLS

21 Dec

We have had enough of waiting for people to come to us.  We will no longer stand by quietly watching Israeli children clumsily play imaginary games like soccer or basketball, lonely, in the streets, hoping, somehow, they find out about and sign up for baseball.  No, we will not stand silently witnessing this atrocity, human rights violation, evil.  We will go to the people, to the streets, to the youth, to the schools, and show them what baseball is!

That’s why, Ladies and Geetles, you must know, each week, me and my faithful sidekick, King of Jewish Interns for the Israel Association of Baseball, as he is affectionately known, the recently dubbed Prince of All Jewish Baseball, Sam Friedman, aka Israeli Coach Stevie, aka Shmuel the Brave, aka Shmookie, dutifully ride into the famously unforgiving landscape of the Israeli Elementary School System, equipped only with our bag of equipment, and two genius grade minds, and we deliver, over the day, a POWERFUL JOLT OF JEWISH BASEBALL to several hundred kids and an otherwise downtrodden teaching staff, leaving the school in a kind of hysteria – kids selling baseball cards for 2 shekels in the hallways, chanting “We Love Baseball”, teachers hanging out their classroom windows crying out, “Coach Stevie!  Come back!” as we pull off, sun glasses half way down our noses, honking, a trail of confused emotions and scorched earth behind us.

We arrive at 8am, tired, usually having been lost at least once, and head for the gym, or the court, or wherever the gym teacher tells us to go, and then straight to the teacher’s lounge for coffee.  Who are these Exotic Olympic Athletes, these American Cowboys, these Kings of Jewish Baseball?

Classes in Israel have as many as 40 kids in them.  Sometimes they combine classes so we will have 80 kids who have never seen or heard of baseball, who do not speak English, on a small basketball court, for 45 minutes, and are expected, somehow, using only the power of hologram technology, and comedic timing, to teach them the beauty and insanity that is baseball.

We start with some beat boxing, dancing, a soul clap maybe, Stevie parachutes in on a horse, I get a running start and slide across the gym on my knees holding two flaming hoola-hoops in my outstretched arms, head thrown back, screaming at the sky, “Are you motherfuckers ready for some baseball?”

Then we begin.

I ask if English is OK.  Then I ask if anyone has ever played baseball.  A couple of hands half-heartedly go up.  I ask if anyone has ever seen baseball on TV.  A few more.  Then I say, “My name…”, pause, suspense, all the greats do it, the kids lean in, “… is Fish.  And this is Israeli Coach Stevie.”  The kids burst into ecstatic shrieks of joy.  We’re in.  They love us.

Stevie then leads the 40 or 80 children around the bases 3 times, explaining what each base is called, that you have to touch the base with your foot, and stay in order, or the umpire will call you “out”, and we don’t want to be out, we want to be “safe”, demonstrating the two different gestures umpires use.

After base running, Stevie and I play catch, showing the kids how to put on the glove, catch the ball, switch hands, step, and throw.  And we show off a bit, scare the kids, throw hard, show them ground balls, fly balls, how fast the game is, kids hide behind one another, smiling.  Then they try.  We pass out gloves, helping get them on their hands.  They look at the gloves and laugh.  Everyone gets 2 ground balls, and 2 fly balls.

Then we hit.  Everyone gets 3 tries to hit the ball once.  The kids hold the bat, hands apart, wrong hand on top, standing on home plate, facing the pitcher.  And we say, “Good.  That looks good.”  And then they, smiling, hit the ball, drop the bat, run to third base, or chase the ball, anywhere but the right place.  And we say, “Perfect.  High-five.”

Allow me, dearest, enthralled reader, if I may, to describe one play, in one game, in one class, to give you an idea of what 6 hours of this might be like.  I urge you, throughout, to use your comparatively weak imagination to understand.  The scene…

Basketball court outside the school.  Gym teacher on her phone on the sideline.  Janitor watching from a doorway, mop in hand, curious, disgusted.  Me, King of All Jewish Baseball, alone, in the center, calm, the lone still piece in an picture otherwise blurred by spastic movement, ready to deliver an underhand pitch.  It’s a small class, 20 kids, and older, 5th graders, so instead of simply hitting, we played a game.  A hit.  Shrieks.  The hitter takes off running around the bases, missing every base by several feet– meters, as he goes.  The entire defense, out of position, chases the ball screaming.  One player kicks the ball away from the wall to another player.  She picks it up and throws the ball with her glove to another player who runs the ball to first base, jumps in the air, and spikes the ball down hard on the base just before the runner crosses home plate.  Everyone stops, looks at me.  Have they done it right?  I take my time.  More suspense.  I pump my fist, “That’s an out.  Great job.” More shrieking.

At the end of the 45 minutes, we pass out flyers and baseball cards and tell the kids how they can sign-up for teams in the area.  We pose for pictures, sign some autographs, and that’s it.  Simple as that.  200 new baseball fans.  Of 200, a few come to the next practice in their area, to the field, and join one of our teams.  There are 700 kids registered so far. It is our mission, as handed down to us by the DIVINE SPIRIT OF JEWISH BASEBALL, and several gypsies, of course, to teach baseball to the children of Israel.

If this all sounds too absurd, if you do not believe me because I might be a pathological liar, first, let me say, I do not like you or respect your tiny worldview, then, I offer, take a look for yourself, photographic, scientific, video evidence of the sudden outbreak of Jewish Baseball Fever in Israel, this epidemic of Jewish Baseball, this Love.

The kids running bases to warm up.

The kids running bases to warm up.

Israeli Coach Stevie shows the kids what a home run looks like!

Israeli Coach Stevie shows the kids what a home run looks like!

This young man demonstrates the classic Israeli batting stance, hands apart, on home plate, facing the pitcher.

This young man demonstrates the classic Israeli batting stance, hands apart, on home plate, facing the pitcher.

Hanging tough in the teacher's lounge.

Hanging tough in the teacher’s lounge.

We're in.

Israeli Coach Stevie and the King of Jewish Baseball bringing joy to the kids of Israel.

We Love Baseball (video)

—-

To keep up with all our school visits and up to the minute updates on all things Israel Baseball, follow us on twitter and instragram…

http://instagram.com/kingofjewishbaseball

https://twitter.com/kingofJbaseball

https://twitter.com/Jbaseballprince

http://instagram.com/israelicoachstevie

THE STORM

15 Dec

Is it safe to come out?  I have been inside for a week.  Everyone has. It’s been raining, hailing, and snowing, for 40 days and 40 nights.  The worst storm in the history of Israel.  Jerusalem got 24 inches of snow.  All baseball activities canceled.  Our fields are under water, or ice.

Hombo Field at Kibbutz Gezer

Hombo Field at Kibbutz Gezer

There is only one explanation for these extreme weather conditions.  No, dear reader, faithful peasant, it is not what you’re thinking, clearly, it is not god’s punishment for reality TV, or so called “global warming”, no no no, it was me moving to Israel.  Earth was not prepared for the energetic shift from West to East, and it threw our planet off its axis.  Wind patterns changed, oceanic currents reversed, flowers sprouted on moon glaciers, continental plates liquified, birds flew confused overhead, crashing into one another, falling into lakes of bubbling sulfur.

I am sorry.

But, now, finally, the miracle of the universe is alive around us, and in us.  The Earth rights itself.  The sun is out, burning our dilated eyes as we emerge like zombies from solitary confinement, tortured, crazed, skinny, hands outstretched, blocking the light, feeling for sharp objects, hiding our unshaven faces and sunken cheeks.

Jerusalem will thaw.  The fields will dry out.  And, soon, here, and all around the world, it will be time to play ball.  And we will be new again.

HANNUKAH TOURNAMENT

10 Dec

It is that time of year again, time for the most anticipated event of the combined worldwide baseball and popular science communities.  No, dearest, imbecilic reader, it is not what you are thinking, the so called “World Series”, or the World Baseball Classic, it is not even Haley’s Comet.  It’s the Israel Association of Baseball’s Annual Hannukah Tournament.  Boom!  29 teams in 3 age divisions playing games simultaneously at 7 venues across the country.  Over 350 participants – players, coaches, umps, parents, grandparents, drivers, and fans.

An event of this magnitude, surely, was no easy administrative task, it required the considerable force of 3 of this Earth’s most powerful Jewish Baseball Geniuses, Neon Leon Klarfeld aka The Overlord of All Jewish Safety, Wellbeing, and Barbecues aka Jewish Santa Clause aka Jewish Wizard of Oz, Margo Sugarman, the Queen of Jewish Emails Pertaining to Israel Baseball and All Other Divine Communications, and, of course, me, the One, The King of All Jewish Baseball.

It began with a simple meeting over pizza with Neon Leon.  A great idea.  A Hannukah Tournament.  It happens every year like the changing of the seasons.  What could go wrong with something so natural, so perfect?  Weeks later, 40 different versions of the schedule taped the the wall at international HQ of Israel Baseball, an unsolvable puzzle, a broken man, phone calls at all hours from coaches, travel conflicts, venue changes, there’s no home plate at Baptist Village, Raanana needs baseballs, only half of Jerusalem’s uniforms were delivered, the sun is going down and Shabbat starts early this time of year, forecast says rain in Bet Shemesh, there’s only one ump scheduled for Modiin, can Dan ump, Misgav thinks their playing at 10am in Tel Mond, call them, they’re playing at noon at Gezer, I am getting a call on the other line, write up another schedule, Ginot Shomron has a Bar Mitvah in the morning, 3 of their players can’t make the early game, Rehovot and Tel Aviv have to combine to get to a total of 9 players, write up another schedule, e-mail it to me, we’ll send it out to everyone, hold on, I am getting another call, wait, which copy are we sending out?

It was like the control room at Cape Canaveral, Apollo 13, a rescue mission, Houston, we have a Hannukah Tournament, we ate dehydrated food for a week, didn’t sleep, and when we did, fitfully, awoken by a buzzing phone under our pillow, worried for our Jewish Baseball Brothers lost out in space, or on Route 431, The Hashmonaim Flames have a flat tire.

In the end, it worked, sort of.  The teams got to the fields.  Umps were there.  Pitches were thrown.  Outs were recorded.  Actual baseball games were played.  Scores were even reported.  More schedules.  Day 2.  Week 2.  Still no sleep.  A winners bracket.  A losers bracket.  We’re getting close to the end, the Spacecraft of Jewish Baseball is nearing safe re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere.  Write it up and get it out.  Confirm the umps.

Then… it rained.  Even now, a week later, as I sit here, literary genius, Ulpan dropout, typing, it rains still.  And day 2 of the tournament was eventually canceled due to weather.  It was, even with the rain, the largest Hannukah Tournament in nearly 5,000 years.

I can, as you know, faithful reader, continue on like this for some time, with these words, peeling back the layers of time and thought, lingering, going deeper, to a place where there is nothing, to the center, but I will spare you the full power of my descriptiveness…ness, for now, instead electing to show you this new piece of technology, by Queen Margo, a collage slide show music video mixed media installation.  We are, after all, inside of a blog, if you have forgotten, a forum for this kind of thing.  I warn you only, before you begin, do not stand and punch something due to the rush of adrenaline you will surely receive from the song alone, at least not with your throwing hand.  Here it is…

But we did not stop there.  No, the insanity of the tournament was not enough.  So between rounds of the Hannukah Tournament, we had Israel Baseball All Star Day.  West Coast scouting supervisor from the Cincinnati Reds Rex De La Nuez came to see 20 of our best 14-18 year olds, there were skills competitions for younger players, a free barbecue, we lit the Hannukah Candles outside the 1st base dugout, and then the grande finale, the Greatest Jewish Baseball Show on Earth, the 1st ever Premier League All-Star game, under the lights, in front of the ever-growing IAB extended family.  Hundreds of friends, family, and kids in their uniforms stayed to watch 2 teams, 24 players in total, battle for the right to call themselves the best, in Israel, that night.

And then, it was over.  The phone calls stopped.  The inbox returned into a manageable flow.  The schedule stopped changing.  And I can now say, Ladies and Geetles, without further frothing and rambling, using only the power of my technicolor coat, and 2 modern day royals, we did it.  And we continue to do it.  We may have been rained out, but we will not be rained on.  Israel Baseball, lift off.

 

SCIENCE FRICTION

20 Nov

We started our Strength and Conditioning Program this week.  I am in pain.  Every day at 7am, THE GREAT AND NUMEROUS MEMBERS OF THE ISRAEL NATIONAL TEAM unite at CrossFit Tel Aviv (http://crossfittelaviv.com/) and become one unstoppable and exhausted force of supernature.  CrossFit is the Scientology of exercise, it is its own world, with its own language.  This week alone, we have done 1.3 million neuro quad boosters, 400,000 lateral quazi skeletal laser thrusts, 4 galactic squat break downs in dual orbital sets, a one legged space-time hold, and infinite explosive negative zero cleans.  My time on the 93 million mile velocity techno moonbeam circuit is already down to .00000066565655522111 nano light years.   And so we have officially begun, the Israel Senior National Team, between our regular practices and training, our collective push to win the European Championships this summer, to ultimate victory, to once and for all extinguish the flame of desire that burns in each of us.

Orr Gottlieb, aka Israeli Babe Ruth, demonstrates perfect form on his poly quasar squats.

Orr Gottlieb, Israeli Babe Ruth, demonstrates perfect form on his poly quasar squat thruster dianetic boosters.

When you think of me, dear reader, which is often, I know, late at night, sleepless, looking into the darkness, you think of of me as a genius warrior-poet, the greatest exaggerator of all time, perhaps, or the most important conceptual artist/novelist/dancer of the 21st century, or, maybe now, as the Cross Fit Middle East Regional Champion, but forget not, I am also a REAL BASEBALL PLAYER.  So, to prove it, I leave you with this piece of moving picture and sound from THE VERY FANTASTIC ISRAEL BASEBALL INSTRUCTIONAL VIDEO SERIES OF THE NEW ISRAEL BASEBALL YOUTUBE CHANNEL, magically created using only a single white dove, and a video camera, of course, and a lifetime of carefully crafted knowledge, with the overall production quality of a local access cooking show.

Here it is…

—-

Oh, almost forgot, the GREATEST HOUR OF RADIO EVER RECORDED…

http://tlv1.fm/episodes/2013/11/17/rogel-alpher-with-nate-fish-journeys/

BRAD

4 Nov

Big news…

Brad Ausmus, our manager from last year’s World Baseball Classic Team Israel, has been hired to manage the Tigers.   I can see only one reason this happened considering he is TOTALLY UNQUALIFIED to manage a Major League Baseball team.  He only caught 18 years in the Major Leagues, played the most games ever of any Jewish Major Leaguer, has a degree from Dartmouth, and was trusted enough to be given control of the Los Angeles Dodgers, for one day, the last day of his playing career, by some guy named Joe Torre.  The only explanation as to why the Detroit Tigers have hired him to manage… is…. clearly…. that…. Brad Ausmus is trying to take my title as King of All Jewish Baseball.  There, I said it.

So let me take this momentous occasion, as we are gathered, here, on this internet, Ladies and Geetles alike, to say, IT AIN’T HAPPENIN’ , Brad, if that is your real name.  I see what you’re doing, and I don’t like it, not one bit.  I will not be dethroned.  You’re always saying, “Fish, you’re the best player I have ever played with”, “Fish, you’re such a good writer”, “Fish, I wanna be like you”, “Fish…”– yeah, yeah, yeah.  You know what, Brad, sssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh.  I see now, you were just softening me up to eat me.  All part of your sick plan.  Hear this, I, and only I, am the King of Jewish Baseball.  I will ride through Detroit on horseback, lead by my torch and mediocre sense of direction, searching each of the plentiful deserted corners and abandoned houses of that sickly midwestern city until I find you, cowering in a corner of a boarded up methadone clinic, with Miguel Cabrera, pleading for mercy.  Which brings me to Detroit.  Do not think, Detroit, you are not going to be held responsible for this, contempt, conspiracy.  That is right, Brad Ausmus and the City of Detroit are trying to oust me from power.  But I see you, Brad, Detroit, I see everything.  I should have cut your head off with the sword I wear down the left inseam of my uniform when I had the chance…

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I could have cut your head off here

Brad Ausmus, from Israel Baseball and the Kingdom of Jewish Baseball,  Congrats– nay, Mazal Tov!  Oh– and I expect a job, bench coach sounds good.  Lamont is totally lost out there, no idea what he’s doing.

And I shall leave you with this, as if the humiliation has not been enough, a short film about Brad by Team Israel teammate and fellow creator of Genius Jewish Baseball Media, Triple-A Padres Superstar, the Anti Hero, Cody Decker…

THE TEAMS OF THE IAB

2 Nov

Shabbat Shalom.

There is a lot going on.  We had a meeting of QUITE POWERFUL JEWISH AND NON-JEWISH WIZARDS at Leich Cream’s.  Leich, naturally, was there, Miri, wife of Leich, was there as well, Jewish Jackie Robinson, as she is known (http://www.timesofisrael.com/a-landmark-baby-step-to-religious-pluralism/), Destroyer of the Rabbinical Gender Barrier and All That Is Unjust.  And a smattering of other friends and family– Oh, and Ron Cey.

Ron Cey

Ron Cey

For those of you who are very, very dumb, which is ALL of you, I will tell you, here and now, using only the power of lasers and magnets, and and my computer, Ron played 3rd base for the Los Angeles Dodgers from 1971-1984, The King of All Los Angeles Dodgers 3rd Baseman, if you will.   He hit 316 career home runs.  He was the MVP of the 1981 World Series.

What, I assume you are wondering, considering how little you know, was Ron Cey doing at Kibbutz Gezer?  To which I answer… and allow me to take a moment to acknowledge this rare unnatural phenomenon, I do not know.  All I know is when someone calls and says Ron Cey is at their house, you go there.  When Shlo called and said he was with Prince, I simply grabbed whatever gold jewelry and brimless leopard print hats were in arms reach, got on my Segway, and floated down the street like I was on a conveyer belt screaming, “Get the fuck out of my way, I am going to find Prince.”  I realize, as King of Jewish Baseball, Things of Such Magnificence happen to me OFTEN, and happen to you NEVER, so I will tell you, it is just how these things work.

The King of All Jewish Baseball and Ron Cey

The King of All Jewish Baseball and Ron Cey, King of All Dodgers 3rd Baseman

But I, as is my habit, have been distracted, for I did not come down from the Heavens to tell you about Big Leaguers, I came to tell you about Little Leaguers.  That’s right, Ladies and Geetles, our season has begun.  Each week, across the country, coaches and players unite– nay, teams unite, soccer fields become baseball fields, carpools form, and for 2 hours each Friday, the Eternal Flame of Jewish Baseball burns bright.  Without further ado, I now, belatedly, using only a serpent, and my camera, of course, proudly present, THE TEAMS OF THE IAB…

The Tel Aviv Comrades, The Raanana Raiders, The Lev Hasharon Nationals, The Zofit Warriors, The Ginot Shomron Hawks, The Bet Shemesh Comets, Blue Sox, and Mavericks, The Modiin Miracles, The Hashmonaim Atzec Flames, The Jerusalem Lions, The Gezer Bats, Team Misgav, and The Rehovot Raptors.

But, as we’ve discussed so many times, there is no need, considering I am a professional blogger, to bore you any longer with old fashioned “words”, I will show you with the new and exciting technology of photography.  It rained this Friday, but some of our teams still practiced.  I went to Modiin and Tel Aviv.  Meet them now, for the first time, your favorite new baseball teams…

Modiin Miracles, 8-10 year olds

Modiin Miracles, 8-10 year olds

Modiin Miracles, 12-14 year olds

Modiin Miracles, 10-12 year olds

Modiin Miracles, 12-14 year olds

Modiin Miracles, 12-14 year olds

A Miracles pitcher throws in the "bullpen'

A Miracles pitcher throws in the “bullpen”

The Tel Aviv Comrades, 8-10 years old

The Tel Aviv Comrades, 8-10 year olds

Tel Aviv Comrades 10-12 year olds

Tel Aviv Comrades 10-12 year olds

Tel Aviv Comrades, 14-16 years old

Tel Aviv Comrades, 14-16 year olds