So WE'RE HAVING
a wonderful time here in San Diego, on our unlikely quest for world domination. Our little softball team keeps winning. I have the dirt of a dozen different infields under my fingernails and the wobbly gait of Durocher in his later years. Wish you were here.
But since you're not, let me tell you a little about how things are going down here at the state finals. San Diego is lovely this time of year. Basically, by 9 in the morning, you could fry an omelet on my forehead. You could bake cupcakes in my pockets. I grow quickly woozy out here on the desert dust. I think there are fire ants in my socks. Anyone seen my waitress?
Our players, on the other hand, are doing great. We lost our first game on a technicality -- the other team got more runs than we did -- but have been on a roll ever since.
"This is soooo fun," the little girl keeps saying.
"What is?" I ask.
"This is," she says. "This tournament, Dad."
But it's not all softball down here. Not by a long shot. Here's the letter I left at the front desk of our hotel this morning:
Dear hotel manager,
On behalf of my little softball team, I want to apologize for what happened last night in your fine establishment. Somehow they got into the kitchen. Who knew they could cook?
I understand the fire is mostly out and the kids all hugged the firefighters when they left, as if that would make everything all right. Like their mothers, they rely far too much on the occasional empty gesture.
I also want to apologize for all the other things: For the way they ate the croutons and left their salads. For the stacks of empty pizza boxes. For the coyote noises they made at midnight. For the way they huddled around the front desk and tried to order massages.
In short, please understand that today's girls aren't like the girls of our youth. They are even worse. And you can quote me. They are aggressive, smart and very loud. Essentially, they are better-looking boys. It's a draw now, the battle between the sexes. All bets are off. Forget the women's tees. Don't bother holding the door. The next generation of girls is already here. Please prepare yourself accordingly.
Sincerely, Walter Alston
Yes, I'm using an alias. Who wouldn't? I am like the dean of discipline at a clown college. After what happened at the hotel, I'm pretty sure the Hiltons are looking to sue me. Saturday night, the players all had facials. I am not kidding. Lord knows what became of the carpets.
