No. 192 – Sonic Reducer

Performer: Pearl Jam

Songwriters: Gene O’Connor, David Thomas

Original Release: Christmas 1992 (Who Killed Rudolph?) single *

Year: 1992

Definitive Version: Atlanta, 4-3-94. This song didn’t make the cut on the Dissident – Live in Atlanta CD set, likely due to rights payments.

* Part of Pearl Jam’s annual Christmas singles that the band sends out to members of the Ten fan club. As far as I know, Pearl Jam never has released a version of this song beyond that, unless it was on one of their official bootleg releases in 2000/2001.

When I played the final softball games of my career in May 1994, I had no idea that they’d be my last games ever, just that they’d be my last in Flint. Until further notice, however, that’s how it worked out.

Whatever, I wanted to make those last games count. As it turned out, I had nearly polar opposite experiences between the last game for the men’s team as I had for the coed team, which pretty much captured my softball experience in a nutshell. (Hmm, maybe I should’ve slated this entry for yesterday.)

My final outing with the men’s team went great. It was against one of the better teams in the league. We played them twice in the fall of 1993, and we lost to them twice.

Worse, they were D-bags the whole time. I mean what’s the point of winning anything if you can’t rub it in on your fallen opponent? They pretty much rode us and taunted us and mocked us from start to finish. It worked, because instead of getting mad and focused, we got frustrated and sloppy.

Well that was all fine and well in the fall. But this is the spring league; these games count. By the second inning, their pieholes were firmly shut—when they weren’t busy eating crow, that is. We hammered them like 15-4.

Best of all, I went 2-for-2 and ignited rallies each time up. The first time I ripped a liner through the box that nearly took the pitcher’s head off and skipped past the second baseman into center field. I later scored the first of two runs that inning.

A couple innings later, I ripped another line shot in almost the same spot but higher, so it eluded the leaping second baseman. When the dust settled, we had six more runs on the board. The post-game beers that night at the Amvets lounge next to the softball complex never tasted so good.

In retrospect, that was my final hurrah. Unfortunately, that wasn’t my final game. My last game was the first game of the year in the Grand Blanc Coed League. When I rejoined the coed team, I did so with my own acceptance that I would play as much as I played and not worry about it.

Even though everyone knew it was going to be my only game, I played sparingly—I batted only once—and we lost brutally. When I batted, I had a good idea that it would be my only at bat and, therefore, my final at bat in Flint. No way was I going to be cheated. I was going to swing for the nearly-impossible-to-reach fences, so when I swung, I gave it everything I had … and nearly committed the cardinal slow-pitch softball sin. I nearly swung and missed.

But I didn’t miss. Instead I hit a weak grounder that somehow eluded the shortstop for a base hit. I can say that I at least ended my career on a good note, except it wasn’t. When I got back to the bench, Dave told me that the ump was about to run me, because when I swung, the bat slipped out of my hands and nearly decapitated the catcher.

I never had thrown a bat after a swing. It was just I swung so hard I lost control. I had no idea this happened when I was on first base, but there was no way it was remotely intentional. I mean, it’s not as though Randy from Mike’s Upper Deck were catching. I didn’t get bounced out of my final game, thank goodness.

After the game, as I mentioned, Dave had the team back to his house for a season-opening barbecue, and my coed softball number—49, in honor of Ron Dibble—was retired. All in all, it had been a pretty good run.