ITV: Back from the "DL"!

I hope our time apart wasn't too rough on you and the kids, but e-Daddy's home baby!



Yes boys and girls, after a brief stint on the "Disabled List", IntheVicinity is back in action, feeling refreshed and renewed as a simile involving something commonly known to be very refreshed and renewed.

It was hard on me at first, having been forced to take a mandatory sabbatical by a Commissioner who shall remain nameless, for what were officially termed "stress induced hallucinations."
I mean jeez, you try and call a balk on ONE little tidal basin paddleboat couple, physically violate ONE little FDR Memorial with the orange safety-bag, and slash ONE commissioner's FOUR tires while yelling "I AM DcCityBall" and all the sudden I "need to take some time off " to get myself "together." BS...and I don't mean Bloop Single.

Anyway, it was a long week. Let me tell you, the detox (or DC-tox) process is not a pretty one. I don't remember much, but I apparently had to be locked in the bathroom for the first six hours and was given to fits of profuse sweating, clicking, safe-and-out-like convulsions, hysterical strike three calls, and repeated attempts to dust off the toilet seat with my plate brush. Also, Maria said that I kept sobbing and shout-singing the Simple Minds song "Don't You (Forget about Me) from the Breakfast Club Soundtrack to pictures of the DcCityBall logo.
...particularly the hey hey hey HEY! and OooooOOoOOOOOoooooOOOHHhhh! parts.

Finally, after a few more tears, and some pizza and Miller Lite, DcCityball was completely out of my system.
I attended RS-AA (Recreational Sports Addicts Anonymous) meetings and stayed clean of umpiring for 8 whole days. Then, upon returning to DC, the temptations and cravings started. In a frenzied panic, I was unable to distinguish between the real and the imagined, the surreal and the subreal. I was, I think, seeing you guys everywhere -- on the street, in the park, on buses, in stores; in strip clubs and antique shops, gas stations and bakeries-- it was almost as if you were all around me in this city.

DcCityball was following me everywhere I went; it's been a trial each hour since then. My girlfriend tells me I've been umping in my sleep --arguing the Infield Fly Rule to my dreams, telling my subconscious that it needs 3 females to play 10 in the field, and something about the X-men and Kelly Kapowski that I don't quite recall...

My doctors say I'm a hopeless case. That I'm incorrigible. They say the only way to kick this DcCityBall addiction is to move somewhere remote, somewhere so far removed from civilization that they've never even heard of good intramural co-ed recreational softball. Somewhere like the National Mall, or Northern Virginia.

But I've decided that I can't let this disease run my life.
And yes, believe me, softball addiction is a disease-- it's hereditary. My dad used to come home 5 hours late from work covered in dust and chalk, smelling like double-walled aluminum and Big League Chew. My mother would ask, crying, "Where have you been?"...but she knew. She knew.

I've decided that I'm going to stay right here and beat this thing on my own. No more softball for me. I'm swearing it off for good! I've got to kick this cruel bitch-goddess of a dependency and begin my life anew!

But maybe..maybe if I just umped...socially? You know..just on weekends, with friends...when other people are umpiring too, so I'm not like "that guy" who just umps alone and makes everyone feel uncomfortable after he's done his 4th of 5th game in a row. Yeah, that sounds right. This could work...
Hell...I'll see you all on Sunday!

Till next time, the first step is admitting you have a problem and remember, you can't spell INTERVENTION without ITV!

-Play ball!