Home thoughts from a bloke

We won this corresponding fixture last year. The London Raiders fielded well enough but couldn't pierce or clear our infield. It is absurd to suggest that it's a must-win game, particularly as we have little idea of the quality of the relegated teams. But it's also obvious that we will need to win one or two of these 50-50 home games in order to stay up. I have a feeling that the three victories we managed last year will not be enough this season, and that the division as a whole will be more competitive, or less polarised, at least. The news regarding our female players is very encouraging. Ruth Heller e-mailed earlier this week to confirm that she will be available for the first few games. Which means that we could start the season with a distaff five as experienced as any of the opposition. We have great pitching. There are reasons to be optimistic.

Play up Tecumsehs!

Tecumsehs Announce Campaign Tune

It's "Good Fortune" by Polly Harvey. Learn the words and we can all sing along next time we're in the Defoe.

En Attendant Nelson

We couldn't get to first base, there being no base to get to. With Coach Emeritus and Acting Kitman Larry marked absent things looked bleak as Beckett for Vladimir, Estragon and Pozzo Tecumseh as they gazed across the duck pond into a chill Nor'wester. Blowing in from the East, to brighten everyone's evening was Jen, however, who is a slender shadow of her former, no less delectable self. Fear not, she is not recovering from a serious illness, but is merely a little malnourished. Lawyers are treated more appropriately in Moscow, it seems. We were also blessed by a quartet of newbies whose names I will now misspell without a thought to the consequences.

Kirsten is blonde and athletic.
Danielle is dark and athletic.
Marc is sandy-haired and laid-back.
Paul is dark and tenacious.

They all appeared rather more expert than the Tecumseh regulars by the end of practise.

I can reveal that the correct pronunciation of "Sion Tammes" is, prosaically, Sion Tammes. Our brand new international man of mystery also made a guest appearance and revealed the sorry truth about his forename, before wowing us with both glove and stick.

Thanks to all who attended, particularly those new teammates who made it a worthwhile exercise.

No schedule as yet, but there's a good chance that the first game will be on my 35th birthday, so don't forget the presents.

Springing Into Action, Wednesday 5th April 2006

Fort Shawnee, the team's Sunshine State offseason facility exists, for the moment, solely within the somewhat limited confines of this writer's imagination. But hey, at least it's not sinking. We were obliged, therefore, to assemble instead by the west duckpond in Clissold Park, a corner of N16 which is forever Tecumseh, for the start of Spring Training.

Tecumseh Spring Training serves as a test for Schrödinger's cat, in that it may or may not take place, and you never know for sure until the kit bag is open.

Tecumseh Spring Training serves as a test for Special Relativity, in that it is both protracted, taking place (assuming the cat's alive) over a period of weeks, and astonishingly brief, as only an hour or so of real time elapses while people are running around with bats, balls and gloves.

When we opened the bag this year we found my flip-flops.

Equipment guru Seth Harman had promised us some new softball gadgetry and did not disappoint. Among his box of delights were a green, overweight, soft toss softball, ideal for warming up on a cool April evening - I recommend those who haven't to try it - a still heavier black softball which explodes, presumably, when dropped and a batting tee. The batting tee closely resembles a giant sex toy such as one might encounter in a Ken Russell film, or a Nicholson Baker novel. It may be the rudest single object I've ever seen. The fact that it is occasionally necessary to grip the thing tightly near its tip in order to adjust its projection and angle of thrust just adds to the overall effect. Unfazed by the vulgarity of this jutting black form the team took BP, shagged some fly balls, fielded some grounders, and all in all looked free from rust. The evening was then enlivened by the appearance of Kat's flat mates who appeared to be anything but flat (in the sense of "lacking effervescence", before I 'm accused of chauvinism) although it should be noted that these two young women waited until we were in the pub before joining the practice leading some to question their absolute commitment to the team. Bygones, I say. Arsenal progressed to the semi-finals of the Champion's League and a young female priest in a dog collar and a flamboyant skirt got one or two of our former altarboys a little flustered. I'm hoping she's there again next week.

Sayonara.