The Nate Rost once said that he hates losing more than he loves winning, and boy does he love winning. I resonate with that. Losing sucks, losing is awful. But there was nothing awful, absolutely nothing that sucked about our loss to Forest Lake at Target Field last Saturday in the Townball Classic. It was, quite simply, the most fun I've ever had on a diamond during my thirty-plus years of playing this silly game.

A few years ago I got to play on big league spring training fields at the 35+ World Series in Tempe, AZ, and that was pretty cool. But to walk into the dugout at Target Field, to jog around the warning track, to play catch in the outfield, to have your name announced in a major league ballpark, well, that's something else entirely. When I found out we were playing in the Townball Classic this year, I confess that I was really excited, but to be honest, the experience was more special than I ever expected. Not to sound like a sap, but it was surreal, almost magical. For a few hours, a bunch of guys who have the honor of representing the town of New Market got to live out a dream.

Can grass be perfect? Yes, yes it can. The playing surface was immaculate. I was in right field, and during the third inning had plenty of balls hit my way. And my goodness, every hop was so true; you could charge a ball without worrying that it would take a weird hop and skip by you to the outfield fence in the distant horizon. A rare experience. We've played on some spacious fields (Belle Plaine comes to mind), but the gaps are so deep, it's almost like playing a different game; the way you have to position yourself, anticipate a ball over your head, decide whether or not to dive---every decision was heightened, intensified.

And the batter's eye? More perfection. Stepping up to the plate made me feel like I had been playing blind my whole life, and then someone gave me rec specs, and for the first time could see.

Anyway, of course we played to win, but the score was almost an afterthought. Just as a note, though, we haven't given up eleven runs in an inning in over ten years, and the one time we might have was against New Prague in the first game of the season a long time ago. But you know what? Who cares. It happens. That's baseball. I can assure you that everyone's mental condition is just fine, thank you very much ;-)

Two highlights from the game:

1.) The Nate Rost absolutely smashed one high into the sky towards the left-center field bleachers in the 4th, and man did he pimp the crap out of it; there was some posing, admiring, and a well-practiced bat flip . . . and then the ball landed on the warning track and TNR got a double. "Unless the guy is gonna throw harder," Nate said upon returning to the dugout, "I can't hit it any farther." Granted, the wind was blowing in, and he hit it to one of the deeper parts of the part, but the whole scene gave one a renewed sense of respect for just how good those big leaguers are.

2.) On the bus as we drove to the field, Baseball Manager Todd Bergstrom gave one of his patented rousing pre-game speeches, though this one ended with a unique admonition: "anyone caught looking owes a twelve-pack." Fair enough, we weren't going there to work counts and draw walks! So, with two outs in the bottom of the 7th, Jay Chlan was due to hit, but had fouled one off his foot in his previous at-bat and thought he might have to have his leg amputated, so he couldn't go. And wouldn't you know it, there was only one rostered player left on the bench: Tood Bergstrom. So the old grizzled veteran took #7 right off his son's back, like ya do, found a Dave Winfield-esque helmet (i.e., no ear flaps), and strode to the dish like a boss wearing transition lenses. First pitch: fastball, Todd takes a mighty rip and misses. Second pitch: fastball, another mighty rip, another mighty miss. Down 0-2, Todd digs in and gets another fastball right below the knees. He takes the pitch, thinking it low, and the umpire porceeds to ring him up on strikes. Old Coach Bergstrom looked back at the ump as if he had just kicked curb-stomped a basket of puppies. Everyone in the dugout, along with the contingent of New Market faithful in the stands, simultaneously erupted into a raucous cheer of loving jeering.

Not a bad way to end a sixteen-game winning streak =)

Thanks again to everyone for coming out and supporting us. And special thanks to Chris Reuvers for making this whole thing happen. It was a perfect day.