slingin lingo in central park

Central Park pretty much defies logic.

One minute, you find yourself surrounded by buzzing and seething, flash-producing humanity in Times Square, where sounds of cars honking and jack-hammers drilling and subways rumbling floods your ears and smells of car exhaust, horseshit, pizza and any other food you can imagine invades your nostrils... and then, just blocks from the madness, with each step into the park, under the giant oak trees, the sounds slowly dissipate and then all you really hear is ducks and laughing and birds tweeting and wind through the leaves and you smell the sweet smell of grass.

We wandered for a bit, after wandering aimlessly through the city for hours -- where my blisters started getting blisters -- and came across a strangely competitive quasi-fastball game. Now since I set out on this trip, I've seen a Cubs game in Wrigley, a Yankees game in the Bronx and a Sox game at U.S. Cellular in the South Side of Chicago. The semi-final fastball game I watched in Central Park, between two dueling teams of "musicians, artists and wannabe artists" -- as one player told me -- was the most intense and entertaining game I've been privvy to so far.

We showed up in the bottom of the fifth inning and immediately, I was struck by how serious these guys were taking the game. Spectators in wife-beaters, and with 'mysterious' drinks in brown paper bags, were hassling the ump, telling him with whom and how to fornicate, and the ump, smiling, gave it right back. Old-timers with big guts and five-oclock shadows busted players balls and opposing players were yelling obsenities at the batters, guys would get right up into their teammates faces if they made a mistake, and there was a lot of congratulatory yelling every time an out was made.

My two favourite players were... oh shit, I can't remember his name -- number 30 -- but he played second base and had all the hand signals, swagger and chatter of a big leaguer. He was in the Jimmy Rollins/Orlando Hudson mold. He also backed his mouth up with his game, making beauty play after beauty play at second base.

The game consisted of a pitcher slinging (not a windmill pitch, but slung underhand) a softball-sized rubber-coated ball, in front of a 10-man field, with no outfield fence.

The greatest player in the game was a guy named Jimmy Meyers. He was straight out of the movies. Big, fat, balding Italian guy, who pitched for the eventual winning team and got so worked up over a mistake that he'd swear and throw down his hat. (Think Tony Soprano, but taller).

With his team up and needing just one out in the bottom of the seventh, he turns around, hefts the ball in the air and yells at his team at the top of his lungs in his New Jersey accent "Who eva gets this ball, free rounds! Free rounds! Free rounds!"

The rest of the guys go: "ah sheeet. Better get outta my way."

They get the out, a pop-up to short, and the guys go CRAZY, mobbing Jimmy Meyers on the mound.

The ump comes over and tells us this team will get killed in the finals. He then says he umps 35 games a week and was the ump that threw DeNiro out at home plate in the movie 'Righteous Kill.'

"Now there's a nice guy," he says of DeNiro.

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Yeah, the Park is awesome and I think I'll rent a row boat before I leave and just sit in it, float around and read all day.

One other thing I noticed about the park though. There were like hundreds and hundreds of latina or black nannies pushing around little rich white kids all over the park.

Better get going. Heading to a Mets game tonight (found a $90 ticket for under $30).

And tune into Letterman tomorrow night, herbiberous has been contacted and will be appearing at the Ed Sullivan Theatre to talk some slinginlingo.