After 25 years of jonesing for a game of pick-up baseball, I got my fix in Paris. For three Sundays I played ball at Bois de Vincennes. In the first two games, I reached base eleven times in a row! Let it be known that I have a big bat.
We played in front of where Napoleon used to tie up his horses when he went hunting. This picture is terrible. I would get so into the games that I wouldn’t remember to snap a pic until the game was over…
On my final Sunday, things went south. While Zach and I were walking to the park, we noticed hundreds of people lining the streets.
And so, just like two years ago, we once again accidentally saw those Tour de France kooks peddling by.
Having got caught up in the bikey hoopla, by the time we got to Napoleon’s hut, we were an hour late. And what strange things were afoot at the hut…
Amidst a cloud of smoke, men in robes were waving flags, beating drums, and singing/chanting. The robed men had kicked my teammates off the field, insisting that 500 fellow Rastafarians would be joining the party (more like 20), and that they specifically needed the hut so that their backs would be facing the White House. So there’s that.
I don’t know if it was the contact high, the bicycle chaos, or the slight change in venue, but I fared poorly both at the plate and on the field. Somehow I even managed to let some Italian character wearing a Yankees uniform strike me out. So there’s that too.