Oh wait, I've already done that bit. Sorry. Seven games and I'm already running out of Schtick. I'm Schtickless (and that's a bad way to be).

But if there's one thing I've learned during my time as a blogger it's that, if you run out of wacky things to say, you can always make fun of the Europeans. So, let's give it a go, shall we?

• Hey, British kids! You need someone to bail you out of this game like we did in WW2?
• Listen, Frenchie, this game is lost. Why don't you go ahead and surrender already?
• Listen, Germans-
  

Actually, nevermind. My cube is right next to a cube full of Germans. Any, you know, let's just so I don't want to give them any reason to...well, you know...Lebensraum and all.

Anyway, let's just pretend none of the above happened. Very tacky, I must say. How about that game of softball, eh?

I was given the great honor of manning left field for the first couple of innings and had exactly zero chances. Unfortunately, I have developed quite a reputation for my fielding prowess and nobody wanted to challenge me with a fly to left. But let me tell you this, my friends. Had the challenge been extended, the challenge would have been met...with a glove. A baseball glove. They call me Venus for a reason (and not, as previously thought, because I have the skin of a goddess. No, it's the flytrap thing).

On the "not revolving around me" ledger, we miraculously feel behind 4-0 in the first but then rallied back to take the lead. Lots of exciting drama...yada yada yada...and then there was some real excitement.

Somewhere around the third, the d0nuts held a tenuous lead over Eurotrash when our DH hit a liner out to right. First and second were guaranteed to him, that was certain, but he had greater ambitions. He lumbered into third...the throw...the slide and... SAFE! He was safe at third and I was coming up to bat with an RBI opportunity.

Not coming back up, however, was our DH. You see, he had violated the one sacred rule of Fermiball: "Never sacrafice your body for the good of the team." He slid into third, but his arm didn't come with, and we had a dislocated shoulder on our hands.

So, okay, I think that means it's time for a break in the action. Luckily, there was an actual doctor in the house (actually, there were probably several, but I'm thinking of the MD type) and she took care of him and he was taken off to the hospital by our third baseman. But guess who got to take over third?

The answer is "me", in case that wasn't obvious.

Turns out, when you play against a bunch of cricketeers, there is a lot of action at the hot corner. A little more action than I prefer, actually, but that's okay. It was just a busy day.

It was a busy day for me, for the medical staff, and for the Pride of America. Because, you see, the d0nuts defended America's honor with a triumphant victory over Eurotrash, I finally broke out of my hitless streak, and the d0nuts were only one game under .500 with one left to play. This is after starting out 0-3, mind you. The final game over the Boomers would determine it all. Were we destined to be mediocre or somewhat worse than mediocre?

Tune in next time when the d0nuts face the evil Boomers. Next time shouldn't be very far off, either, as I'd like to get done with these stupid installments and get to the playoffs.

Go 'Nuts!