Unfortunately, his lucky Gap khakis failed him.
We never intended to have a softball team — after all, Gawker Media is a company of sunlight-fearing "intellectuals" who eschew athleticism for alcoholism. But last month, when the Onion invited us to play a game, we were intrigued. So we showed up and, much to our surprise, we (basically) conquered our opponents. Had we underestimated our abilities?
Indeed. Last night, the well-documented New Yorker softball team challenged us to a game. We knew certain baby-faced players feared our imminent coverage of the event more than the game itself, and perhaps it was this misdirected focus that sealed their devastating fate.
After the jump, the full report and photographic evidence of our supremacy, courtesy of staff voyeur Nikola Tamindzic.
It's lonely out there, boys.
Things got off to a sour start when the New Yorker team showed up inexcusably late, forcing the game into a hurried competition against the sunset. Their performance was further marred by the team's poor turnout, a lack of proper equipment, their players' incessant chain-smoking and refusal to properly warm up, and a complete inability to catch something if we so much as handed it to them. Their best player, sadly, was some barefoot fellow whose pants were falling just enough to reveal his disturbing lack of underwear. Not even coach Matt Dellinger's screaming could drown out their shame.
Dellinger enjoys the nicotine's calming effect.
In short: Gawker kicked ass, 35 - 0. Gawker mascot Andrew Krucoff hit four home runs, Jalopnik editor Mike Spinelli powered a line drive that smashed through a window at the 92nd Street Y, Gizmodo alum Joel Johnson went 8 for 8 with 23 RBIs, and publisher Nick Denton hit a double with his head. Gridskipper s Chris Mohney achieved a Team Gawker first and "hit for the cycle" (nailing a single, double, triple, and home run), and then celebrated by stealing candy from Gopnik s kid.
Later, Joel Johnson bronzed this bat and hung it above his bed.
For the New Yorker, editor David Remnick hit into four triple plays — in the same inning. Ben McGrath fainted in the batter's box after striking out on a knuckleball, and Malcolm Gladwell got lost in the woods while recovering a foul ball. He was not seen again. Josh Hersh sadly died on the scene, having suffered a massive coronary seizure induced by Dellinger's ear-splitting howls of defeat.
Or that's how we remember it, at least.
The bat may have touched the ball. We don't know. We weren't paying attention.
Gawker co-editor Jesse Oxfeld never rides the bench without his trusty flask.
A lot of people run a race to see who's the fastest. She runs to see who has the most guts.
This is NOT Oddjack editor A.J. Daulerio.
You can go ahead and snicker, but realize that this guy will definitely outlive you.
Gawker Media managing editor Lockhart Steele overcompensates for nature's shortcomings.
Real men play in Brooks Brothers.
Gawker co-editor Jessica Coen demonstrates her technique for success in the outfield.
Taking this shit way too seriously.
This is what it feels like to be a fact-checker.
After the game, Gawker Intern Neel Shah calls Mike Lupica to report the final score.