65 – Letter from Nicholas Troll

Posted on December 23, 2013 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 65

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery blog, where you’ve been learning how Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, acquires a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)—please go to this page or go to GoYachats

As the Yachats Smelt submerge themselves in the holiday season, we feel it is appropriate to publish the following letter from Nicholas the Norwegian Troll. Nicky, as he is known by Yachatians, is the keeper of the Yachats Troll Bridge. Please see Post #43 in the archives (dated 3/11/13) for an explanation of how to find the bridge.

Letter from Nicholas Troll
Interpreted by Melinda Bender

Dear Yachatians,

Hello, I am Nicholas the Norwegian Troll. Please call me Nicky. I know that my being a troll may scare some, but I have wanted to introduce myself to you fine human creatures of Yachats near the sea. Please let me divulge a bit. I am called Nicky because my favorite mythical creature is your Santa Claus. I have long wished that I could wear a soft red velvet coat and deliver presents to little children.

I have seen many of you crossing the Yachats Bridge, and most of you have dutifully paid your bridge toll. The toll of one goat seemed reasonable; however, I have heard some squabbling and am happy to reconsider the toll since my family and I have plenty of goat friends (see Fig. 1) and goat milk to make our delicious lemon goat cheese. [Editor’s note: This is a little confusing. In collecting the toll, Nicky only accepts billy goats.]

Fig. 1. Baby goat, cute enough for a season pass.

I realize we are different from many of our kind. We emigrated years ago from Trondheim, Norway…so long ago that I don’t remember. We moved upriver near Tidewater from Waldport, where the feathery ferns wave in the breeze and wildflowers offer their cups of nectar for moths and other insects.

Even as a youngster, I was fascinated by you humans and wanted to move closer. So we moved close to the Cape…what you call Cape Perpetua. From there I could communicate with the robins, squirrels, and other animals that so delighted me, and I could stare at the sea with protection from the salty splash of sea water. My goal was to move even closer and maybe work with you humans. Because of my stature, the bridge job was a perfect fit. (Oh, how I love the salty, sweet smell of sea air.) Now I make needed repairs, ensure that not too many people are crossing at once, and take a small toll for my efforts.

The city and I have come to an understanding, as so many people cross numerous times each day. I am happy to announce that three daily meals apiece are all that my family and I need. We know that some splendid chefs reside in Yachats. I will leave it up to you to decide who cooks what, when, and where (we have few dietary restrictions). We are anxiously awaiting our home cooked meals! I can almost taste the roasted chestnut salad, cranberry compote, and lemon-broiled Chinook salmon. This is my dream job, being in such a pretty place with the soothing sounds of the roaring ocean waves, and being so near humans; you continue to intrigue me with your friendly formalities.

Recently, the Yachats Smelt Baseball team asked me to join them. They said I could bat cleanup. What an honor! I will have to think hard on this one as I love the bridge and chatting with people, and I don’t want to give all that up. Few trolls have such a rich, rewarding life!

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Habari gani?, and Happy Holidays. May your celebrations be filled with love, happiness, health, and blessings for 2014!

Nicky, Norwegian Troll

NOTE: We thank Melinda Bender for this contribution to the Rubbery Shrubbery Blog.

Be sure to check out the “Yachats Smelt” page on Facebook, and “Like” us if you’re so inclined. Thank you.

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A Brief Break

Posted on August 20, 2013 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY – hiatus

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery blog, where you’ve been learning how Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, acquires a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)— please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

With the Yachats Smelt about to join the major leagues, it’s time for the managers of this blog to take a hiatus and start putting Rubbery Shrubbery into book form. And who knows, it might become a play, as well. And maybe a great Italian opera (see Fig. 1).

Figure 1. Metropolitan Opera House in Lincoln Center.

We will be back in a few weeks to let you know about our bestseller, Pulitzer Prize winner, and International Opera Awards winner. Till then, may the Smelt be with you.

Thanks for listening.

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64 – The Mean Machine

Posted on August 13, 2013 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 64

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery blog, where you’ve been learning how Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, acquires a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)— please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

With the Yachats Smelt about to join the major leagues, some Yachatians are looking to cash in on what they see as a major opportunity. After all, what’s baseball for if not for getting rich. In today’s post Clapboard Eaglewink, himself a self-made entrepreneur of sorts, tells us about one such alleged opportunity.

The Mean Machine
by Clapboard Eaglewink

Hooo Boy! The Rubbery Shrubbery Stadium had some frenetic, turbulent times this past week, let me tell you. All because Brassica Chin’s younger brother Cap decided he’d build a bigger, better pitching machine, and the world would beat a path to his door (see Fig. 1). And why not? Cap’s got plenty of tools and he’s real good with his hands.

Figure 1. Ralph Waldo Emerson, who did not say, “Invent a better mousetrap and the world will beat a path to your door.” Mousetraps were the farthest things from his mind.

Well, Cap disappeared for about two weeks and then turns up to unveil his new state-of-the-art pitching appliance. We call it Cap Chin’s Contraption (CCC). It’s something worth beholding, for sure. (Behold Fig. 2).

The Smelt Board of Directors eagerly assembled at the stadium to watch the first demonstration of the marvelous machine. They gawked in awe as CCC rolled itself onto the flat pitching mound and posed for photos. It was a bit cocky and full of itself but seemed harmless enough. Of course, all the directors wanted a chance to bat against the Contraption.

But as the first batter, Wumpy Mugwump, stepped into the batter’s box, the demeanor of the apparatus seemed to undergo a subtle change. It looked to be growing larger, and an eerie green glow began to emanate from somewhere deep within its bowels. It grew intimidating.

Figure 2. Cap Chin’s Contraption, in happier times.*

It didn’t make the transformation any less disturbing when it suddenly occurred to Wumpy that there didn’t appear to be a power source for CCC. No cord, no batteries, no generator. Wumpy pointed this out to us, and we all knew it couldn’t be good.

The first pitch to Wumpy was a hard slider that broke across the outside corner, knee high. Astounded, Wumpy didn’t even consider swinging. CCC looked like it was smirking.

Wumpy wasn’t going to take that smirk lying down. But he did. The next pitch was a high, inside 95 mph fastball that knocked Wumpy’s cap clean off as he dove for earth.

That was enough for Wumpy. Befuddled and shaken, he picked himself up and rushed to get behind the backstop for cover.

Meanwhile, Potty Grimes had been watching all this with temper rising. In the battle of man vs. machine there is only one rightful victor. We can’t let nuts and bolts get the better of us. Representing humankind, Potty grabbed a bat and strode to the plate.

CCC’s smirk grew grander. Potty took plenty of time to get himself situated in the batter’s box. Then suddenly here came the pitch out of nowhere. It was a spitball, with mucus and slippery elm and blue-green algae flying off as it came in hard, shoulder high, and then shot downward at a 45 degree angle. Potty, dazed, took it for a strike.

Things weren’t looking good for the humans at this point. Potty was furious and shouted at CCC that it was an illegal pitch. CCC smirked harder.

Then CCC threw a screwball, an emery ball, a knuckleball, a licorice ball, a talc ball, a pine tar ball, a Vaseline ball, and a split-finger fastball. Potty swung and missed each pitch.

With frustration mounting, Potty walked to the backstop to pick a different bat. When his back was turned, CCC hit him in the posterior with a 100 mph fastball.

That was all it took. With the bat raised like a war club, Potty limped/charged toward the mound. CCC clanked/charged toward Potty. They clashed at mid-field with a window-rattling explosion. See Fig. 3.

Figure 3. Joe Turner’s quick rendering of the Potty-Contraption brawl.

It was a nightmare. We, the onlookers, could only imagine the terrible carnage cloaked by flashes of lightning, by great plumes of smoke and expletives. Oh, the humanity!…too stupid to contemplate. Oh, the machinery!…beyond comprehension.

Then it was over. The smoke began to clear. An errant shoe bounced off the backstop, a flywheel gently rolled to right field. All else was peaceful.

But we noticed a slight stirring in the rubble. Then, to our surprise, Potty, bruised and battered, rose up from the destruction. Flinging gears and crankshafts aside, he did the Yachats Y© (see Fig. 4) and shouted for joy.

Figure 4. The Yachats Y, performed by Susanna Eaglewink.

Leaping from the debris, Potty went into an exuberant victory dance. At the very peak of his strut, though, he collided with a post on the backstop and knocked himself out.**

In the aftermath, we gathered the combatants and their departed parts and loaded them into ambulances for the long trip to the hospital in Newport.***

Both Potty and CCC will make a complete recovery, we are told. Although most of the Smelt directors agree they should undergo psychiatric realignment, Wumpy insists they each need just a warm hug from Bebe Broadbent.

* Image credit: Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs
** It’s a shame, really. It was a very good victory dance.
*** We first realized CCC possessed some mechanical gender when it flirted with the paramedics’ power tools. Then, when CCC was taken out of the ambulance, the rascal propositioned it.

Be sure to check out the “Yachats Smelt” page on Facebook, and “Like” us if you’re so inclined. Thank you.

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63 – The Hawaiian Goldmine

Posted on August 6, 2013 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 63

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery blog, where you’ve been learning how Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, acquires a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)— please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

As the Yachats Smelt prepare to do battle in major league baseball, their scouts are diligently searching for outstanding young players to sign. In today’s post, adjunct professor of English and ill-fated author of fourteen dark cozy mysteries, Clapboard Eaglewink, describes a hot prospect whose worth far exceeds his value.

The Hawaiian Goldmine
by Clapboard Eaglewink

We will be visiting with ace Smelt scout Orville O’Doole today. I’m sure all of you remember Orville, but in case you don’t, take a look at Post #25 (11/04/12).

Orville has signed a rare find on the Hawaiian island of Kauai—a young menehune outfielder named Bjorn H’fuhruhurr. We’ll ask some questions about Bjorn, the first menehune ever signed to a major league contract.

Clapboard: You must be very pleased to have Bjorn mumble under contract, Orville.

Orville: Oh, you don’t know the half of it. Not only is he fast afoot and has a strong arm, but he…

Clapboard (stoked): I know! I know! He’ll be the best ukulele player in baseball!

Orville (with annoyance): No! I was going to say that he will be the shortest player in baseball history. The menehune are rarely taller than three feet (91.4 cm) and by the looks of him, Bjorn won’t be an exception.

Clapboard: Wow! I thought teams want nothing but big players—the bigger, the better.

Orville: Ordinarily, that’s true. But we have a cunning plan.

Clapboard: Does Bjorn play the ukulele? Does he even own one?

Orville: Sigh! Yeah, sure. He has a small one, okay?

Clapboard: Is he any good?

Orville: Yeah, he’s very good. Now, about the…

Clapboard: Say, maybe if he’s good enough, he could play with our own Yachatian bluegrass string band, The Bad Weeds. He’d have to be awfully good, you understand. (See Fig. 1).

Figure 1. The Bad Weeds in concert. They’re awfully good.*

Orville: Listen, do you want to hear about our cunning plan or not?

Clapboard: Oh, sure. Let’s have it.

Orville: Well, in 1951 a guy named Eddie Gaedel (see Fig. 2), who was 3’ 7” pinch hit for the St. Louis Browns. Of course, his strike zone was tiny, so the pitcher walked him. Then his contract was quickly voided by the League, and he wasn’t allowed to play again. You see where I’m going with this?

Figure 2. Eddie Gaedel of the St. Louis Browns.

Clapboard: Who are the St. Louis Browns?

Orville: A big league team back in 1951. Anyway, Bjorn has an even smaller strike zone than Gaedel. We could have him be the leadoff hitter. He’d walk every time at bat.

Clapboard: Won’t the League void his contract?

Orville: Exactly what we’re hoping for. That is blatant discrimination against the menehune, that is. We’ll sue them silly. We’ve retained the law firm of Underrock, Slant, and Roadsquill, LLP, from down at Duck Egg. They assure us we can win the suit easily.

Clapboard: Egad! The Smelt will be rich! Bjorn will be a hero.

Orville: You bet! We’ll be able to buy a Stradivarius ukulele for Bjorn. He can play “The Star-Spangled Banner” before each game.

Clapboard: Yeah, with a Hawaiian lilt, and we can sing the menehune version of the lyrics.

Orville: Sigh!

* Photo by Qahira Lynn.

NOTE: Many Hawaiians believe the menehune have magical powers, such as their ability to make themselves invisible. Actually, the menehune have a genetic defect that renders them unable to maintain visibility. They regard this to be a curse cast upon their tribe by the mai tai god, Squiffy. At any rate, in a recent survey of lots of Hawaiians, over 100% said that the menehune have been seen only by other people.

NOTE AGAIN: Duck Egg, Oregon, is the only town in the U.S. that has 100% of its populace in the Witness Protection Program. Everyone there uses one or more aliases, and the name “Duck Egg” is also fake, of course. Therefore, the law firm of Underrock, Slant, and Roadsquill, LLP, being firmly located in Duck Egg, is not using its real name. This is appropriate because all three of the partners are shapeshifters. You can imagine how eager they are to represent their first invisible client.

Be sure to check out the “Yachats Smelt” page on Facebook, and “Like” us if you’re so inclined. Thank you.

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62 – The Voice of the Smelt

Posted on July 30, 2013 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 62

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery blog, where you’ve been learning how Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, acquires a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)— please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

As the Yachats Smelt venture into the sports world, they discover a number of unforeseen aspects of the baseball business. In today’s post, guest blogger Greg Howell tells us about one of these surprises.

The Voice of the Smelt
by Greg Howell

Despite a very confusing telephone call to the offices of the Yachats Smelt baseball club—not to mention a madcap exchange with the information operator in an attempt to even get a phone number for the Smelt (“No, sir, and we don’t have a number for a Mr. Lyon at the ZOO, either!”)—Nostradamus Rille arrived for his Smelt appointment with a measure of trepidation. He also was nervous.

As you would expect of someone whose parents named him Nostradamus, Nost Rille had a certain flair about him. A seasoned thespian with years of experience playing type-cast characters in productions of the New Albany, Indiana, Community Theatre, the 60-ish, thickly-and-squatly-built Nost itched for a defining role that would move the critics beyond their usual “pedestrian” description of his performances.

With a fresh orangish tint to his fringe of hair, a neatly trimmed mustache that seemed too small for his perpetually curling and pursing upper lip, and traditional forest green blazer bearing the Rille family crest on the left breast pocket, Nost was fully prepared to wow…someone…at the Smelt offices.

He had determined that his great acting challenge would be the role of play-by-play announcer for the Smelt. It would be a consummate performance, for Nost never in his life had watched a baseball game on television or listened to one on the radio. His knowledge of the game consisted of hearing his cousin or cousin’s spouse or someone he couldn’t quite recall describe her son’s spectacular catch made during a baseball game at a picnic sponsored by his 4-H club. The story went something like this:

It seems the young boy – named Bubba or Junior or Sonny – was not actually playing in the game, but instead was in a cow pasture next to the baseball diamond practicing his roping skills on a mangy feral cat when someone yelled, “Heads Up!” Spotting a foul ball heading toward his prized heifer, Bubba or Junior or Sonny, showed major league reactions in grabbing a nearby milk bucket as he rushed to protect his blue ribbon bovine Bessie or Elsie or Hathor (see Fig. 1).

His last step was an unfortunate one, though, for he slipped, slid, and skidded as he smeared his way directly toward his unsuspecting cow. But at the last second, just before the seat of his overalls was indelibly stained green and brown, Bubba (or Junior or Sonny) reached out with the milk pail and caught the baseball, thus saving Bessie (or Elsie or Hathor) a splitting headache. His cow continued chewing and looked away with a bored expression. It was the Catch of the Year, and people inevitably recounted the story at subsequent 4-H picnics.

Nost found the office of Ashwagandha C. Mugwump, bowed slightly and extended his hand in greeting, “Delighted to meet you Ashwa…uh…Mr…uh Mugwump.”

Figure 1. Hathor, the Egyptian cow deity.*

“Oh, just call me Wumpy.”

“Wumpy.”

“Yes. So, Mr. Rille..”

“Call me Nost.”

“Yes. So, Nost, according to your phone message, you’re here to apply to be our play-by-play announcer.”

“Indeed…uh…Wumpy, that is true. You see, it is my conten–….”

“Nost, is that something we need? Do we actually need a play-by-play announcer?”

“Well, I assumed that when the fine folks of Yachats are sitting in front of their TVs watching the…”

“You think people will really watch our games on TV?”

“Uh, yes, I mean…”

“We hadn’t really thought much about that. It’s an amazing prospect, actually. Wow. Imagine. People watching our games! On TV!”

“Excuse me…uh…Wumpy, do you not have a television contract arranged by which to broadcast the exertions of the Smelt over the airwaves? Or perhaps even a radio contract?”

“Wow. Wouldn’t that be something? Our games on TV! I can barely imagine the possibilities! Maybe hundreds of people watching.”

“But, I…”

“Tell me, Nost – what is your signature home run call?”

“My what? Signature…?”

“Nost, you’ve gotta have a signature to be successful in TV or radio. You know, like ‘Goodnight, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.’ Or, ‘Heeeeere’s Johnny!’ So I figure a baseball announcer must have a signature home run call. Whenever a Smelt player hits a home run, you as the announcer would say something like, ‘There it goes!’ or ‘Kiss it goodbye!’

“Well, I don’t suppose I have…”

“Come on, Nost. You’re here applying to be our play-by-play announcer. On TV! Can you imagine? TV! You want to be our announcer. You have to have a signature home run call.”

“Yes, well, I see. Ummm, how about, ‘Kiss it as it goes goodbye?’”

“Nah, too much like the others.”

“Maybe, ‘Wave goodbye to it?’”

“Hmmm. Not so good, Nost. Wait! I know! ‘The Smelt are off the hook! That one jumped right out of the water!’ Yes! That’s good! Don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose it is. ‘The Smelt are off the hook! Look at it jump out of the water!’”

“OK. Tell you what, Nost. We’ll let you know.”

After a brisk shaking of hands, Nost was out the door. As he walked away, his head spinning, Nost heard Wumpy exclaiming to himself, “People actually watching our games! On TV! The Smelt are off the hook! Jumping out of the water! Wow!”

NOTE: We thank Greg Howell for contributing Post #62.

NOTE AGAIN: Rubbery Shrubbery Stadium is now identified by a brand new banner (see Fig. 2). This is a classy Grade AAA banner, made from organic, preshrunk plastic. The lettering is archival quality and contains no GMO components. This signage announces to the world that the Smelt are here to stay.

Figure 2. The new banner at Rubbery Shrubbery Stadium in downtown Yachats.**

* Author of this work is Jeff Dahl.
** Photo by Dave Baldwin.

Be sure to check out the “Yachats Smelt” page on Facebook, and “Like” us if you’re so inclined. Thank you.

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61 – More Than a Barrel of Monkeys

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 61

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery blog, where you’ve been learning how Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, acquires a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)— please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Yachatians celebrated its annual Triple Play Baseball Festival this past weekend. Sitting in the press box at Rubbery Shrubbery Stadium (home of the Smelt), veteran sportswriter Harrison Grutch flexed his journalistic muscles on his ancient Underwood to describe the happenings. Here’s the result.

More Than a Barrel of Monkeys
by Harrison Grutch

What a weekend it’s been for Yachatians! On Friday evening, a slide presentation by Debbie Shattuck about women in baseball in the 1800s, followed by a quasi-baseball game on Saturday afternoon. Ms. Shattuck’s talk was captured on video and will be available as a DVD in the Yachats Library as well as on YouTube, so I needn’t cover that, I think. But the game deserves a few words.

First, it was played in RS Stadium, which is still unfinished. After a number of false starts, the LEGO® block construction doesn’t in any way resemble Yankee Stadium or even the Little League® Stadium in Ennui, North Dakota. These things take time, of course, especially when done by five year olds.

Figure. 1. Lots of people participating.*

Consequently, we had some inconveniences. You can imagine what they were. But despite whatever it is you are imagining, everyone had a great time. The simplicity of Yachatian rules made it easy for anyone to play in the game if they were so inclined. And lots of people were (see Fig. 1).

We had every gender (see Fig. 2 for two of them) and many ages. Fig. 3 shows Robert who is four. Fig. 4 shows a codger trying to pitch. We also had one golden retriever take part (in dog-years, as old as the codger), but we have no photos of her.

Figure 2. Two of the genders playing in the game.*

In case you’re unaware of Yachatian rules, they are 1) keep batting until you hit a fair ball, 2) pitchers help out hitters, 3) we have no teams, 4) thus, we don’t keep score, 5) we use a regulation size and weight baseball but it’s spongy (MacGregor® level 1 baseball), and we request batters fetch balls they hit into the wetlands or into the baseball-eating blackberry bushes.

Figure 3. The youngest participant, who is just four.*

Note the very stylish Smelt cap and Smelt shirt the old guy in Fig. 4 is sporting. These days you see these all over Yachats. And no wonder!

Figure 4. Extremely old guy trying to pitch. Undoubtedly, the oldest baseball player ever.*

Fans flock to watch quasi-baseball in Yachats (see Fig. 5) because it’s more exciting than games elsewhere. Here they are watching their friends and relatives play. And the element of suspense is intense. You never know when the next series of disastrous errors will begin. Like a madcap comedy.

Figure 5. Yachatians watching their friends and relatives.*

If you missed the Triple Play festival game this year, don’t despair. There will be another next summer.

Here’s some more photos from Triple Play:

*Photographer for all photos in this post was Heather Taylor.

NOTE: One of our stalwart players John Bender spotted several major league scouts in the box seats on Saturday. He suggested the Smelt better get all our players under contract quickly. Dzunukwa, the Smelt general manager and Sasquatch witch, is getting right on it, you bet.

NOTE AGAIN: A surprise visit by Shoeless Joe Jackson about midway through the game brought play to a momentary muddle. Mr. Jackson came out of the baseball-eating blackberry patch in left field and doffed his hallucinatory Smelt cap. A three-second hesitation in play was called to honor the ghost of a great player. There wasn’t a dry eye in the Stadium.

Be sure to check out the “Yachats Smelt” page on Facebook, and “Like” us if you’re so inclined. Thank you.

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60 – A Word from the Mayor of MoleSmelt Township

Posted on July 14, 2013 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 60

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery blog, where you’ve been learning how Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, acquires a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)— please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Yachatians have received a very nice, down-to-earth letter from Joe Roly-Poly Mole, Mayor of the MoleSmelt Township, which occupies the basement level of Rubbery Shrubbery Stadium, home of the Yachats Smelt. The Rubbery Shrubbery staff wants to thank Melinda Bender for translating the mayor’s letter.

A Word from the Mayor of MoleSmelt Township
Translation by Melinda Bender

Joe Roly-Poly Mole, Mayor
MoleSmelt Township
42 Ye Old Ballfield
Yachats, Oregon
32 – 39

July 12, 2013

Dear Smelt Yachatians:

Our fine MoleSmelt Township wishes to thank you for the exhilarating baseball game last year and congratulate you on a game well played. We thank you for being so kind as to not disturb our molehill homes.

We apologize for the inconvenience when you are running, as we know this causes you to stumble. These are the only homes we know how to build. Until we send our local engineers, architects, and builders on to more schooling, we will not be able to change our design to more fully fit your needs. (Any assistance in helping us become admitted to OSU would be much appreciated as there is still subtle discrimination against us mole folks, but times are changing—change is in the soil!) Thank you for your understanding and leaving our molehill homes as they are; we appreciate this. Although our dishes and furniture do rattle, it is well worth the clamor to see your runners rounding the bases, and we are happy to have a day off from our work and rooting of passageways. Dusting and tidying our homes can be done on another day.

We imagine you did not see us watching your team during your 2012 game, but our tiny MoleSmelt Township was in full force cheering you on. Being a quiet, peaceful group of townsmoles, we stayed nearest to the big pond/swamp where we could adequately take cover. Because of our shy ways, it is likely we will stay in a clandestine locale this year too.

Our calendars are marked for Saturday, July 20, 2013—the Triple Play Baseball Game; we are anxiously awaiting the arrival of this great day! (Hopefully, Shoeless Joe Jackson and Joe DiMaggio will be with you in spirit—my namesakes! And you might notice our phone number and zip code represent our favorite team and ballplayers.)

Good job to those of you who come out to play on Saturdays, and we did witness a small group in May: two ladies were playing catch with a man who had a swift sidearm delivery.

Many of us moles played moleball as youngsters (similar to baseball) only played by us roly-poly moles. (A dear relative even played catch outside Yankee Stadium before the stadium was demolished.) Smelt Yachatians, you have inspired us to investigate bringing in a major league moleball team to MoleSmelt Township, and we have created our own local moleball team!

Good luck with your endeavors to acquire a major league team! Thank you, thank you for your inspiration; we extend our warmest gratitude to you.

Best Wishes,

Joe Roly-Poly Mole, Mayor
MoleSmelt Township
Phone: 53214

Editor’s note: We are including a photo of Mitzi (see Fig. 1), Joe’s lovely wife (she’s much more photogenic than Joe). Mitzi is a former fashion model (she’s appeared on the cover of Loam and Burrow magazine), and she was a winner on the popular TV show Subterranean Idol.

Figure 1. The beautiful and vivacious Mitzi Mole.

Be sure to check out the “Yachats Smelt” page on Facebook, and “Like” us if you’re so inclined. Thank you.

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59 – The Thrill of Bat Taking Aim at Ball in Yachats

Posted on July 9, 2013 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 59

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery blog, where you’ve been learning how Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, acquires a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)— please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Yachatians (and Waldportinos) have been gathering at Rubbery Shrubbery Stadium each Saturday to participate in quasi-baseball activity. You might snicker, but this is how baseball got its start, maybe.

The Thrill of Bat Taking Aim at Ball in Yachats
by the Rubbery Shrubbery staff

Brimming with enthusiasm, ungifted players by the dozen take to the field on Saturday afternoons to bring a bat/ball game similar to baseball back to the central Oregon coast. Here we see a gallimaufry of ages, genders, sizes, and visual acuities, but all with an eagerness bordering on fanaticism. It makes one proud.

And this prideful stuff has been going on for five weeks now. Yachats is fascinated by this show of bravery in defiance of the risks, this laughing at impending injury and loss of dignity. As one unidentifiable Yachatian put it, “It’s like watching NASCAR. I know all the wheels are going to come off, but I can’t resist looking.”

To this point, no bats, glasses, or noses have been broken, and only three balls have been eaten by the blackberry bushes (see Fig. 1) that crouch in anticipation at the edge of the grass in the outfield.

Figure 1. Berries on a baseballivorous blackberry bush.*

If you happen to be in downtown Yachats on a Saturday afternoon around 2:30 p.m., you might drop by Rubbery Shrubbery Stadium where you can borrow a glove and be immediately inserted into a batting order. There’s no warmer welcome than that anywhere.

* Photo by G. King in Bright, Victoria, Australia.

Be sure to check out the “Yachats Smelt” page on Facebook, and “Like” us if you’re so inclined. Thank you.

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58 – About the Bloomer Girls!

Posted on July 2, 2013 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 58

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery blog, where you’ve been learning how Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, acquires a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)— please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

This post gives you some more lowdown regarding the Triple Play Baseball Festival that will happen in July in Yachats.

About the Bloomer Girls!
by the Rubbery Shrubbery staff

Each summer the Triple Play festival features three events: (1) A speaker will talk about something related to baseball; (2) a quasi-baseball game for everyone will be played at Rubbery Shrubbery Stadium, as described in RS Post #57; and (3) another quasi-baseball game for all those who are age-deficient (if you are under seven, you get to play T-ball).

Today we’ll tell you about this year’s speaker, and you are really in luck! Our speaker will be Debbie Shattuck!

At 6:30 PM on Fri., July 19, 2013, in the Yachats Commons’s main auditorium, Ms. Shattuck will show her slide presentation, “Bloomer Girls! Women Baseball Pioneers.”

Figure 1. Advertisement of women's baseball game, 1883.

Ms. Shattuck’s presentation will include archived photos and historic drawings of the women who played baseball in the 1800s (see Fig. 1 and 2), and she’ll discuss how changes in America, such as industrialization and immigration, influenced attitudes toward these women. In addition to discussing 19th century women baseball teams, Ms. Shattuck will describe the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League, which existed from 1943 through 1954. This league was featured in the movie, A League of Their Own.

Figure 2. Miss Lizzie Arlington, pitcher in 1898.

Ms. Shattuck received her M.S. degree in history from Brown University, and at present she is a Ph.D. Candidate in history at the University of Iowa. The title of her talk in Yachats is also the title of her doctoral dissertation and the title of the book she is writing (to be published by the University of Illinois Press). Currently she is Assistant Professor of History at John Witherspoon College in Rapid City, South Dakota.

A retired U.S. Air Force Colonel, Ms. Shattuck taught world history, American history and military history at the Air Force Academy. She also created the school’s first Sport History course.

In addition, Ms. Shattuck was an advisor to Ken Burns for his 1994 Emmy Award-winning documentary, Baseball, supplying information on women players.

Here is the official Triple Play Baseball Festival Debbie Shattuck poster:

Burgundy Featherkile’s cool poster #1.

Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?

Be sure to check out the “Yachats Smelt” page on Facebook, and “Like” us if you’re so inclined. Thank you.

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57 – About the Triple Play Baseball Festival…

Posted on June 25, 2013 by Dave Baldwin


RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 57

This is the Rubbery Shrubbery blog, where you’ve been learning how Yachats (YAH-hots), Oregon, acquires a Major League Baseball franchise. To learn more about Yachats and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns)— please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

This post marks the completion of one year of Rubbery Shrubbery shenanigans and tomfoolery. So it’s about time we got serious and told you stuff regarding the Triple Play Baseball Festival that will happen in July in Yachats.

About the Triple Play Baseball Festival…
by the Rubbery Shrubbery staff

Each of the past three Saturdays Yachatians and distinguished guests have gathered at Rubbery Shrubbery Stadium to play baseball, applying Yachatian rules to adjust for contingencies. Those rules include:

1) Batters keep swinging until they hit a fair ball,
2) Pitchers try to help out the hitters,
3) Anyone keeping score will be chided,
4) Only spongy baseballs will be used,
5) If you have no glove, we’ll loan you one,
6) Anyone hitting the ball into the swamp must go after it (see RS Post #56).

These are the very same rules that will be used for the Triple Play Baseball Festival baseball game to be played at Rubbery Shrubbery Stadium on Saturday, July 20, 2013 starting at 1:00 p.m.

The Rubbery Shrubbery staff points out to you that folks are already practicing and getting their bodies in condition for that July 20 date. But you have time to catch up if you get out there next Saturday at 2:30 p.m. and join right in. To your surprise the grass will be mowed, so ground balls will actually roll. Mole hills will be mole hills, though. Not much to be done about them.

To motivate you beyond your abilities to resist, here is one of the official Triple Play Baseball Festival baseball game posters:

Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?

Thanks yet again for reading this stuff.

Be sure to check out the “Yachats Smelt” page on Facebook, and “Like” us if you’re so inclined. Thank you.

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