We're going through with this. The decision was made on October 3rd, 2008.

I was drinking with anger while watching Game Two of the Divisional Playoffs. The Halos were being knocked out of the first round yet again by the Bahstin Chowderheads, the 21st century's magnetic pole for bandwagon yahoos and goatee pilots.

I was sitting on the floor nursing bottle number three (or so). Kat was lying on the sofa, passively observing another abysmal postseason.

"I can play baseball," she said, offhandedly.

"Really?" I replied. "That settles it. We're doing this. I've got to have something to redeem this travesty."

"Doing what?"

"We're doing Gothball in winter or spring of 2009."

I've wanted to do this for a long time. In fact, I drafted this notice a month ago. No more waiting.

The name could just have easily been 'Punkball' or 'Rivetball' or 'Postmodernball.' There's no alteration of the rules, nothing particularly 'Goth' about it at all, save for how my contemporaries tend to dress. In the end, it's just baseball with my friends and acquaintances. Same rules, less talent.

"That might be fun, Zoe, but I haven't played since Little League."

Me neither.

"I sucked back then."

Me too.

"I was never in little league."

Doesn't matter.

"I throw like a girl and couldn't hit water if I fell out of a boat."

So?

"No, seriously, I have no talent whatsoever. I'm clumsy, totally unathletic, uncoordinated, and allergic to oxygen."

Then you'll fit right in with everyone else. And if you can think of something better to do on a breezy weekend afternoon besides goofing around with friends while cheering, laughing, pounding Gatorade, and falling on your ass with gusto, then you should do that.

"... Why are you doing this?"

Because this is what I do. I come up with these wacky schemes and ideas, and then I rope all my friends into participating. And as the years go by, they get bigger and weirder. Haven't you figured this out yet?

"... Alright... What do I need to bring?"

A comfortable pair of shoes. And clothing you don't mind horsing around in or getting a pinch dirty. Whether this means jeans and a t-shirt or kilt and a billowy poet's shirt is entirely up to you.

"Do I need to bring equipment of some kind?"

Probably not. I'm going to try to assemble as much equipment as I can. If you already happen to own a glove or bat or something - by all means, bring it.

"Where are we going to do this?"

That part I haven't figured out yet. Somewhere in the 714 are code, probably. Most baseball diamonds I've come across are fenced off and fairly inaccessible. I'm still trying to find an open, readily accessible field we can use. Suggestions are very welcome.

"Can I invite some friends to participate?"

Does the Pope poop in the woods? Recruit everyone you can. I have to assemble two teams - we'll need a minimum of 19 people.

"Okay, what now?"

Now I'm going to take a tally of wiling participants. Email me at ZoeNecrosis at Yahoo dot com. I also need to know whether you are right or left-handed.

So... are you in or out?