Archives: 0-19, A Spiritual Experience

SUMMER 2026 — GAME 4. Good Wood 0, DBC Padres 19.

There are losses you can joke about in the parking lot. There are losses you blame on the umpire, the lights, the missing captain, the hamstring, the fact that it is rec league and the other team brought ringers from a city that has a skyline.

And then there is 0-19.

We scored zero. They scored nineteen. Cole Vehslage went 1-for-1 and was the only adult in the building. Dustin Fidaleo pitched like a man defending a farmhouse. The rest of us hit infield flies that would have been embarrassing in BP. Brooks, who lectures people about situational hitting, hit a ball that had already given up. Thomas. The top of the order. All of it. A bloodbath. The lowest point.

I could sanitize this. I will not. We got our teeth kicked in by a team named after a National League franchise that has not mattered in my lifetime, and we deserved every run of it. Lineup construction was a crime. The group chat the next morning was a wake. Somebody typed see you next week like that was a threat.

Here is the part that matters, and I hate that it matters: we came back. We dropped 13 in Game 6. We rebranded. We ordered unis that cost more than our dignity. We built a website.

If you were at Game 4, you know. If you were not, you will be the first time we sleep on a 7:30 first pitch and remember that Men's E Competitive still has teeth.

Hatfish does not forget 0-19. Hatfish files it. Hatfish uses it. Hatfish will mention it in a toast and then try to hit a nuke that does not count.

See you in September. Bring your glove. Leave your excuses with the Padres.