Midnight on the softball field of good and evil

Monday, July 9, 2007 | 7:11 a.m.

Midnight Madness! Reckless hooliganism, wild women, men no better than beasts, the complete breakdown of the social contract, think "Lord of the Flies" meets ... meets

OK, fine. It was a 32-team softball tournament.

But softball all night long, plus it was co-ed, recklessly mingling the genders in single-pitch sport, and also there was the anarchy.

For instance, approaching the Arroyo Grande Sports Complex in Henderson at about 10 o'clock Friday night, you could hear shrieks, screams of anger and the worst kind of jeering. Turns out it was an unrelated Little League game. An omen, if you will.

One sign of near lawlessness was the light-beer drinking at tailgate gatherings that deviously skirted park rules against alcohol by being outside of the park and in a dirt lot. Also there were hot dogs being grilled and stereos being played in such a way that, if they were turned up more, could have been kind of loud.

How high does the rot go? There was even an off duty Metro patrolman taping up his bat and hanging out with a group calling itself the Barking Spiders, which was celebrating its recent beating of a rival L.A. softball gang. Chris Leveque said that before their next clash, they would "hang out, have a couple of drinks, listen to the radio."

"Softball's a good outlet," Leveque said. "If only it was a little cooler out."

Perhaps it was the 100-degree heat and mild breeze that contributed to the wild carnival of ordinance flouting inside the park. For instance, there were at least two individuals who were, despite clearly posted signs, flagrantly dogs.

Zoey, a Dalmatian, age 5, and Abby, a 6-year-old black Lab, lay on the grass, panting. Earlier their owner had fed them ice cream, but since then she had gone off to eat dinner and abandoned them with Rampage With Attitude teammate and Sprint service technician Randy Watley.

"They have a hard life," he said. The dogs whined.

Sometimes Rampage spreads its mayhem to out-of-state tournaments in Bismarck, N.D., and Mammoth, Calif., Watley said.

His was not the only roving band of slow-pitch toughs.

Heather McMullin's Cabo Locos are an L.A.-based international cartel with ties to Mexico, Costa Rica and the Dominican Republic, where they play in a tournament most years.

"The Dominican?" asked the single 36-year-old locksmith's receptionist. "After the first year, it's like you're family. I've practically got two kids down there, it's like they adopted me."

When the Locos insinuate themselves into the island nation, they carry with them between $6,000 and $7,000 in cold, hard bats and other baseball supplies, which they donate to schools.

"It's really the only good thing we do," McMullin said.

No doubt it is.