5.26.2005

A Bunch More Thoughts on My Mind, While Praying Someone Will Hear Me.


These are tough times for a lot of teams as the season nears its 1/4 mark. Colorado is horrible, but that is not surprising, considering they have started eleven different first-year players so far. Maybe they should call them the Colorado Rookies instead of the Rockies! Also bad: the Astros (surprising!), the A's (also surprising, I'm a Billy Beane guy), and the Royals (not very surprising at all). Heading into the Memorial Day weekend, these proud teams are sucking wind, stinking up the joint, and/or hitting the wall. Their fans are angry and their GMs are updating their resumes. Dark days indeed.

It's dark in here too.

Yet there are a lot of bright spots as well. I think we're all shocked that the Brewers are playing .500 ball at this point in the season; Kurkjian actually had May 20 as the over/under for their contraction date. The same goes for the Washington Nationals, and if you told me at the beginning of the year that the Giants would be tied with the Dodgers at this point in the year even without Barry Bonds playing a single game, I would have laughed and laughed and laughed some more, with my voice getting a little hysterical and frightened at the end. The play of Pedro Feliz has been a real bright spot.

The only bright spot here is the light from my little keychain spotlight, and the greenish glow of my Blackberry, which is what I'm using to type this entry. Wait -- yep, there goes the keychain light. Now it's just about pitch black down here. I wish someone would answer my increasingly desperate emails.

Speaking of increasingly desperate -- how about those Los Angeles Dodgers, huh? They're 2-8 in their last ten games, and Jeff Weaver served up something like ten tacos the other night. Or maybe that was a while ago. I'm losing track of time.

They said we were going to Sizzler, but I guess I failed to understand that the other guys on the BBTN team are "spirited" enough to do just about anything. They cackled with glee when they forced me to strip and start digging. After about 30 minutes, they were bored; Gammons slurred out "LET'S DO THIS!" and they pushed me into the hole. Sadly, the ledge they thought was the bottom was extremely brittle, and I broke through to this underground cave.

Let's talk about breakthroughs this year...actually, let's not. Let's talk instead about how I hear something moving, its little nails scratching closer and closer in search of easy food. Some sort of rodent, except that it's grunting, and sounds enormous. I'm pretty sure my fibula is broken, so I can't move. I haven't eaten in 13 hours, except for a couple of glowing mushrooms that made me hallucinate conversations between myself and Bert Convy.

Sexual conversations.

Based on that experience, it's pretty clear that no one can hear me scream.

But hey, don't let me bring you down -- it might be too late for me, but it's never too late for you to go have some wholesome family fun. So stop reading this and go hug your family, buy that pinball machine you always wanted, do all the things you always told yourself that you would do. Do them all now. And when you call up your estranged father and reconcile with him, tell him you love him. You never know what might happen.

Something just brushed up against me

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