I'm back from the beach and I've made a discovery. If a baseball team one has followed since youth is going to relinquish control of the playoff chase via a string of excruciating, one-run losses, then one might as well spend the week at the beach.
I watched what I could and checked my phone and ESPN News for scoring updates, but an ice-cold Palmetto Pale Ale and a trip down to the hot tub pretty much took the sting out of most of those losses. Which, let's be honest, were mostly about as painful as possible. Typical Indians. If Michigan had managed to fritter away that game against the Spartans on Sunday (which I watched, as tortured as Crimenotes, albeit from a beery watering hole in Savannah, Ga.) I think I might have been living my most nightmarish sports week ever.
Now I'm back in New York, spending a gorgeous Sunday afternoon indoors, allowing myself to be tortured by events happening in a Cleveland stadium. Already, the Indians are down 3-0 to the White Sox.
I don't know if this one has a happy ending. We're dealing with a Cleveland team here, so I'm going to go ahead and say ... no.
At least the Browns can't ruin this Sunday.
UPDATE: White Sox 3-1 is a final. I now hate everything.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment