I'm a big baseball fan--more specifically, I'm a big San Francisco Giants fan. Their season this year started spectacularly, and just as quickly was spectacularly awful. They've turned it around a bit of late, and I was somewhat hopeful their chances were improving.
Until yesterday. Cruising along with a 6-2 lead in the sixth inning against the potent Washington Nationals, their bullpen imploded and they snatched defeat from the jaws of victory in literally a half an hour, losing 14-6. After it was over, I thought, "You know, this team just isn't very good. I'm tired of wasting my time reading articles, and watching games, and studying the stats. I could be cracking open The Complete Shakespeare. I could be watching those Sons of Anarchy DVDs that are gathering dust. Or practicing my guitar more. Or listening to the twelve volumes of folks music I downloaded from the Library of Congress. I'm done with this season."
I did good last night--skipped the game articles, didn't look at the box score. Watched old X-Files episodes instead. Same with this morning--did my daily crossword puzzle, got started on my laundry list of chores for my exciting vacation this week. About two hours into my morning, my youngest son (nine-years-old) wakes up. First question he asks me, "Who are we playing today, Dad?" Completely oblivious to yesterday's soul-crushing loss.
"Buddy, it doesn't much matter. The Giants aren't very good."
"We're still in it for the Wild Card." Still oblivious to the fact that we suck--but he's nine, so...
"The Rockies."
"Three game series?"
"No, it's four."
"Heck, we could take three, for sure. Maybe even sweep. The Rockies are crappy."
Inside of an hour I was reading the recap from yesterday, checking out the box score, and reading comments from other near-suicidal Giants' fans. You know, baseball is supposed to be fun. It's the ultimate game of hope.
Thanks for the reminder, Beautiful Boy.
Peace,
emaycee
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