I hadn’t really realized it, but I’ve been holding my breathe for four months now. It burns to breathe. It burns to see, too. Everything burns. I need me a Mickey D’s sweet tea.
I was reading CTrent’s latest bit over at the Athletic and he was talking about how this fella was looking and how that guy’s showing up and so on. It’s really good and I’m sure that you would feel pretty shitty if the VC toiletlords who pay Trent’s salary were to lay him off, as they did to so many of his talented colleagues over the last few months so go get a subscription to The Athletic if you do not already and like I said, it’s also really, really good. I mean, this bloghole is free and it shows.
Anyway I was reading that piece from Trent and it kicked me out of hypersleep or something like that but not nearly as cool-looking and with more of a guy-hasn’t-put-on-a-pair-of-shoes-for-four-months kinda vibe.
I honestly haven’t been paying much attention to the Reds of late. I got two kids and a job at home and I’m living in a Failed State in the throes of a pandemic and I’ve been really skeptical of MLB’s chances of pulling this off (due only in some part to the pandemic) so may I beg your forgiveness.
I had a friend who was familiar with opioid addiction on a fairly intimate basis once tell me that the first encounter after a lengthy abstention is just the cat’s ass (his words not mine). That goes the same for sex I mean I would assume I don’t really know myself first-hand that was merely an assertion made from intellectual insight and not of personal experience. Because I have been engaging in consistent relations for the duration of my sexual maturity due in no small part to my glistening sexual charisma is why.
All that’s to say I feel baseball moving in my blood again. God, I missed that.