Writing is an odd thing. Some days you’re so full of ideas your fingers can’t move fast enough. Other days, you’ve suddenly got nothing to say. Sometimes the dry spell lasts nearly a month (*cough* Bampf *cough*).
After last week’s wildly exhilarating highs and lows I’ve been so worn out I haven’t had time to really concentrate on this week’s exhilarating highs and lows. Besides, except for a small blip in Game 1 of the World Series the contest between the Red Sox and Yankees/Cardinals hasn’t even seemed competitive since Game 6 of the AL Series. Now, I suspect the probable one-two punch of Pedro tonight and D-Lowe tomorrow night might make for some excitement but precious little real suspense.
Unless the World Series is a reverse of the AL Series and the Cardinals’ bats wake up on the same schedule the Yankees’ went to sleep.
Bah. Faith is running high, but I’m a natural contrarian. There’s less pleasure to be gained by watching a winning team than there is by hoping and praying year after year for just a ray of light: hence my love of the Red Sox, Phillies and Eagles. It’s why, I think, Dallas Cowboys and New York Yankees fans are such pricks. The thrill is gone, baby. When a team is that good most of the time – excepting the occasional slumps – there’s just nothing to do but gloat. No hope. No suspense. No sudden surprises.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the teams don’t make the fans pricks, maybe the fans were always pricks and thus gravitated to the teams.
Hey, I wear my loser colors proudly.
Oddly enough, there’s an election in seven days. We’ll have a World Series Champion and a President. All in the space of three days – barring lawsuits – at the beginning of next week.
I suppose I’ll have something to say about the election once baseball has cleared my field of vision.
As if that will happen. Particularly if the impossible occurs.
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