My day started far too early for a Saturday with a Little League game, A’s vs. Giants. Nothing weird about that, right? Aside from the fact that the Curse of Interleague Play (hugs, Bud Selig) hasn’t come upon us quite yet. And the fact that I was rooting for the A’s. It pained me, I tell you. But I have people who I have to root for on the A’s, so that was that. I swallowed my fandom and did it. I still have a few words to say to the coach who got the Giants – words like, “You should have given that team to me! – but it turned out to be a good thing that I was rooting for them A’s, because they had an unprecedented comeback, went into extra innings and walked off. I sunburned (duh) but otherwise, things were wonderful.
I came home to the disastrous end to the real Giants game. Aubrey Huff played second base and pigs flew, as did Ryan Theriot, but it was too late. He’s terribly ill, apparently, and just flew into NY today, but is still not well enough to play. Since the rest of the Giants bench seems to have been mysteriously transported to a galaxy far, far away/the Hundred Acre Wood/Middle Earth, Huff ended up at second. Need I really say more? Moving right along.
Then Philip I-Am-This-Close-To-Remembering-His-Last-Name pitched the 21st perfect game in the history of MLB (yeah, hugs, Bud Selig) for the Chicago White Sox, against the Seattle Mariners. That was something and by something I mean absolutely perfect. Literally. You know what I mean.
Then Jennifer Hudson went through airport security… oh. Sorry. Just surfing the front of the news as I write and there’s a story about Jennifer Hudson and the TSA. News, y’all. Can I please blame this on Bud Selig? No? He wasn’t involved with the TSA? You lie. I am quite positive he was.
Anywho. Then the Yankees had some sort of a brilliant comeback that I followed on and off while I drank orange juice because we’re having a heatwave over here and there is nothing better to soothe the horribleness of a heatwave than orange juice.
This is all to say, it has been a strange and busy, but mostly strange, day in baseball. Flyballs are falling out of my ears and when I try to talk about unrelated things, baseball similes are creeping their way in. So I think I’m going to cut it off right here and nap and eat spinach pizza for a while. Catch you all (and Bud Selig) later.