Four Nights and/or Days in August

Last night in Forest Park, in my softball leagues championship game, I was playing third base with my team holding a 10-3 lead, with two outs in the top of the sixth inning, I caught a liner to end the inning (more, commas, please,). I jogged off the field and into the dugout. A few moments later, the game was called on account of darkness. We won, and I had caught the final out.

I just checked with the good folks at Elias Sports Bureau, and it was officially the most anti-climatic championship of all time.

Speaking of bad championships, the tallest midget contest which is the race to win the NL Central heats up this weekend in Chicago. After pronouncing the Cardinals dead not even a month ago, I gots to wondering why weren't actually dead yet, Larry noticed the team may or may not actually be zombies, and some (odd looking) kids came on up, and all of a sudden, don't you know it, we got ourselves a pennant race.

(I apparently wrote that last paragraph with a strong country accent. What the fuck?)

May the most mediocre win!

Anyway, if all goes according to plan, the Cards will be in first come Tuesday. Of course, since God hates plans and Mexicans, the Cards will get swept. Either way, I get to get drunk, eat brats, and watch meaningful baseball this weekend.

In the dark. By myself. Without any pants on.

That's all I can really ask for.

[have a great weekend kids. remember, todays game is floppy hat day at wrigley! because everyone likes looking like a douche!]

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Stop trying to be cute with the fucking blog and just write!
Pants! That's why we lost today! I was wearing pants!
Did I just get scolded yet again on my own blog? Fuck. Tough crowd.

Liam, get a brain moran, no real guy wears pants when alone. Or in public. Boooooo pants.
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