It's the end of September and my air conditioning is on full blast. Are there any cities in this country that actually have SEASONS? I know this subject just another tired cliche, but my biannual frustration with the weather is pulling in right on time, so bear with me, please. I've been ready for three weeks to walk out of my house and feel a brisk chill, to throw on a sweater and leave the windows open, for a drenching rainstorm...please, anything but this!
And as September draws to a close, I feel more and more nerve wracked. You see, my beloved Red Sox are still in first place by two games over the hated, despised New York Yankees, but with one week of the season to play, anything could happen. As much as I love baseball, I'll be happy when the season's over. It's six months of heartbreak, honestly. I'm a wreck during baseball season. I check scores constantly on my phone, watch practically every game that's on (regardless of who's playing - I'm probably the only guy on the face of the planet who could plunk down on the couch in front of a Nationals/Marlins game and be perfectly okay). So, the end of baseball season spells for me a time of calm - until the trading season starts, at least.
Have you guys seen Barry Bonds' rookie card? It's shocking how much weight he's gained.
And with that, I'm off to work.