I’m sorry I flaked on my predictions for the Elite Eight. I have no excuse other than a busy weekend involving a birthday party, five baseball games and a lot of alcohol. They say that functional alcoholics are the kind who don’t let their alcohol consumption affect their lives. I say that functional alcoholics are alcoholics who show up for work on time. Either way, I dropped the ball. I know you’re depressed, but you’ll get through it. And besides, we’ll always have the World Series.
There is such a thing out there as crust-less pizza. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
I learned something about myself this weekend. Apparently, a woman being beautiful and horny is not enough for me. If a woman is both soulless and brainless, I can’t bring myself to sleep with her. Again.
I like to believe that every time a baseball announcer says something stupid, a starving child gets a meal. It is this kind of optimism that keeps me listening to the announcers. Well, it’s optimism and the sheer joy that is the opportunity to make fun of them. Kind of a combination thing, I guess.
An umpire I work with ratted me out to the boss. He complained that I ate a hotdog on a field in a game I worked with him and prompted the following conversation between my boss and me:
Boss: You know I just got my first complaint about you.
Me: Really? Which coach?
Boss: Wasn’t a coach. Was another umpire. Said you ate a hot dog on the field.
Boss: Mustard and relish, knowing you.
Me: Is this a problem?
Boss: For him it is.
Me: What about for me and you?
Boss: I prefer ketchup. But I’m still willing to let it slide.
It’s kinda nice being good at the things you do.
My Final Four predictions: Florida and Ohio State. Reasons you should care: none. I’m horrible at this. I honestly don’t even know why I do it. I mean, clearly it’s madness. Just total madness (wow, that was very not funny?sorry you had to be a part of it).
And finally, because logic and fluidity are drinking rum runners with the Artist Formerly Known as Kathy Ireland, I leave you with the following, which I saw on an actual road sign:
“Left lane does not turn left.”