Confession: I won't be worth much to anyone until the World Series ends in a couple of weeks. Right or wrong, I'm in full immersion mode here, eating and breathing and, uh, smoking baseball, in the privacy of my home.
Oh, I'll still be updating every day, and I'll try not to let my obsession infect what shows up here. But it can't be helped, can it? I mean, I don't have to write accounts and analyses of the games, but it's going to be a reach for me to raise my sights much beyond them.
I realize I shouldn't care about the results of a game played by a bunch of millionaires who represent cities far from where I live. And the truth is, I don't. I don't care much about the results, now that my team is out of the running, but I do care about the game they play and the place in history these particular games represent.
Sure, it's the toy store of life. But it's more fun than the boardroom of life or the utility closet of life, or even the locker room of life or the vice principal's office of life.
Gee, that's about enough of that, isn't it?