I woke up at 5:15 this morning. I took two cramped flights, after which I drove 35 miles to a six hour slog of a meeting that none of the participants wanted to be a part of. Then, for reasons that are only clear to my firm's travel office, I had to drive nearly an hour to stay in a hotel that is nowhere near the meeting location, which I will be returning to in the morning. On the way, I hear the news that the stock market has crashed and that people will soon be selling apples and pencils on street corners while trying to dodge the bodies of suicidal investors hurtling towards the pavement below their office windows.
At the end of a day like that you only want two things. The first one is a beer, which I have in front of me. The second one is the broadcast of the WNBA semifinals, featuring the Detroit Shock's Cheryl Ford. But noooooooo. I have to watch the rain-delayed Tigers-White Sox game, which is preempting that riveting WNBA action. Man.
OK, there is a touch of disingenuousness in the preceding paragraphs. I didn't really want to watch the Shock game because of Cheryl Ford. I wanted to watch it because of Katie Smith, who lived in the dorm room next to mine during my sophomore year at Ohio State. I borrowed a corkscrew from her once, so I always watch her games.
UPDATE: In all seriousness, I got into my hotel room figuring the Tigers-White Sox game had ended, and then clicked on the TV just in time to see Alexei Ramirez hit the grand slam. I'm no White Sox fan, but having that kind of baseball magic greet me at the end of a day like this is nothing short of life saving.
God, I love baseball.
UPDATE: I love 163-game seasons even better. I'm almost certain to miss tomorrow's game due to air travel, but you gotta love this.