My Bad

So, my team lost game three last night, and since this is baseball we’re talking about, fans everywhere are making the necessary adjustments required to assure that this doesn’t happen again. See, in baseball’s post season, it’s not how well or poorly the players play or the managers manage. Winning or losing all hangs on fan behavior. More rational observers would refer to this as...superstition, but every real baseball fan knows better. How we behave, how we dress, even our choice of food or beverage can doom our team’s effort to failure. To quote that noted philosopher, Michael Scott, “We’re not superstitious, we’re just a little stitious.”

I had a premonition late yesterday afternoon that something bad might happen when I was on the treadmill at AMFAM and a buddy of mine, Bland Weaver, approached me with an irritated expression on his face. True, with Bland that’s pretty much his go-to facial expression, but nevertheless he seemed particularly put out with me:

Bland: I wanted to grab you by the throat and kill you this morning.

Me: Again? What did I do this time?

Bland: That blog you wrote.

Me: ??

Bland: You don’t write about your team in the middle of a hot streak, you moron! That’s the kiss of death. When they lose tonight, it’s going to be your fault. Thanks a lot!!

Then, I get home and my tender hearted wife suggested that since my buddy, Chip Hewette, is home alone this weekend while Lynn is visiting her mother, that we invite him over for dinner and watch the game with him. I agreed out of my unfortunately deeply ingrained notions of Christian hospitality. But any rookie baseball fan knows that you don’t invite a non-partisan observer into your house on game night during the post season! What was I thinking??

My third unforced error came later when I arrived home having forgotten that I was supposed to stop by the grocery store to pick up the fixings for a proper baseball meal of hot dogs and baked beans and home made Mac and cheese. Because of the late hour I made the critical mistake of agreeing to, “gasp”...order pizza instead.

Under the circumstances, it’s a miracle that the Nationals didn’t get blown out, that Anthony Rendon survived the game without a season ending knee injury and Anibal Sanchez does not require Tommy John surgery this morning. Oh... and that group text thing I set up for the first time last night between my brother, my son in law, and my buddy Al Thomason??  That’s never happening again.