do not hump
(don’t miss the google ad at the bottom of the page for African ladies)
news delivered to me by our first baseman who caught lots of Hellickson-induced putouts en route to another win which means it’s appropriate to play music, laugh as much as possible, sing falsetto or whatever you’re into in the clubhouse after the game. Executing the proper losing-atonement over dinner in the clubhouse has its charms, its probably a little like a meal at one of those monk retreats in which you oblige not to speak. The rest of it though, as it builds as losses stack up, starts to smell. It’s like being forced somehow to be somewhere a stink is perpetual and omnipresent, not the type that you get used to. If only everyone could hold it until they got home, a losing team could even be a little bit fun, by way of funny. That’s my college team’s only legacy really, humor.
(It’s possible that celibacy has played as vital a role in lowering my strikeout totals in 2010 as ceasing that “switch hitting” )