Sometimes You Can't Root for the Home Team
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Root, root, root for the home team!
In our case, that would be the Philadelphia Phillies. Who are now on their way to a World Series.
It's funny, because Mr. Johnson and I bonded over a love of baseball, way back in the 20th century. We both loved the Orioles. But that was decades ago. Now we just don't like baseball anymore.
Mr. Johnson is a sports writer, you see. That's kind of like being a bus driver. While everyone else is celebrating, he's busting his chops trying to get his copy in on time.
Last night the Phils clinched. Mr. Johnson got sprayed with champagne and then had to write his story. He trudged in the door around 2:00 a.m. and went to bed at 4:00 a.m.
I guess some longtime wives might get a little upset if their husband came to bed at 4:00 a.m., reeking of cheap champagne. But in this household, our jobs are our bitches. He had barely settled in when I got up (5:30) and set off for school. I just got home around 6:00 p.m., and he's out in the garage (renovated as a home office), writing another story.
Decibel the Parrot is making dinner. Sunflower souffle.
You'll pardon me if I don't get excited about the Phillies. My better half is getting a little past his prime where this sports nonsense is concerned. As for me, I think baseball has never been the same since Brooks Robinson retired. That's all I'll say today. World Series? Bah, humbug.