Baseball? More Like Bass-ackwards

Nationals vs. Phillies. Right.

Like I’m supposed to care.

My kid just projectile-vomited glitter glue onto the dog.

That's my fucking World Series.

Baseball. It’s a game.

A slow game.

A really, really slow game.

Reminds me of my last Friday night, actually. Started strong, then just… stalled.

Ended up face down in a bowl of stale pretzels.

Same energy, different setting.

Who are these 'Nationals' anyway? Do they even know what a nation is?

Because I'm pretty sure mine is held together by duct tape and whatever half-eaten snack my wife left on the counter.

And the Phillies? Philly. Cheesesteaks. Drunken brawls.

Okay, maybe I get that part.

Still, not enough to turn off the reruns of 'Pawn Stars'.

I’ve got actual drama in my life.

The milk ran out.

Again.

That’s more action than nine innings of grown men spitting sunflower seeds.

My back hurts. My head hurts.

Probably from trying to remember which day of the week it is.

Or the twelve beers.

Could be either.

Baseball used to be simple. Hot dogs. Beer. Ignoring the family.

Now it's analytics. WAR. Some bullshit about launch angle.

Just hit the goddamn ball.

Or don't. I don't care.

I’m trying to decide if I can get away with calling in sick because my 'spirit animal is hungover'.

That's a more compelling narrative than whatever the hell is happening between the Nationals and the Phillies.

Pass the Tylenol. And maybe a shot of something stronger.

It’s gonna be a long day.

Regardless of who wins.

Spoiler: it's not me.