I had COVID a few weeks back and the effects were minimal as I only felt sluggish and had a sore throat for about a week. Admittedly, it was a bummer of a time but I have the dignity to laugh at my own unhappiness. In this fever dream/hyper-medicated state, I found that I have no patience for reality television which felt like an epiphany, but it just turns out that I've always felt that way. A few times I'd be so jacked up on NyQuil that I thought the quote on a tea bag was giving me a new life perspective. Recovery was inevitable so I'm back to being a cynical, unreflective knob with a penchant for gallons of coffee and shows about wives who murder their husbands for profit. Hallelujah.
The above-mentioned lollygagging was used to read Vida Blue's autobiography since I had no energy to do much else, and I enjoyed it very much. (thanks a million, Mark) As baseball fans, we should all know the story...poor black kid from a remote, ramshackle Louisiana town signed by owner Charlie Finley for 12,500 dollars and becomes a SuperDuperStar. To say that Blue was a critical part of that A's dynasty of the 70's would be an understatement. His statistics are mind-blowing even to the modern eye. A six-time All-Star pitcher, he's the only player to win MVP, a Cy Young Award, three championships, and 200 games on the mound. There is no way I could ever really describe Blue's impact on baseball, black culture, and the larger American zeitgeist.
I've been watching here and there the quest for the "worthless piece of metal" as less than esteemed scumbag Rob Manfred so eloquently called the WS trophy. (OK, maybe he didn't say worthless) Adolis Garcia and Yordon Alvarez were absolute monsters in the wildly entertaining ALCS, just crushing balls with dazzling brute strength. I really didn't have a preference as to who climbed that mountain to glory. The Snakes and their motley array won a spot in the World Series opposite the Rangers which must be some kind of cosmic joke direct from the baseball gods at the expense of corporate goons. I have a picture of myself in front of Chase Field somewhere, slowly dying in 108-degree heat and flipping the bird to a life-sized promotional display of overpaid hack Madison Bumgarner. Yes, this was the pinnacle of maturity.
Also, the NPB Japan Series between the Hanshin Tigers and the Orix Buffaloes begins on October 28th. I doubt many people reading this will watch since the games are played at an ungodly hour, (4:00 AM) but those of us with insomnia are kind of jazzed. I was rooting for the Yokohama BayStars in the playoffs (with seemingly vindicated pitcher Trevor Bauer, who as of me typing this publicly wants to return to MLB) but they were eliminated in one of those dastardly 3 game series. The Japanese reward the regular season best record winners with an automatic bye and then a "win" in a best-of-7 LCS. Essentially, they would only have to win 3 games as opposed to the wild card victors' 4. I kind of like that - giving the regular season actual meaning.
That's all I've got for now. Perhaps there's a cautionary tale in there somewhere?
