Updated May 10
Last week darn near fried me. I spent it chasing no-hitters (two that worked, two that didn't); delighting in late-night, late-game flourishes (Jim Tracy's constant face-planting could prompt Alcoa to bring back "Fantastic Finishes"); crunching the numbers for a super-high-end car service designed to accommodate the needs of DUI-weary ballplayers (but really, let's worry instead about steroids and HGH); preparing a special Friday night shrine for a special prospect (Eric Hosmer is my baseball Sherpa); and wondering why we all went nutzo on Jim Joyce last year, but didn't bother to lightly scold Paul Emmel for a botched call during Liriano's no-no (hooray, human element!).
It was time marvelously, blissfully well-spent.
So, uh, what's up with you? No, I don't really want to know. I'm just trying to be polite.