screw toddlers...baseball is hell

I live in Quiet Village, New England, where there is ONE baseball team. Love 'em or lump 'em. Unfortunately for us, we usually end up doing both, but hey, they're our team to love and lump.

Now New York, they have two teams. Count 'em, two. In the same city.

Did you know New England has SIX states? And still ONE baseball team?

I don't get it, either, and if I hear one more of my transplanted-to-NYC friends complain about how crappy their team is doing when they have more than one team to choose from I'll hit them over the head with my Tek rookie card.

Or a Bud Lite bottle. Whatever.

Baseball is religion here in Quiet Village, and I'm no better than the guy with his chest painted with grease paint when it comes to how rabid I am about our lumpy and much-loved team. Well, my chest isn't painted with grease or anything else unless you count the sparkle dust that billows from that stupid tube of sparkle dust somebody gave the four-year-old for her birthday when she was a two-year-old, long-forgotten but sadly rediscovered a few days ago when the child came whirling into the kitchen like a bat out of hell with sparkle dust billowing behind her...

Did I get off track there? Sorry...sparkle dust has magical powers...HEY! The four-year-old is RIGHT!

No, wait...that's not sparkle dust...oooo...pretty swirls...

Ahem.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Baseball.

The Quiet Village team won tonight, so YAY, but not before they gave me at least six heart attacks. I mean, can they just win a game without the drama? Can't every win be a 17-1 rout? Well why not??

Oh, and they won in Chicago. Yet another town with TWO baseball teams.

I don't get it.