My lust for baseball has put a temporary hold on my NHL predictions and by taking a break from hockey I can be far more accurate with my forecasting once teams like Detroit have played a dozen games. I'll sound like Nostradamus.
Meanwhile, it's not like I have quit watching the progress of the MLB playoffs and have only recently ceased wallowing in the ease with which my Yankees dismantled the Twins. Much to my surprise, Tampa Bay went without a whimper in the face of the offensive juggernaut from Nolan Ryan's Texas Rangers. Cliff Lee out-pitched young David Price twice and that, as usual, is quite often the difference maker in a five game series and perhaps the reason why the system needs tweaking. The problem is the season is so long now that the snow will be flying before the World Series begins and adding yet another week to lengthy schedule is just not feasible. Even the premier base stealers would be hard pressed to take the extra bag while sporting snow shoes instead of cleats.
To my knowledge North Face winter wear have not begun to market any down filled batting gloves or fur-lined ball caps complete with those same geeky ear flaps that your uncle has on his plaid hunting cap. I've checked eBay already and the closest thing to baseball winter gear is a lovely New York Yankee quilt and matching flannel sheets. My better half much prefers fine linens and satin sheets, but successful relationships are based on compromise and she'll wear her damn Yankee pajamas or be sent to the minor leagues. She is dear to my heart, but I am the GM of this ball club. She plays an important role on the team, but I write a sports column and not for Penthouse Magazine so I just leave it at that.
Don't misconstrue any insensitivity coming from this baseball junkie.
I actually missed both the second game of the ALCS finals to rake her expansive back yard and to further endear myself to this angel I also missed the Rider game, which as it turned outwas probably a good thing because I would have been throwing garden implements like javelins had I so much as listened to it.
While the remaining MLB teams battle it out for global supremacy, other news from the world of sports commands some precious space. Brett Favre has a sore elbow from sending nude texts of himself to his youthful admirers and Randy Moss has talked his way out of New England to play with the aforementioned aging pervert. God has put these two misfits together for a reason - because he knows they will both eventually grow horns and head for that big barbecue to the south of heaven.
Speaking of perverts, my Steelers took advantage of the return of Ben Roethlisberger to forge on to a division title. And, while we're on the topic, yes I missed the entire day of NFL coverage only to catch the post-game interview with Tom Brady when my love nearly crawled inside the TV to try to meet the handsome devil. After breaking my spine raking leaves she had the nerve to fall in love with an international playboy/NFL star quarterback whose chin makes mine look like two pumpkins. All I have to do ismention Jamie Lee Curtis and she forces me to prune shrubs. Tell me Lord,where is the justice in drooling? Is there not a reciprocal agreement to any prenuptial?
To be honest, I would rather play second base like Robinson Cano than date Ms. Curtis and frankly, Tom Brady is not likely to be calling my girlfriend anytime soon unless he moves to the prairies and needs home care. If he does, I'll be in Venice Beach with Jamie Lee, who happens to love the Yankees and can afford her own gardener.
Love always finds a way - even through the playoffs - but, for the record, I hope to be raking leaves in Central Sask. until the cows come home.
Providing she adds TSN to her satellite feed that is. Now that she has seen a closeup of Tom Brady my chances for eternal love have taken a quantum leap forward. Like I said - love is all about compromise. I'll watch the games and she can watch the post game interviews.
Brady cannot possibly be that handsome in person, can he?
I wish I could say God created all chins equally but like ball teams, some of us are Yankees and some of us pumpkinsmiss the playoffs.
My love life is an open book, until a certain nurse reads this ... but by then she'll be snoring in the deep and sexy crevice of Brady's chin. I can't win. I'll settle for a World Series and see a chiropractor about my lower back. Even Brady couldn't rake 56 bags of leaves.
