You're killing me, Smalls...

Today was the second day in a row I didn't get to watch a single inning. Work is beating me senseless. Not unlike the way offense is beating the Big Unit senseless. I'm very, very confused. Not nervous yet. Even though my buddy pointed out that the only time the Yanks ever won a title with this kind of start was in 1977. <>

But then again, no one ever came back from a 3-0 deficit. Pretty soon Yank fans are going to be the ones adopting the "Gotta Believe" mentality.

I'm not even going to watch Sportscenter tonight. That's right, that's what I said. I hate listening to players talk about a loss. Of any team, but obviously least of all the bombers. Just once, I want to hear a losing player say, "The only reason we lost was because my horoscope said we would" or "You may think we lost, but if a tree falls in a forest...you know how that is" or "Loss, schmoss, there's 2 naked dancers in my bedroom as we speak. Who's the loser now, asswipe?"

I really like how Mariano (cat), whenever I'm writing, puts his head at the edge of the keyboard and sleeps like that. I love it. It doesn't matter if I wake up in the middle of the night to write something down, Mo wakes up too and jumps on the desk and puts his head right by the esc key in the upper left hand corner.

High and away.