Sunday morning

“We can’t just lay around and sleep all day,” Posh Tosh said.
“Why not? That’s what we do every Sunday.”
“No, we have to do something productive.”
I tried to think of the most productive thing I could force myself to do.
“OK…. Do you want to go the Friday’s at Miller Park and get drunk?”

Posh Tosh is the mystery girl to whom I have been romantically linked in the tabloids. She may or may not be an undercover Russian operative. In some cultures – for example, those you not in the bloggy world of celebrity journalism – this is known as a girlfriend.

We went outside, where fat, silent snowflakes were falling from the monochrome March sky. It was like the snow setting on video game football – the designers couldn’t match the effect of individual flakes, so they animate the background as a vague light grey haze until the snowflake passes before your eyes. When the flakes land on your coat, you can see all the crystalline branches and variations.

No two snowflakes are exactly alike. But in an constantly expanding Universe with infinite possibilities, the likelihood of two identical snowflakes approaches 100 percent. Whatever, let’s just go to T.G.I.F. Friday’s.

Does Miller Park contain infinite possibilities? Inside, the snow is still falling leisurely through the open roof – making an inverted snow globe with darkened pockets like deep sea caves under the Lodge Level seating overhang.

I asked Posh if she was excited for the Brewers season. She said it would be hard because she didn’t understand the game. “Like in football, I know what a touchdown is and I can understand what a first down is.”

But that’s why baseball is so great, I said. Whether these guys are up to bat
or standing in the field, it’s like they’re facing a firing squad
alone, but together at the same time. You can see their faces. Pads
and masks do not hide their reactions and emotions, except for one.

The first thing I’m going to tell you about is the starting rotation.


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