This morning it hit me. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. And the promise of Cubs baseball was in the air. But for whatever reason, it took me about three hours before I was capable of composing a lucid thought. And it just took me another hour to think of the word lucid. I'm not even sure I used it right.
You see, on paper, I'm not an idiot. I got a 770 on the math section of my SAT. It doesn't make me Doogie Howser, but it's better than most cavemen. And just a few days ago I was feeling productive, clear-headed, and . . . I don't know, I can't think of the word for the third part in that series, but I'm pretty sure there was something else I was feeling that related to my brain functioning properly.
But as today approached, things started getting fuzzier. Words like butt and fart started getting funnier. And a third thing that would complete the comedic rule of 3's. Suddenly I realized that the problem is baseball. I'm pretty sure it's Cubs baseball, but the idiocy is really sinking in.
Cubs baseball is to me what sex is to George Costanza. Without it, the part of my brain that is normally obsessed with baseball is freed up to think about other things.
The offseason might actually make me understand baseball better.
But once that first spring training game starts,
I'm all "Take me to your leader!"
I couldn't find a way to embed that last video, and there's no way I'm figuring it out today. I should probably wrap up with some kind of witty conclusion. Uh . . . Cubs!!!
Can't ever get too much Cubs baseball or Seinfeld. The "Assman" episode was my all-time favorite. That might sound funny to you today.
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