It’s Monday and just spent most of the afternoon reading e-mails and blogs. I finished my puzzles in no time. My brain must be working smoother than usual. Right now I’m jonesing for baseball season. Don’t know why. I’ll just be disappointed, again. I start out every season with high hopes and know that this is the year. By the All-Star break I’m starting to worry. Oh, I should tell you. I follow the Red Sox and the Mets. Yeah, I know, i’m following two of the biggest heart-breakers in pro ball. I don’t count the Cubs because they’re cursed by destiny. And the rest of the country is dominated by localism and the longing for days of their youth. The Sox are either hated with a white-hot passion (in New York) or viewed as fluke winners. The Mets suffer a similar fate but not for as long but as deep. Mets fans are the children of a generation of baseball fans who were screwed by the powers-that-be in the fifties. They’re used to hurt but when the Payton family got their ball team they relaxed, popped another beer and sat back and watched. Their expectations weren’t high but they were rewarded twice. Sox fans are another breed. Lurking in theur souls is a hostility that is borne of years finishing behind the Yankees. They are on the verge of starting a riot win or lose. 2011’s collapse has only stoked the fire and I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody doesn’t torch Fenway if they fold this year.

Happy Birthday:

2/20 Ansel Adams, when I got an Honorable Mention in a nation-wide photography contest I wanted to be him. It didn’t happen; Edgar Foolswitch, designed a revolutionary air sickness bag, died due to severe dehydration due to air sickness, died in an airplane john; Rudolph Abel Dickenson, poet and founding member of the Red Star Poetry Club in Joseph McCarthy High School, was hanged by an irate English teacher and a mob of poetry-loving students.

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