"You wanted me to jump off a bridge, I finally did. You finally brought me and my family down.... So now go pick a different person." (Barry Bonds, drinking from his always-full bucket of whine and discussing his potentially season-ending knee injury)
OK. Let's see. Can I pick anyone or does it have to be a baseball player? If it's baseball, I pick, um, the entire Yankees organization. And if this is open to anyone, I pick ... Jessica Simpson.
Man, if I knew it was this easy, I would've started picking people years ago.
On the urging of the Commissioner, and in what seems like a blatant move to capitalize on having a dozen-selling published author in the Old South Hill Association, I have been given access privileges to the blog here. One probably thinks I grow weary of constantly letting the people of the world suckle at my prodigious literary teat, but, in truth, I don't. I find that it is important to "keep it real," as the kids say. And so I shall share my gifts with you. You're welcome.
Unfortunately, I generally maintain interest in baseball for the eight to ten days in which the Mets show signs of being contenders. So I probably won't be posting much after, say, the first week of May. After that, I will probably emerge only to post recent photos of me and "Saved by the Bell" stars and overwhelm you with mentions of the music of Marah.
But in this time of year when it appears Barry Bonds may be out for the season, a scratch-off screwup makes reading of the two New York dailies even more exciting than usual, and hockey lockout grief has settled into a numb, benign pain, hope springs eternal.
Res Ipsa Loquitur.