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Tuesday, October 2, 2007

On Baseball and Kiddies and Comps

Nah, I still don't have my laptop back. Fact is, I haven't even sent it in yet because I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around the idea of going comp-less for two weeks.

Soon, soon.

I've had a good week, post-Baptism, despite a bad cold. One night I took the girls to pick up a pizza and when we were told it'd be a few minutes, treated them to kiddie cocktails as we sat at the bar and talked about school.

A great, great memory.

We've also recently put up our first Halloween decorations around the house . . YaYa's learned to skip rope and is reading like a champ . . Lu loves school . . Parker is all boy, mischeivious and happy and destructive all at the same time, and starting to vocalize (but not talk) far more than before . .Lauren is smiling (tho' she has a cold now too) and seems to have a weak stomach; we are considering switching her to a soy based formula.

Anyhow, last night I watched the fantastic 163rd game of the baseball season - the one game winner take all playoff for the NL wildcard spot.

It was a sloppy, offense minded game to be sure, but the drama!

I thought for sure the game was over when the Padres took a two run lead in the top of the 13th and put Hoffmann on the mound to close it out. Then the hits kept coming . .

Holliday made up for his earlier gaffe in the field with his tying hit, but as thrilled as I was to see him score the winning run a batter later, my inner baseball puriest balked.

Slide feet first man, and do it late, just like Ripken said afterwards. And if you are dumb enough to go head first, be a man and shake it off instead of laying there on the ground watching Barrett retrieve the ball to tag you out.

Of course it didn't matter, he was safe (or at least ruled as such).

I was overjoyed. Nothing against the Padres, mind you, but now at least the Brewers played a role in the post-season, having bumped the Friars into the playoff in the first place.

And what Brewer did it? None other than the son of Padres legend Tony Gwynn.

Sweet irony.

Oh, and Hoffmann?

Best Closer Ever. . . .

My A**

 

 

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