It struck without warning. I’m still both frightened and fascinated by it.
Two weeks zipped by where I was completely oblivious to what was happening in the current sports world. Seems it was a little like a blackout. I focused my attention on something other than sports. My family and I moved from one house to another a few blocks away, but in that time I must have lost my sports mojo. Perhaps it was packed away with my Carlos Zambrano bobble-head(less) doll.
I heard whispers of highlights from time to time, only to be drowned out by the pain in my lower back. Someone said White Sox pitcher Mark Buehrle tossed a perfect game, but I’m not so sure that really happened. I mean, that’s like telling me the Cubs climbed to first place in the Central Division while I was away in this fog of exhaustion. Heavy lifting can cause a man to hear all kinds of strange things.
Alfonso Soriano hit a walk-off grand slam in the 13th inning against Houston while I was trying desperately not to drop a television on my feet. Tiger Woods won the Buick Open while I was wiping sweat off of my sweat. Michael Phelps won five gold medals at the World Championships in Rome while I was becoming overly intimate with cardboard.
In the middle of hearing that the Bears started training camp, I was distracted by a sharp pain in my lower extremities. It wasn’t a hernia but merely an adjustable wrench in the pocket of my shorts digging into my inner thigh bone. I felt that same pain when I finally sat down Sunday night – sans wrench in the pocket – to watch Cubs closer Kevin Gregg give up back-to-back homers in the ninth against the Marlins.
I don’t know what to tell you. Lance Armstrong won the Tour de France as far as I know. Jay Cutler and Brian Urlacher are the best of friends. Jake Peavy is still in San Diego, no? Did Favre really sign with Detroit or was somebody pulling my chain?
While I was away in oblivion where there’s no central air conditioning or moisturizer, Buehrle retired 45 straight batters for a major league record. I was busy retiring 42,000 feet of annoying packaging tape. I can’t get that wretched sound out of my head. Two words for you, Mr. Scotch: soundless dispenser. Now get on it.
It’s not easy or fun moving. It can turn your whole world downside up. One minute it’s five games back from first, and the next, it is first. How, when, where did that happen, Cubs? Don’t answer that. Just don’t make me witness the implosion.
Perhaps I should tune out for a few more weeks. I know how to fake a hernia.