Roundin' third and heading for home....

A little less than a year ago I bought this book on a Saturday afternoon in Athens. After reading the first couple of pages I knew that I was for a few late nights. I think it was Monday night when I finished the book and I only put it down when I literally couldn't stay awake any longer, or, as was the case that Sunday, I had a baseball game to go to. It was that good.

Basically, the book is about a guy named Matt McCarthy. He played college baseball at Yale and was drafted in the 21st round by the Anaheim Angels organization. The book details his year of playing rookie league baseball in Provo Utah, as well as his experience at the next season's spring training.

I'll share now a little secret that is not so much of one because I've already shared it with a few people. Soon, I'll share it with the boss man.

This year, I will be declaring myself eligible for the 2010 Major League Baseball Draft. While I harbor no illusions of being drafted based on talent (seeing as that I've never played competitive baseball beyond the little league level), my hope is that some orgaization out there will spend their 50th (last) round pick on a nice kid who loves the game and will most certainly serve as a bullpen catcher for his assigned minor league team. I have no ego when it comes to playing time, "signability" will not be an issue for me, and you'll never once hear me bitch about having to ride 11 hours one way on a bus to sleep at a Motel 6 and play four games in the middle of the week in front of a few hundred fans. SIGN ME UP.

If I am drafted, I will sign. I will resign from my beloved career, I will take their $1,000.00 mandatory signing bonus, I will figure out what to do with my current housing (probably nothing) and will report where assigned. Each MLB team has a spring training facility in Florida or Arizona. I hope its the latter. I think I'd like the desert a little bit more, but I really don't care. I really don't.

Look, the odds of it happening are non-existant. Decent college players (you know, who actually do play baseball) don't get picked. UGA had a senior left handed starting pitcher back in 2006. He was our Friday night starter, meaning that he was the #1 pitcher on the staff. He didn't get picked. Granted, he had some issues with his shoulder and labrum and couldn't throw very hard, but still, he wasn't drafted. It doesn't look good for me. But I'll still declare myself and see what happens. It may be the start of something fantastic.

And look at it this way... an MLB team is going to draft tons of kids who won't sign. UGA had three juniors last year to be drafted who all chose not to sign and came back. Usually about half of our signing class each year is drafted out of HS and they don't sign. Here's what I have going for me.... I WILL sign. You won't waste your pick, even your 50th round pick, on me. For $1,000.00, plus the league mandated $850.00 per month, I'll be dad gum happy to take the most thankless spot on the whole roster and sit night after night in the bullpen and play catch with relief pitchers. From a financial standpoint, I think that's a steal, to say nothing of the headaches I WON'T cause the manager by carping over my lack of playing time.

Pick me, tell me where to go, and I'll be the first one standing in line. Send me to an outpost. We've already established that I don't have a problem going to such a place. No reason that this shouldn't happen (well, except the reason of me not actually being a baseball player).

And if not, hey, the current gig ain't so bad either.

The Noise

I tell ya what, it's hard to sleep sometimes. I'd wager that at least 35% of the time when I start off in bed, I wind up migrating to the sofa so I can turn on the TV (usually ESPNews) and use the white noise to put me to sleep. If I don't, the noise in my head keeps me awake. A lot of times, I'll just go to sleep on the sofa to begin with, just to skip the whole charade.

I walk around most of the time trying to suppress a laugh. It always make me feel kind of weird, like everyone else can notice my trying so hard to press my lips together, like I'm holding something inside (how do you not end that sentence with a preposition?). I am. And most of the time, it's not even something that I'm seeing, it's just about something else that I'm thinking about, some idea that I've had, some completely inappropriate comment I wanted so badly to make, or some conversation that I'd wished that I'd had. The noise fills me up, and it's good, it's good when I'm working (until it prevents me from concentrating) or walking or driving, or doing anything else awake. I bet people pass me in traffic and think "what's the hell is he laughing about?" I get up at work to walk to the printer and I have to pass by a bank of cubicles. So many times I've had to almost turn around and walk quickly back to my desk because I'm literally on the cusp of laughing out loud over something and don't want to have to explain it when it happens because it's never as funny the second time around.

Like "What is so funny Peacock?"

"I dunno, I was just thinking about how whenever I leave this job I'm going to write in my resignation letter that I have finally settled a very large claim... with the enemy from within."

"Oh.... "

It's all well and good until I look like a weird-o or can't turn "it" off long enough to fall asleep. Then the alarm clock goes off, and that's very rarely ever funny, although I usually laugh a little bit when I wind it back an hour. Why is it that each night I get my absolute best sleep between 6:00a and 7:00a?

Anyway, I've got ideas. Always. Some I'll go after and some, I'm sure, will die on the vine.

I want to do a ride along with Captain Herb Emery, the traffic guy for AM 750 here in Atlanta. He flies a helicopter around in the mornings and afternoons. I want to do that with him, see what it's like. How do you do something like that? I did a ride along with a cop one time in Athens. It stands to reason that I could do one with Captain Herb. I had a dream that I did that the other night, I guess that's where I got my inspiration. It was morning time and he and I were flying around I-75 in Cobb County, north of Atlanta, checking out the traffic. All of a sudden Captain Herb decided that he wanted to "check on something" so he slammed the "brakes" on the helicopter mid flight. Scared the hell out of me in the dream. But I still want to go on a ride along with him though. Ah, but they probably got their damn unions. And Captain, you know I'm not a pro union guy.

I can't wait for baseball season. I wish that there was a way that I could go to baseball games every day and then, like, tell people about it, and get paid for doing so. But then the guy who does that probably wishes that he could spend his days writing letters that start off with "Please advise" or "Thank you for speaking with me today, this letter shall confirm...." Maybe Captain Herb wishes he could get some attorney on the telephone and start off with a snappy one liner like "Listen Barrister...."

To think, I used to lie in bed and fear that a certain monkey would attack me the following morning at my college job. Them's were the times. I was in charge of washing animal caging, to the extent that one can be "in charge" of that duty. I'd shut the doors in our washing area, blast the cages with scalding hot water, yelling at the top of my lungs along with the stereo "GIVE ME STEAM, AND HOW YOU FEEL CAN MAKE IT REAL, REAL AS ANYTHING YOU SEE.... GET ALI---IVE, WITH THE DREAMER'S DREAM...." The bottom six inches of my scrubs pants would be soaking wet and I'd be out of breath from yelling song lyrics for several minutes. Best $6.50 an hour I ever made. We used to have to wear nitrile gloves (sort of like latex, only they weren't powdery). One day, I was screwing around and had a pair of gloves on and thought that it would look cool if I taped up my wrists up like a linebacker. So I found some masking tape and went to town, taping my wrists about four inches up from the base of my hands. Then I realized that I neglected to use prewrap. It hurt like the dickens pulling all that tape off, but I had some fun with it.

I guess I've had fun with every job I've had. People may take that as a sign of not taking things seriously, but it's anything but that. How can I take something seriously if I don't enjoy it?

I went home for Christmas one year when I was in college. My folks live fairly close to campus anyway, so it's not like going home was some huge deal. But around Christmas each year, I'd go and spend several days there. I think it was a Wednesday afternoon, that sounds right, when I went home one year. It was early afternoon. Nobody was home. As luck would have it, I had a half empty pint bottle of bourbon in my truck. I know, bad idea to drive around with an open container, but I had it hidden pretty good I guess. Anyway, it was early afternoon, around 2:00p or so. I moved my stuff inside and grabbed that bourbon bottle. I stretched out on my parent's sofa, on my back, holding the bottle in my hand and resting it on my chest. I lay there with my eyes shut until I fell asleep. My mom shows up a little later, I guess she had been out running errands or something, and finds me asleep, on my back, holding a half empty bottle of liquor on my chest. I was awakened by her saying "Oh for God's sake..."

Good night everyone, I hope.

Into the Wild

So I just finished reading a fantastic book. I had actually given this to my dad as a Christmas present, he read it quickly and recommended it so enthusiastically that I borrowed it and read it myself. I started Sunday around midnight and stayed up until nearly 3:00a reading it. I finished it last night.

You can read a synopsis of the book right there on the cover, but obviously there is a lot more to the story than that. The protagonist, Chris McCandless, essentially disappeared from his family after he graduated from college. He drove across the country from Atlanta to Arizona until his car failed him, then hitch-hiked and boated in a zig zag pattern around the western United States before concluding his grand adventure on the Stampede Trail in Alaska.

It's a fantastic read, although I have to think it would appeal more to men than to women. It struck a cord with me, and I think it would with most men, because I believe that it speaks to the inherent male desire to explore and seek adventure.

We all go about it in different ways and some obviously seek (or define) adventure to a much larger degree than others. You won't soon catch me hitchhiking through the Yukon Territory or living for weeks on end alone in a tent. But I think that it's every man's inherent desire to explore and test himself and his resiliency.

Scanning through my blog last night it occurred to me how often I write about that period of time when I lived in the Northwest. Though I said when I left that I would close that chapter of my life, I guess I never really did. After finishing "Into the Wild", I got to thinking about how that chapter was to date my greatest "adventure" and that's likely why I hold onto it the way I have.

In another sense, I felt connected to Chris McCandless through his relentless search for an "outpost". Personally, I've always had a fascination with the remote, secluded places across America. I've always found myself fantasizing about what it would be like to live in such a place, a place like Forks Washington, Jackman Maine, or Three Points Arizona. To me, there is something incredibly romantic about finding significance in an insignificant map dot. A place with one stop light, one local pub, and a small lunchbox, a place that embodies that lyric from the John Prine song "Jesus, the Missing Years" that reads Things shut down at midnight. At least 'round here they do. Cause we all reside down the block inside, at 23 Skidoo.

I spent a night in Forks back in December 2006, completely unplanned. Exploring the Olympic Peninsula one Saturday, I found myself in Forks in the evening and figured I was too far to drive home that night, and I still had some things I wanted to see on Sunday. I got a cheap hotel room and walked to a small "American" style restaurant for dinner where I ate a shrimp basket and drank a couple of bottles of beer, by myself. The restaurant closed at 9:00pm, I was the last person in there. I paid my bill and walked back to the hotel. At this hour on a Saturday night shortly before Christmas, there was nothing going on in that town. It was quiet and felt deserted. It was an outpost, and I was strangely happy that I'd found it.

The next morning I drove to La Push, on the Pacific Coast, and walked a steep two mile trail that led to the ocean. Walking through the forest, I could not hear a sound to suggest any human presence anywhere in the world. It was pure solitude. Upon reaching the ocean, I noticed that there were no footprints on the beach. It was truly an awesome sight to see something so large and so undisturbed and I felt an immense happiness for being in the "middle of nowhere", if only for an hour or so.

I can imagine multiplying those feelings by one hundred thousand and that may be what Chris McCandless felt as he hiked into the Alaskan wilderness.

As for me, I guess my adventures lie in finding those new and far-away places, spots that are exotic to me and painfully common to the locals. We stayed in Guthrie Oklahoma for the UGA v. Oklahoma State game the past September. Guthrie is about 25 miles or so from Stillwater, where Oklahoma State is located. Guthrie is a small town, larger than Forks, but struck me as very quiet and low key. Pulling into town that Friday night and passing through the "downtown" area, I remembered again how much I enjoy these small, random towns that make up America and how I wished I could travel more to such "non-exotic" locales.

At any rate, I would highly recommend "Into the Wild" to anyone looking for an interesting read.

"I'm alive, but I don't know what it means"

You'll reference my post from 7/25/09.

I was just listening to "Have you Ever Seen the Rain" by CCR and got to thinking back.

12/27/06. I was flying back to the west coast on a late night Delta flight following a brief visit home for Christmas. I had moved to Seattle about a month before, but at the time that I moved there, I knew that I'd be back home in a month or so anyway, if only for a few days.

Anyway, I was sitting on the flight listening to some music on the flight, it was one of those Delta flights with the TVs in the seat back so you get some entertainment. I found "Have you Ever Seen the Rain" in the music menu and listened to it a few times.

That flight was one of the only times in my life that I've felt true desperation. Sitting on that airplane, looking at nothing but darkness out the window, I could feel myself panic. What have I gotten myself into, moving out here? Did I make the right decision? What's going to happen now?

Those moments are funny, but only after the fact. As disconcerting as it was to face so much uncertainty (and I couldn't help but feel it was appropriate that I couldn't see anything out of the windows), I look back and think about how alive that made me feel.

I've heard that the real addiction with gamblers isn't winning or making money or picking games right. I hear that the real addiction is that feeling that comes in the waning seconds before the fate of your bet is determined. The joy, the angst, the disgust, the regret, the happiness. I hear that the side doesn't matter, it's all about feeling those feelings on high.

In some ways, I can see that. Last summer I visited the Belmont race track on Long Island one Saturday afternoon. I didn't bet or lose enough money to really "feel" a loss or win, but betting any amount of money on anything makes that thing so much more interesting. The last race there, I had bet a trifecta. $10 or $20, I can't remember. A trifecta is a bet where the top three horses are chosen, in order. You would tell the teller at the window "Next race here, $10 trifecta on 1,3, and 7" and that means that you're betting $10 that horse #1 will win, horse #3 will place and horse #7 will show. The payouts are pretty good, depending on the odds of each horse. For my bet, I figured it would have paid well in excess of $100. Anyway, as the horses were coming down the backstretch, the three that I'd chosen for my trifecta were among the four leaders, and all four were bunched in tight. For a split second, the board showed my exact bet as the top as the horses neared the finish line. I was going bannanas. Standing up, I was screaming at the top of my lungs "HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT". I mean, I was yelling so loud and hard that my chest hurt. So hard that I became dizzy after I stopped. Unfortunately, the horses didn't hold it, and I wound up losing my bet. But at that moment and the moments that followed, I understood how gamblers get hoooked. It's hard to forget the rush of feeling alive, the feeling of being so heavily invested in an outcome over which you have no control.

Obviously, the feeling on that flight and the feeling at Belmont are different in that of the former, once I hit the ground and made sense of the gravity of it all, I could, to a large degree, control how happy I would be. So maybe control, or lack thereof, isn't what gives me the feeling of being alive. Maybe it's the complete uncertainty of a situation and the awareness of the ramifications of the outcome. Maybe it is angst and questioning that gives me that feeling, rather than the outcome itself.

Who knows? But that's your update for now.

Nightmare on West Peachtree Street -- II

Before we get started, some background.

I went for a walk one Sunday night in Seattle. I want to say it was November or December 2007, after we'd set the clocks back. It was around 6:30pm, but it was night time. I was walking down the sidewalk of Queen Anne Ave at the top of the hill. There's a Safeway store up there, on the right hand side after you've made it up the hill. I was walking in front of the parking lot exit when I saw a car, a sedan, attempting to exit the lot. I crossed in front of him (or her, I didn't see) only the sedan didn't stop. I kept walking and the sedan bumped, very slowly, into my legs. It wasn't like I walked in front of the car, I was clearly crossing the exit and s/he just basically drove into me at a very low rate of speed.

Well, I was none too amused. I mean, the car wasn't going fast enough to hurt me at all or even cause me to lose my balance, but I still angry, angry at the idea of someone carelessly driving into me. I pointed at the driver and yelled "STOP" and then angrily slammed the palms of my hands into the hood, pretty hard, it made a loud noise as I recall. To my surprise, the driver of the car didn't do anything. No apology, no confrontation, nothing. So I kept walking and made sure to turn around shoot a bird at the driver, just in case there was any misunderstanding about my feelings on the matter.


The Nightmare on West Peachtree Street II started with a similar situation.


It was a city side street that I was crossing, on a busy block. I was walking down a wide street with one way traffic. The traffic was moving the opposite direction that I was. As I was attempting to cross the side street, a small Nissan pickup truck was sitting at the intersection. I was to cross in front of this truck from the driver's right to her left. While I was crossing the side street, the driver of the truck continued to inch forward. She bumped into me when I was in front of her. I looked at the driver and she shook her head, like she was saying "no". She then bumped into me again.

I stopped in front of her truck and pounded both fists into her hood and pointed at her and yelled "Stop f---ing moving!!" The driver simply looked at me, and again shook her head. I crossed the street all the way and turned around to look at her. "What are you doing?!" I demanded angrily.

Then she did something unexpected. She turned left and stopped right beside me. She stopped her truck facing the wrong way on a busy one way street. An oncoming car swerved around her at a very high rate of speed, but she didn't bat an eye. She just sat there, staring at me.

Then something very strange happened, something very very strange.

All of a sudden, I was seeing this scene unfold through her eyes. Not in a figurative sense, I mean, I was literally seeing things through her eyes, seeing myself standing on the sidewalk in my gray hoodie.

"I" looked down at the floor board of the truck, looked at "my" pink slip on shoes on "my" chocolate colored feet. "I" brushed "my" hand underneath the seat, but didn't feel anything. Then, "I" opened the glove compartment... and pulled out a silver revolver.

"I" cocked the revolver and lifted it up above the window.

It should be noted here that while I can see what she is seeing, my emotions have remained with me. So at this point, when she lifts the revolver above the window of the truck, I can see myself, my real self, standing on the sidewalk, but at the same time, what is about to happen is just now started to occur to me, the real me.

"I" hold the revolver up and see a look of dread and panic cross my face.

I'd picked the wrong person, clearly. This woman was just plain vanilla crazy, and she was going to take my life away.

"I" pointed the revolver right at the middle of the hoodie. Without any consideration or remorse, without any emotion or second thought, "I" pulled the trigger one time. That was all "I" needed to do. "I" watched my chest explode. And "I" just sat there, still facing oncoming traffic. "I" had no thoughts, no feelings. And "I" didn't move a muscle.

Then, like a movie, honest to goodness, the entire dream went white, bright white, that's all I could see.

When an image returned, I don't know whose eyes I was looking through. The vantage point was apparently on a dock near a river or lake. "I" saw three large men holding a large beige sack. Though "I" could not see inside the sack, "I" knew that it contained my lifeless body. There was no doubt. The men tossed the sack into the water and turned to walk away.

Commercial Liberties Part II

Bet you thought I wouldn't get around to writing this.

The Wendy's commercials really get on my nerves these days.

It's way better than fast food. It's Wendy's!

I don't have a problem with Wendy's saying that they're better than other fast food establishments, although I would find the veracity of that statement to be questionable as well. Wendy's is usually good in a pinch, I mean, you never set off to go to Wendy's, you always just sort of end up there. A few weeks ago, I was really craving some Krystal. I got in the car and started driving, not really knowing the location of the nearest Krystal. I got in I-75 north and began heading out of Atlanta, sure that I'd find a Krystal sooner or later. Before I knew it, I was 45 miles north of Atlanta. Out loud, I said to myself "I'm getting some dad gum Krystal." And I did, eventually. I could just never see myself going to those lengths to get Wendy's, literally willing myself to another exit, reaffirming my desire to eat their food with profane proclamations.

Any why not? Because it's just plain ole vanilla - wait for it - FAST FOOD. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I don't set out on quests for McDonald's or Burger King. But then, to be fair, I don't get angry with, well scratch that, the "i'm lovin it" ad campaign by McDonalds is pretty bad. Maybe that should be Part III of this series if Maddox hadn't already nailed it. Point is, I get a little bit irritated by this red headed step child telling me that her product is "way better than fast food."

Let's talk about the Wendy's "experience", shall we?

Does it involve:

-Making your meal selection from a large board? YES
-Iterating your order through a mircophone from a car window? YES
-Specifiying your meal as "small", "medium", or "large" (or "Biggie")? - YES
-Reading a sign informing you that you are under 24 hour video survelliance? YES
-Wondering idly What the hell is going on back there? YES
-Passing your money/ credit card through a window framed in bullet proof glass? YES
-Getting a drink, but not your food, until your payment is secured? YES
-Receiving your food in a paper bag with each item wrapped it its own container? YES
-Checking to ensure that your order is correct before you drive away? YES
-Being really pissed off if all of the above took more than five minutes? YES
-Tipping your server? NO

How, exactly, is that not fast food? If it isn't fast food, if it's on some sort of greater plane of existance, then what is it? Why play us for a bunch of fools?

Here are some other ideas, going along with Wendy's theme:

Budweiser: Way better than American beer

Lortab: Way better than a pain pill

Morton: Way better than iodized salt


Get the picture? I think that little red headed step child should watch Donnie Brasco toward the end, where Joe Pistone tells his wife "...I am them." And his wife is saddened, crushed that what she knew all along was now confirmed, he's no better than 'them', no different. Wendy's reminds me of what they say about crabs in bucket, how when one crab attempts to climb out, the other crabs will pull him back into the bucket. Only in this case, the crab trying to climb out is Wendy's marketing team, the other crabs are Wendy's attributes, and the bucket is, I don't know, a grease stained paper bag. And the old, salty fisherman watching it all is me, saying "What a bucha morons. On another note, I wish I could be on Deadliest Catch just for one season. I think I could do it. I wish that they hadn't revised all the regulations up there. The show was better when it was a true open season, I think."

I think that people typically like the idea of eating crab moreso than actually doing it. Crab legs are a lot of work, and the yield of meat is really pretty low when you think about it. Deviled crab is good, you get more food and you don't make such a mess doing it. The flavor is really good too. I tried to order a manhattan and deviled crab at Wendy's once. They told me they carry either of those things because they're a fast food restaurant.

Thoughts from the LSU game....

So yesterday I decided to do something a little different. Sans a game ticket, I decided to take some notes as I was watching the game. The last time I did anything like this was the live blog I participated in on this forum for the Tennessee game in 2007. Though I didn't consider this at 3:35p yesterday, that 07 Tennessee game was the last time I've seen us lose on television.

Anyway, here are my notes. I'm not editing or adding to anything that I wrote down yesterday:

1st Quarter:

15:00 - Hairy Dawg fell coming onto the field? Bad omen?
15:00 - Rather start on D - get it out of the way
15:00 - Fields at FB?
13:30 - Bad ball. 1st down was there.
13:18 - Don't believe in JJefferson
12:09 - Knock him down Evans!
11:43 -What zone?
9:50 - Good pick - down it!!
8:34 - That would've been 6 easy
7:05 - Lot of LSU line surge
5:36 - Twice they've taken it down. Get a stop maybe?
3:51 - (3-0). Could be 14-0
3:51 - They are scared of Boykin - only one good return this year
2:07 - Wow. AJ = game changer.
1:01 - 3 drives - all punts. Promise now.
End 1: 14-0, 7-3? Go figure. We survived.

2nd Quarter

13:10 - Shepard can't throw? Jefferson will.
11:12 - Way to go Reshad! Nice option read.
10:55 - Heads up play by Bam. Let's get some O.
10:04 - If M Moore trails, it's an Immaculate Reception
9:55 - We can't run it
9:48 - How long can we survive w/ no offense?
8:24 - We have to be more physical
7:40 - Missed a hold? Soft zone - Bryan Evans? Stunning.
6:00 - Are we using 9 on defense this entire time?
5:43 - Did Reshad watch a Greg Blue highlight tape?
4:09 - Game changes here post 4th down
3:12 - See you later momentum

Halftime - Les left some points on the field. Stats would suggest a worst score. Cox needs to settle down. Wouldn't mind seeing Logan Gray. We can't run. Still feel good. LSU could've made some space on the scoreboard and didn't. CFB doesn't give so many 2nd chances. Think we will survive, still.

3rd Quarter

13:40 - Blitzes create mismatches? Really?
13:14 - Inspired D
12:30 - Short field. Let's make something happen!
8:43 - Seeing some punch. Missed FG. How games are lost
7:07 - Logan on a punt return near midfield? Not trusting Prince?
7:02 - Burn the shirt?! Good run though
5:12 - Washaun got the block down
3:57 - Orson finally! Nice conversion
3:57 - BS flag. Strip all emotion out

4th Quarter

15:00 - Wow, look at the clock. Hope you took the under. Offense looking good. When was last time we've been shutout through 3? Aub 2004? Let's win the 4th. Feel real good.
14:15 - Stonewalled up the middle all day. Great call for the TD.
13:12 - Missed a chance for a pick, Dewberry
12:19 - Another good stop. Defense looks really stout.
11:40 - How in the world was that not grounding?
11:20 - D getting much better rush
10:19 - K Weston is making some money today
9:50 - I trust Logan to catch anything
6:47 - Drew Butler is our MVP this yr
5:53 - Thought Bam had the sack. BIG conversion
5:25 - LSU moving. Don't like how this feels
4:32 - You have to keep contain, right? Long run JJeff
2:53 - TD LSU, big stop on 2pt. Let's go to work!
1:09 - Oh my goodness. What a catch. Again
1:09 - BS flag -- again
:54 - Wow, BS flag was huge
:46 - You tackle so well all day. Cold water.
:42 - Another?! BS flag -Bad blocking on the kick
:29 - Get the damn snap up
:21 - INT. Game. Hated the celebration flags on both teams. So proud of us today, moreso than SC or Arky. I am so damn proud of us, how we fought back. This team has heart, guts. I hope this doens't break us. We could be 5-0 or 0-5. Glad it's plus in the middle. Hard to swallow. This team wears the uniform the right way. Again, couldn't be prouder. My heard bleeds for these kids today.