On Friday, while major league ballplayers in Florida and Arizona were squeezing baseball games in between their tee times, Congress and President Trump were changing the rules of the game for minor leaguers.
You thought starting extra innings with a player on second is ridiculous?
It is. We can talk about that later.
Today’s ridiculosity (not a word; should be a word) is a rule change hidden away on Page 1,967 of the $1.3-trillion omnibus spending bill, signed into law by President Trump on Friday, which dramatically changes fair labor laws as they apply to minor leaguers.
It rained on Saturday. I visited a friend. I ate a pizza.
A plain old Saturday kind of day. Except for this …
On Saturday my Instagram account was hijacked by a Russian bot and I can’t get it back.
Because angry people like me turn to the Internet to find support when Big Tech firms ignore them, I am writing this for those other victims.
That I was hijacked by a Russian bot is ironic, because when I’m not writing baseball, I can sometimes be found consulting for a good government organization in Washington that is fighting to get our government to pay attention to, and deal with, the army of Russian bots meddling in our elections and affairs.
That Instagram, owned by Facebook, provided me with no support or useful help, and put the burden on me to fix a problem that they created, makes me angrier at them than I am at the Russian bot.
You were a broken Bird most of last season which, we’re assured, is the reason for the stinky ERA. I hope you’re feeling better because I hate when Editor/Husband yells when starters get shelled in the third inning. (Or, second. Or, first.)
Look, I’d love to sit down and write you a long blog post this morning. Really, I would. But, you wouldn’t read it anyway, because, as we learned in my last post,no one reads things anymore.
Babe Ruth, apparently, was on to this “I’m never reading words again” thing the internet has cooked up. So, perfectly timed to coincide with the death of the written word, a long-lost radio interview with Ruth has shown up.
No reading required. Just listening. To Babe Ruth.
The interview was part of an Armed Services Radio Network program recorded during World War II. It turned up recently in a school archive in Connecticut.
The New York Times just decided that reading words is passé. The future of the internet is audio and video. Even for a simple little blog like mine.
That means … well, that means, oh hell, you’re already gone, aren’t you?
I’m just sitting in this blog all by myself, tapping out worthless words on a worthless keyboard counting …
The days ’til pitchers and catchers report. Three.
The number of starting pitchers that the Orioles have on their roster. Two.
And, the number of people reading these words. One.
Just you, I’m afraid.
Qwerty, not so purty. (Poetry – even bad poetry — is screwed now, too, I guess.)
Sure, it’s ironic that The New York Times had to inform me that reading is dead using … actual written words.
Oh, for crap’s sake.
Or, as you wordless people say …
What can I do to make you love reading again?
Or, just letters.
Like the letter K.
K is one of the alphabet’s resident hoodlums. Look at it slouched there lazy against its own wall – a street tough – sticking its leg out, just waiting to trip a non-suspecting sweet p, flipping it over into a d.
It’s been a few years since I began my football boycott.
I can’t remember which Super Bowl was my last.
I don’t remember much about the games I did watch. I remember halftimes though.
Fun Fact: The University of Arizona and Grambling State University Marching Bands were the halftime performers at the first Super Bowl in 1967. The highlight? Their performance of “The Liberty Bell” which all of you know better as this …
I know I was boycotting by the time Madonna did the halftime show in 2012.
I began my lonely football boycott because, well, because I don’t support traumatic brain injuries. I think traumatic brain injuries, Grade Three concussions, and permanent brain damage are bad things. The National Football League does not. We agree to disagree on this, but I am right.
So, I don’t watch. (Neither does Editor/Husband, because he is supportive like that, and because he, too, recognizes that a sport that not only allows, but encourages, traumatic brain injuries is a bad sport.)
It’s been pretty lonely up here on my NFL boycott soapbox.
Until.
Until NFL quarterbackColin Kaepernick chose to “take a knee” rather than stand for the National Anthem – his nonviolent protest against racial discrimination in our country.
Some people, apparently unbothered by Grade Three concussions, took offense to Kaepernick’s protest and started their own football boycott.
And by “some people,” I mean some, but not all, white people (and, I may be wrong, but I’m assuming those “some people” boycotting also include the two families on my little gravel farm road who fly the Confederate flag in their yards).
I’m being elbowed on my boycott podium by people who are boycotting for an entirely different reason.
While I hate to get all political on here, I do want to make clear my boycottish intention.
I boycott brain injuries in football. I do not boycott a person’s right to nonviolently protest an issue that affects them personally and deeply.
Hi! How are you? Have you had a nice relaxing, restful, lazy, nap-filled off-season?
Of course you have.
Yes, you certainly have done a lot of do-nothingness. In fact, I’m not sure there’s another team that has done less than you have these past few months.
(Correction: The Cleveland Spiders have done less. But, then the Spiders disappeared in 1888.)
Sure, we all need our rest.
But, enough napping. It’s time to wipe that sleepy drool off your chin. Enough lollygagging.
Pitchers and catchers report on February 13. That’s not a lot of time.
On April 13, a snowstorm blanketed much of the east coast from Virginia northward. On April 14, it was still cold … and still snowing. Baseball season hadn’t officially started – Opening Day was four days away – but the teams were just back from spring training and exhibition games were on their calendars.
It was so cold and so snowy, they cancelled all the games.
Because if you waited an entire year to decide you need to make some major life change, because, while unpleasant, you know it will be good for you, then why did you wait until today to start it?
I’ll tell you why. Because you don’t want to do it. That’s why. And, eventually, we don’t do the things we don’t want to do.
So, resolutions stink when you make them – because they are things you don’t want to do. And, they stink even more when you fail at them – because now you’re a failure.
Resolutions just stink.
But, there are always exceptions. Woody Guthrie wrote these – his “New Year’s Rulin’s” for 1942.
I can’t tell you if he kept them, but I’m hopeful he at least took the occasional bath and sent money to his kids.
Workmen are in there doing workingmen things. Things that must be done without the interference of humans or cats.
It has taken us the better part of a week to prepare the house for this upheaval.
And, today, I am tired, stressed, and, at least for now, homeless.
(I am promised that our home will be opened back up to us by dinnertime. Yes, dinnertime. So, sure, I’m being a little melodramatic here. But, I’m also so tired my eyes hurt. And, cranky. And, I’m sitting here in my studio with the volume on my phone turned all the way up so I don’t miss the text that says I can come home.)
As the workmen do their workingmen things, and the cats are boarding at the vets thinking cat thoughts about how much they hate us now for taking them away from home this morning, I am looking through the photos I’ve taken over the past year.
The Baseball Bloggess 