Killing Time

Elmhurst hasn’t played a game since getting back from Florida eight days ago and won’t play until Sunday, against Illinois Wesleyan.  A person of less faith would curse deity and weather, alone or together.  Trust me, I’m wavering.

All I can do is wait and keep my daughter calm.  She wants to play so badly, which becomes dangerous if you drop the “so”; anxious anticipation will do that.  My job is to accentuate the positive, then practice what I preach.  I also watch baseball to pass the time.

Two things about the White Sox: they have better hitting than last year and worse relief pitching, giving up nine runs the last two games.  There are a couple of guys who need to start checking flight times to Charlotte.  I also noticed something interesting on the opening day broadcast—the roving female reporter.

She went from section to section interviewing people.  I doubt this is anymore unique to the South Side than those college-age girls (and some guys) who toss tee-shirts into the crowd between innings or the female reporter who handles the postgame interview.  They’re always young, always attractive, but they never get to wear a uniform or play a position.

How come, Bud?