The
White Sox are way too far back in the “race” to snare a wildcard spot for me to
stay up and follow them on the West Coast.
I intended to be in bed last night well before the end of their game
with the Angels. The heavens had other
plans, delivered in a 2-1/2 downpour.
I
didn’t go downstairs to check until 10:30 PM, by which time we had a whole lot
of seepage. That meant powering up the
Shop-Vac. (Note: When wading around a partially flooded
basement, try to avoid electrocution during operation of any plug-in
machine. And try not to slip when emptying
Vac-bucket in the washtub.) That kept me
busy till midnight.
There
comes a point in life when your back does not want to be subjected to a round
of constant, heavy-wet lifting. But the
work had to be done. So, I put the TiVo
to work, did half the basement, dried my feet and rested by watching the game;
then I did the other half and caught the end.
A very smart plan, if I do say so myself. The Sox still lost, 2-1, and they’re
predicting more rain today, but I still have this sense of accomplishment.
Robin
and the boys should be so lucky.
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