Splish-splash

Clare’s boyfriend Chris has what’s known as a real job, viz., offensive line coach at Elmhurst College.  That means no more Saturday date nights until late November, so it was home on the couch with the folks last night.  We switched between the Olympics and the White Sox game in beautiful Miami, where no color is too garish for a baseball stadium.

I was under strict orders not to miss Michael Phelps in the 400-meter men’s medley relay, under pain of death (stares).  So, we saw Phelps win his 23^rd and most likely last gold medal.  But I wish someone would explain to me the purpose behind the butterfly stroke other than as a form of torture.  Nobody jumps off a sinking ship and does the butterfly, so why are the Olympics different?

Again, it was a surprise and a pleasure to hear Phelps praise his three teammates and bow out of competition.  Ordinarily, I dislike and try to avoid clichés, but Phelps has earned the benefit of the doubt.  If he wants to talk about turning a new page in his life, let him.  I’ll start criticizing right after I earn my first gold medal.

Until then, there’s always James Shields.  He’s listed on the Sox roster as a pitcher, but I don’t know.  Last night, he took a 4-0 lead and turned it into a 7-5 deficit before leaving in the bottom of the fourth.  Shields gave up ten hits in three-plus innings, four for extra bases.  Oh, and the Marlins’ pitcher also managed two hits off of him.  The Sox rallied for an 8-7 win, so Shields avoided an eighth loss to go with his 7.34 ERA since joining the team.    

And I’m supposed to trust a front office that traded for this guy to deal Chris Sale or Jose Quintana for prospects?  Michael Phelps winning another gold in 2020 makes more sense.