Travelling Day

I never quite could understand the scheduling of the baseball play-offs. How is it that teams are expected to play a full month of baseball during the regular season with perhaps two or three days off for the entire month yet when the post season comes there must be a travel day between cities to give the players a rest? When a team has the momentum like the Diamondbacks do, about the last thing they want to do is have an off day. I’m sure most of these guys would much prefer getting back on the field to try and finish this series out. As you can probably surmise I am not much of a fan of the travel day. I’m not much of a fan of any day that doesn’t have a Diamondbacks game scheduled. I’m probably one of the few people in America that think 162 games in a season is too short. It’s not that I don’t believe the players deserve a day off, I think everyone is entitled to a day of rest. But there are 25 guys on the roster so you almost have enough players for three teams. Just give some of the other guys a chance to play. From the looks of the Chicago Cubs during the first two games of this series it might not be such a bad idea to let someone else play since the starters from Game 1 and Game 2 didn’t do much.

The other problem with a travel day is that it gives Trina yet another opportunity to bring out her “honey-do” list and no good can ever come from that. Somehow we are not on the same wave length when it comes to the post season. She doesn’t understand the amount of preparation and studying that I have to do during travel day so that I am prepared when games resume tomorrow. Whenever I bring that up her answer is always the same, “What do you have to prepare for? It’s not like you are playing or even coaching for that matter. You’re just a sick little man who is obsessed with baseball.” I don’t know how she can say that, I am not little.

So for the next 24 hours I am trapped in some sort of suburban purgatory with my wife playing the part of Derek Jeter, I mean Satan. I am bound to this house with no hopes of ever escaping. There is wailing and gnashing of teeth and the heat is blistering. I could swear that every now and again I get a whiff of brimstone. I stare intently at Trina’s forehead fully expecting horns or a New York Yankees logo to suddenly appear. I sometimes run into people who are not religious and don’t believe there is a heaven or a hell. I challenge them to spend one day with my wife when she is shopping for fabric for a craft project. If 6 hours in a fabric store comparing the nuances of pile and pattern in a swatch of fabric is not hell I don’t know what is. So while the Arizona Diamondbacks are kicking back and enjoying a day off in the Windy City taking in the sights and sounds of Chicago; I am stuck at JoAnn Fabric trying to assess whether $3.79 a yard is a good price for flannel and should she get 2 yards or 2.25 yards of the zoo animal print. It’s no wonder they keep the scissors locked in a cabinet in these stores otherwise husbands would be trying to slit their wrists with pinking shears.

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