We left Blacksburg a little later than I wanted. Moms just can't say good-bye quickly. I wanted to leave right at two and let the Nats game take me through the 220-mile drive.
It was the third inning by the time we got going. I would have been fine to let it end in nine, up 4-1, and get through the last portion of the drive somehow. But nooooooo.
Anyway, as it goes on, I realize I could get home in time to watch some. I'm sick like that. I thought my wife was asleep. She's listening to the game with her eyes closed. She hears Ayala is warming up and says, "If you want to get home in time to see any of this, you better drive like that Kyle Busch character. If they put him in, it is over."
Oh, yes, it was over and quick. We'd just turned into the neighborhood. At least, my wife said, you can get the car unloaded without worrying about the game. You can cuss like you usually do dragging in my suitcase. (I got the car unloaded just in time, too. We're having a very nasty storm).
Then I get online and see Isaac Hayes died. In the grand scheme, I guess that's a bigger deal than just one more of 103 or so losses. Shaft. Chef. The man was the bomb. Can you dig it? I think I'm going to have Salisbury Steak for dinner.
So the question of the night: How much longer do we have to put up with Ayala?