Sundays

 

While most people spend their Sundays sleeping in, having, well, you know what, then meeting friends for brunch, going to the beach, reading the papers, working on their cars, walking their dogs, or comparing lawns with the neighbors, Mrs. Linklater has been catching up on the load o' work she needs to have finished for Monday. 

The pile is wide and deep.

This is work she should have been doing last night instead of going to the White Sox game.

But then she would have missed a really good hot dog, a fine bag o' peanuts, a surprisingly low cal, low carb bag o' Cracker Jacks and a fat-fortified, chocolate-sucking Dove Bar

All in all, a rather restrained evening at the trough for Mrs. L.

A regular Dove Bar about 1/2 the size of a ballpark Dove Bar

Not to mention that she would have also missed one of the great games of the 2004 summer. The Sox re-captured first place without Frank or Maggs. They won in the ninth with a solo homer by their number eight hitter, Joe Crede, a guy whose name Mrs. L can barely remember he's so unheralded. A righthander, he also hit an opposite field line drive double, just inches off first base on a 3-2 pitch in the seventh with the bases loaded. While the crowd was on its feet demanding results. No pressure. At the time the Sox were down 5 - 1, after being no hit by the Tigers through the fourth inning.

[Can you tell Mrs. L has played enough softball to think she could still make the throw from centerfield to homeplate without dismantling her rotator cuff? So pathetic.]

 The Big Hurt is hurt

But this crowd wasn't going to let the Sox lose. They were loud and lively -- a full house -- usually something that happens only for crosstown contests with the Cubs. 

Everybody was doing all the stupid claps and the dumb cheers so the noise level was into Pump You Up mode. Of course, if Mrs. L heard "Can o' corn!" or "Ducks on a pond!" from the guy behind her one more time she was going to pick her nose and wipe it on him.  

But his lame cheers were nothing compared to the size of the guy sitting in front of her. He had such a large head that Mrs. L  could only watch the batter or the pitcher, but not both at the same time.

Finally he held still long enough so the batter was swinging at his left earlobe and the pitcher was throwing the ball directly into his right ear.  Weird ballgame visual.  When he moved left or right, Mrs. L watched a lot of the game on the JumboTron.

There was no shortage of insanely flashing lights and animated baseball stuff sucking enough wattage to light up Las Vegas for years. 

Plus fireworks for every Sox homerun, when they finally started happening. And because it was Saturday, we were treated to a whole different bunch of fireworks for twenty minutes after the game. 

Anyway, despite having spent almost 6 hours at the ballpark, what with commuting, eating, and everything else, Mrs. Linklater refuses to accept blame for having a great time with friends and getting so far behind in her "homework." 

That's why she'd like her SuperHero alter ego Procrastinator Woman to step up to the plate on this one. [Oh, good, a baseball analogy, how appropriate.]

Actually, if Scalzi hadn't come up with his latest weekend assignment, that babe wouldn't have reared her ugly head and caused all this.

Yep. It's his fault Mrs. Linklater is blogging, when she should be working.

 Maggs is out till September