They have the WB. You can view the varieties of Soilmaster. I've got Internet access of a sort. I can writhe around on a couch going insane while we suck.

Tell me something good. Shingo Takatsu entering the rosters of The Holy Books in singularly wretched fashion doesn't count.

Before we skedaddle for Jersey, I'll leave you with a tale of baseball and New Orleans.

There aren't a ton of them — Rusty Staub is from there, but beyond that it hasn't been so long that the town even had a minor-league team. But I do have one, from the two summers when I lived […]

Poor Glavine. Poor us. That was baseball like it oughta be — two teams playing hard for big stakes, and one mistake cost us. Well, two mistakes — one of organization and one of execution. I felt for TEM. Watching him fumbling for that ball snapped me back to Keith Hernandez crawling in the mud […]

No reason to freak out. We go into September 1.5 games out with a chance to make it .5 before the day's done. Back in spring training, if you'd given me a choice between that scenario and whatever was behind Door #2, I'd have taken 1.5 games out and never wondered about what else we […]

Hang with 'em.

I kept saying that.

I said it in the 1st, when David Wright came up as the tying run and got under a Robinson Tejeda pitch. Hang with 'em, David.

I said it in the 5th, when Cliff Floyd came up as the tying run and hammered a first-pitch Tejeda fastball to center. […]

What do you do when your offense has vanished again and you wind up dropping two of three to the Giants? You look for help from your friends, of course.

So let's call the roll.

God bless you, you St. Louis Cardinals. You're fine players and good people.

The Chicago Cubs are just terrific. Man, put a Zambrano […]

Jose, we love you. Rest assured of that. Now, please keep working on working counts. Um, especially when the pitcher's walked three guys in the inning and the opposing manager doesn't have a reliever warm. Please, Jose?

But OK, yesterday's gone. In the New York Post, Kevin Kernan has a nice piece about Tim Hamulack, the […]

Oh man, that eighth inning.

Trachsel clearly running out of gas (though I was happy to see Willie let him hit for himself and go out there), Tim Welke's Magical Strike Zone contracting, the count mounting on Mike Matheny, I'm muttering Come ON Trachsel, hit it to anybody though preferably not Diaz, then Michael Fucker (whose […]

Apologies for the recent screwiness. (We don't know what went wrong; we just work here.) Welcome back to August 26th, in which we're all older but hey, our baseball team is much better. Let us never discuss July 6th again. Or be .500.

8:40 pm: Child safely in bed, lie down in own bed for a minute. Ah, bed. Bed good. Nice bed.

8:41 pm: Decide to rest eyes. Vaguely aware as consciousness departs that game is in an hour. No manner. Will wake up in time or soon after. Besides, Mets did quite well in first two games […]