Okay. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. I finished my work, and I turn on the Dodger game. They’re playing in Cincinnati, an Eastern Time Zone game; it’s seven there, four here in L.A.
I start watching – Dodgers versus Reds.
I’m happy I have a game to watch. Anything to get me away from Chris Matthews, which is broadcast at the same time. I’m burnt on the primaries. They’re just too long.
My candidate’s losing steam. “Rosie, The Riveter’s” nailing him to the wall.
Rat-a-tat – “Bitter.”
Rat-a-tat – “God damn America.”
Rat-a-tat – “Not a Muslim, as far as I know.”
A woman, proving a woman can be president, by behaving like a man.
It’s hard being on your best behavior for a year and a half. It’s like the longest first date in history.
The primary’s seeming endlessness is particularly wearing on my guy. A message, even an inspirational one, through constant repetition, is eventually going to sound tired. How long can you stay inspirational? “Hope” and “change” and “believe.” It’s like,
“We heard that already.”
If Abraham Lincoln had to go around saying, “Of the people, by the people, for the people” for a year and a half, “the people” would be throwing fruit at him.
“A house divided cannot stand…”
It’s frustrating talking about lofty principles when you can’t back it up with action until you’re elected, and your chances of being elected diminish when all you get to do is talk about lofty principles.
You could do the traditional thing and slam your opponent. No, wait, you can’t. You have lofty principles.
That’s why my candidate’s starting to fade.
“Hey, Earl. That’s for another day. You’ve got a ballgame to watch.”
My Inner Voice is right. I concentrate on the game. The Dodgers are getting killed. It’s 7-1, Reds, in the third inning. I’m thinking, what’s going on? The Reds kicked the Dodgers’ asses the same way yesterday when I was watching. And now, they’re getting knocked out early again? Is this what we’ve got to look forward to all season? A terrible ass-kicking every day?
I turn off the game, and go practice the piano. I’m learning the Toby Keith – Willie Nelson duet
“Whiskey for my me-en, beer for my horses…”
I’m terrible, but I love it.
I make dinner and read The New Yorker. The New Yorker movie critic says something that troubles me. I make a note to do a post about it down the line.
It’s seven o’clock. I turn the Dodgers’ channel back on, hoping I’ll hear “miracle comeback” on the recap.
Instead, there’s a game just getting under way. Dodgers versus the Diamondbacks, at Dodger Stadium. I’m confused. Aren’t the Dodgers in Cincinnati? How could this be?
Then it hits me. (It may have hit you sooner, but I’m clearly not as smart as you.)
The game I was watching before had been a rerun. Without labeling it as such, the station had broadcast a replay yesterday’s Dodgers–Reds game, before broadcasting today’s Dodgers–Diamondbacks game. That’s why “the Reds kicked the Dodgers’ asses the same way yesterday.”
It was the same game.
I feel like an idiot. I’d spent half an hour watching a game I had already seen. And I didn’t realize it. I’m just sitting there, complaining how the Dodgers are losing the same way every day!
Didn’t I notice the Dodgers were using the same starting pitcher two days in a row? Starting pitchers don’t pitch two days in a row! The exact same score, in the exact same inning on two successive days? I mean, it’s possible, but for regular people, these things are clues!
Oh, well. It wasn’t a total loss, I suppose. At least hardball had kept me from Hardball.