A Kick In The Nards

Whelp, against my better judgment I actually ended up playing in my scheduled bookstore game yesterday. All of my instincts told me to go out on a high note after making it to the second round through the magic of forfeiture, but ultimately I am a man of reason, and reason told me that if I didn't play I'd probably get beaten up by a bunch of women from my office. Only by reason I mean "a bunch of women from my office." So I ventured out, and it was a nice day, and I was shooting at least 50% in the warmup, a standard which I have perhaps never before attained in my life, and I was in high spirits:

We beat them 21-1. No wait, I misspoke, they beat us 21-1. We wept like children, we faked injuries, we threatened their student status, registration appointment times, and graduation tickets, but nothing could stop their insane game. My own proudest moment was, sadly, passing it directly to the other team at 20-1 so they could end the debacle once and for all. Still, it was fun, and everyone remained in high spirits afterward:

Except me, apparently. Clearly I was filled with rage and scowling up a storm. And Jan, for reasons unknown and perhaps unknowable, was dancing like no one was watching.

No work tomorrow, weeeeeeeeeeee. I'm not sure if I'm going home. I might just drive to Columbus for the explicit purpose of not calling scolson--just head over, loop around 270, not call, and drive back. "Tee hee hee!", I'll say. Best 9 hours of my life.