I'm not positive, but I think I'm having a nervous breakdown.
My significant other tells me that I've been talking—actually chanting—in my sleep. It's driving her around the bend. Can you imagine what it's like to be awakened from a sound sleep at 3:30AM by an old-age pensioner with swamp breath who's shouting, "WE'RE NUMBER THIRTY! WE'RE NUMBER THIRTY!! WE'RE NUMBER THIRTY!!!"
I've tried to explain to her that it's all Alex Anthopoulos' fault, but she doesn't agree. Worse yet, she's bought in to our dear friend—a retired shrink—Jerry's half-assed free diagnosis of my condition.
Apparently, Jerry told her that I have some sort of deep-seated obsessive-compulsive disorder, the manifestation of which is triggered by major league baseball's competitive imbalance as it relates to the Toronto Blue Jays. Unfathomable psychiatric double-speak. So who cares.
Incidentally, Jerry is more or less certifiable, himself. I imagine that's why he and I have always related so well.
I tried to explain to my partner the ramifications to the Blue Jays' 2010 season of trading away Harry Leroy "Doc" Halladay. Her reaction? She told me to forget about it and take out the garbage.
Come to think of it, I've never got any respect from her anyway. As a matter of fact, she calls me an “idiot” whenever I don't agree with her.
How do you have an intelligent discussion about the Jays with someone like that? It's unfulfilling. No wonder I'm in such lousy shape.
I realize that this sounds paranoid, but I'm beginning to suspect that my friends are ignoring me en masse and on purpose. They just don't seem to care about the state of the Blue Jays. To me, that's unnatural.
Speaking of paranoia, in my spare time I've been working up a conspiracy theory.
It's because most of the other hack writers/Jays fans on BR are extolling the value of amassing large numbers of “can't-miss” prospects. These fellows routinely dump on me—call me a “fair-weather” fan—for refusing to pay good money to watch a bunch of stumble bums lose over 100 games. I'm going to write a book about it.
I thought the title, “Lose to Win ” would be kind of catchy. But then I realized a book with that title would probably end up in the Diet Section of bookstores.
So I've settled on, “Great in Eight: Blue Jays' New Lose-to-Win Strategy ” The concept being that Nirvana will always be eight years down the road for the Blue Jays.
In the meantime, the amassing of dozens of can't-miss prospects and the husbanding of financial resources through rock-bottom payrolls, leading to 100-loss seasons is essential in order to gear up for that eventual window of opportunity, lo, so many years down the road.
But back to my imminent nervous breakdown.
I appreciate that I am likely driving my significant other crazy. When I asked her if she was planning to leave me, she replied, “Trade in my favorite idiot for some other idiot? That would be counterproductive. Besides, I'm not letting you off that easy.”
Her remark makes a lot of sense. If you're a woman.
Frankly, it really was a relief to hear that from her. You see, besides being highly intelligent (so she insists) and having a great sense of humour, she's the most gorgeous, sexiest senior citizen in southern Ontario. Damn good cook, too.
It might upset her if I mentioned her sensational top-heavy figure which she keeps finely tuned at the gym five times a week. So I won't go there at all.
I may be an idiot, but I'm not that dumb.
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