So, kind of a big week in the sporting landscape of my hometown, Winnipeg. I mean, you all knew I was from the 'Peg, right? Has to be obvious, being the uncultured rube blogging amongst us.
Before you surf over to some other, much shittier (OK probably better) corner of the internet, relax.... this is not a post about my beloved Winnipeg Jets. Not really, anyway.
I've had a few @questions posed my way over on The Twitter (it's fun to refer to it as "The") regarding the impact this will have on my Blue Jays fandom. "Of course it won't affect anything, c'mon man!". Until I started thinking.... will it?
In my defence, I can't even help it. When you're born and raised on the prairies, it's hockeyhockeyhockeybaseballhockey. Despite the ingrained propaganda, I was always - always - the biggest baseball fan of all my childhood friends growing up, save for my brother by another mother (outdated!) who'd waste summer days with me, throwing around a ball, intentionally making ridiculous acrobatic catches with the soundtrack of Tom & Jerry playing on a radio always nearby.
And yeah, the Jets pulling chute and leaving town gave my baseball love the springboard it needed to overtake that whore hockey as my #1 sporting love. So now that they're back (whatever they're eventually called)..... what of it?
I'll tell you what of it.
Nothing changes. How can it?
If anything, I have hockey to thank (or blame, whatever) for my baseball (borderline) obsession. Turning my full attention to this game, this sport, has allowed me to become the nerd fan I am today.
Baseball is perfect in it's imperfections. The ridiculously long schedule? Just long enough. Different rules for different leagues? Provides for endless debate. The brutal composition of the Jays home - the A.L. East? Makes for an even sweeter rise to the top.
Baseball is fantastic. Though I can't promise I won't occasionally be distracted by that other sport, I can promise you this:
I can't kick this addiction. Any doubts I may have allowed to creep into my mind were erased when I slammed my fist in the couch cushion as that douchebag Mark Reynolds went yard for a 4-spot on our ace.
"What's the problem?" says the wife, walking into the room. "Oh", she says as she sees 3-1 become 5-3. She gets it. She knows. I'm just too far gone.
So you're stuck with me.
(until Tao decides otherwise.... which could be, oh, any day now).