Ugh. What a crappy pair of games in the desert. According to Yahoo Fantasy, Derrek Lee, Aramis Ramirez, and The Soto-Rooter are a combined 4 for 60 on this roadtrip. What the hell has happened to our offense in the second half? Watching the turd of a game last night after the 48 hours I had made me want to throw something heavy at the TV. Not to whine, but here's how annoying things were after leaving work Monday.
My wife and I live about 25 minutes outside of the city where we work. We carpool to save gas, so we're driving home when we blow a tire about halfway between work and home. We're on a country road at rush hour and it's about 95 degrees plus as wet and nasty as Lindsay Lohan's cooter. I jack the car up while other motorists whiz by at well over the 55mph limit. Nothing like trying to change a tire in a breakdown lane the size of a postage stamp. I get the lugnuts off okay, but the fucking tire WILL not come off. No amount of beating it, kicking it, or cursing it will separate it from the car. Now I'm hot, sweaty, and angry. A county cop shows up. He tries to remove the tire and fails. He is able to call a tow truck from our little town for us before zooming off to another call. Luckily for my wife and I, another motorist stops and offers to let us sit in his car while we await the tow truck. I won't embarrass him by posting his name, but on the off chance you're a Cub fan, thank you good sir. The Poet and his wife were on the verge of melting out there. Tow truck arrives and using the donut tire as a club, the driver knocks the tire off with one blow. Score. Donut goes on, the day is saved. Or is it?
The wife and I head home, tired and sweaty beyond belief. The tire is completely shredded, beyond repair. We figured we got off lucky that we hadn't taken the interstate home that day as that tire would have launched off the car at a higher speed. But we're good to go, because we have another car. We get home and I happen to look at my car as we go in the house. The front right tire on it is fucking flat as a pancake. So my bad back and I get to put another donut on. At least the wheel on my car slid off like butter. No worries, we can still drive to work the next morning, the day is saved, part 2. Before we go to sleep, my wife says: "Boy, we got pretty lucky. Usually bad things come in threes." On that note we fall asleep whilst a thunderstorm is going on.
We awake the next morning, my wife showers, I go upstairs to shower and before I can turn the water on, I hear my wife (who normally does not curse) go "SHIT!" at the top of her lungs. Repairing downstairs, I look in the basement and the cats are doing water ballet in the five inches of water accumulated there. You've gotta be fucking kidding me right? Two flats and a basement flood shouldn't allowed to occur in the same 24 hour period, right? Wrong. We did get everything cleaned up, although our efforts could mostly be described as comic at best.
Now I know is is all small potatoes shit. No one was hurt, no one died, Thank God. But Holy Hannah, this was just a little much to take in such a short period of time. Then the Cubs played last night and royally sucked it up, which didn't help my mood any. Kevin Hart was embarrassing at best and Sean Marshall wasn't much better. And the offense? What happened, boys? Mike Fontenot can't do it all himself, fellas. This team has got to start playing better on the road or we're gonna piss this division away. You guys are too good for this crap.
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