This is a good post for Hideous Baseball Week.
I realize we’re into the longest, shortest month that ever existed. The above picture is not a picture of a parking lot that I was in lately–but represents every parking lot in the Midwest right now. It’ wreaks havoc on your dress shoes and I hope that you like it because it’s not going anywhere for a while. It’s that parking lot slop that doesn’t really do anything but make a mess of your dress pants, your car mats, your life. It will depress you. And there’s nothing to really bring you out of it until a little thing called spring arrives.
I’ve always talked about February on this blog and my disdain for it. Wouldn’t you know that Valentines Day would also fall in this month? Of course it does. And everyone knows that Valentines Day is often times more an epic fail than it is a Hallmark moment for any guy like you and I. It’s an opportunity for guys to screw up. And after a few Valentines Days with the same girl it’s inevitable, you’re going to screw up. Just accept it.
Beyond that, this month just doesn’t offer much in the way of sports. The NFL is all over with. Don’t tell me about the Super Bowl. There’s more build up than Christmas morning for the event and then it’s over in the blink of an eye. The NBA is dead to me thanks to what LeQuit James pulled last summer–and it wasn’t really much to write home about this time of year anyways.
I’ve taken to watching NHL Hockey–yes NHL Hockey–and folks while it’s an elegant yet brutal sport it’s nothing like my wonderful baseball.
And in terms of my wonderful, reliable, redundant game–there isn’t really anything going on with that either except talking about a bunch of non-roster invitees and speculating about who will hit 6th in your team’s respective lineup or win the 5th spot. That stopped holding me over for the main event long ago.
February, a barren wasteland for the red-blooded American male. At times there seems there is no end in sight. If you live in Ohio like I do, there’s no way to escape it with a round of golf or a run at the park. You’re confined to your home to dive deeper into the sinkhole. You’re sentenced to a month of your significant other dominating the television with freaks that are addicted to eating couch cushions on TLC and douche Bachelor reality series followed by Real World Road Rules challenges. Nothing can free you from this Hell.
Your boss, most likely a male; will be going through his own version of this. Since he cannot kick his dog like he would like–he’s more likely to bring frustration into the office and focus it onto you. Do not blame him my friends. He knows not what he does. If he is a bigger dick than usual, it’s because it’s February. Companies are finding an extra reason or two not to buy, and things are tight, tense and stressful in the workplace.
You smell that? It certainly isn’t opportunity. It’s shit. They call that smell February.
When likely nothing but the amber from the ashes remain and the NCAA tournament is beginning to get underway we’ll know we’ve made it. But not until that moment. And we may lose some along the way. I need you all to be strong for me. We’re all in this together.
And when we get to that point, we’ve got it licked fellas. Because February couldn’t kill us it only made us stronger. And because baseball, hope, and sunshine are on the way. And rounds of golf where you drink too many beers with your buddies. It’s all coming and it will be a glorious festivus for us all.
In closing, I’d like the month of February to kneel and kiss my pale white ass. Fuck this month right in the pants.