After arriving home from Pittsburgh yesterday morning at 6 a.m., bleary-eyed and woebegone, I decided that I was not going to martial the physical or emotional strength to go root, root, root for the home team at the Garden that evening. As melodramatic as it may sound, I simply wasn't ready to go to another game after the enervating experience of cannonball-running back and forth to the bleak Monongahela Valley for the Jets-Steelers game.
I didn't even watch the Knicks game on MSG. Nope. I watched a movie from Netflix with my girl and she picked up Thai food. While I was eating eating some Mussamun Curry and marveling at the lack of acting chops belonging to Jon Hamm, the Knickerbockers were concluding their latest losing streak.
Among baseball players (at least of Mark Grace's generation), a "slumpbuster" is the worst looking