You Cannot Make this Stuff Up

Sitting here in Connecticut braced for the worst of a winter that I fear is still to come, I warm up what passes for my heart by tracking the days until Spring Training begins. 

Between us, I have no illusions of a cause and effect in any of that. I don't expect the temperatures to skyrocket as the countdown approaches zero (though it would be nice if that happened). I'm a big kid and I understand how weather works whether I like it or not, but I enjoy having something to look forward to. 

I love the idea of spring training not that I have any delusions of participating as a player even though I love baseball and was a pretty fine right-handed pitcher on my prep school team back in the day (sort of like being the tallest of the Seven Dwarves) because it's nice to have that as a dream or to have any dream at all. 

I didn't endear myself to many co-workers while a member of the workforce when they'd lament (a/k/a whine) about obstacles that stood between them and whatever it was they were striving for (for which they were mostly unsuited and the only one failing to see that were themselves). 

I'd extend pseudo sympathy by assuring them I could feel their pain because 'if my mom had married a Kennedy, I'd be living in the White House. But she didn't, so I'm not and that's why I never send her a card on Mother's Day.' Rarely did the flicker of comprehension shine in their eyes.

However, in terms of an actual Confederacy of Dunces (capital letters for a reason; click the link and enjoy) meets the Illuminati and the Deep State, my cap is off to Garrison Lassiter (and you can guess the team affiliation on my cap I suspect). 

It might be time, buddy, to hit the snooze button.
-bill kenny