It is entirely possible that baseball will be the death of me. In fact, I fully expect baseball to be the death of me. One day, I’ll just be sitting there, watching a ballgame, when things will get so intense for better or for worse, and -plop!- I’ll just drop dead. It’s entirely plausible. Not only that, but baseball is more than likely causing me to age rapidly, thus taking years off of my life. My Giants needs to win the World Series soon, because at this rate, I’ll probably die prematurely. It’s still worth it of course, but I should probably find some meds or something. I fully expect to be that old guy in the rest home who has lost his sanity and is spewing random play by plays while yelling obscenities at imaginary Dodger players. I’m alright with that. Just wheel a TV in front of me when it’s game time.
Spring training just started. Heck yes.
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