I kind of lost it at work yesterday. I was in the middle of meltdown -- you know how when you have a project at work, a really important project with lots of planning, coordinating and logistics, and you finally have it all down and are ready to go and then the other people who are helping with the project, the ones who have to do the bare minimum of their daily jobs to help out, completely screw up and not only completely screw up but lie to you about it, and then when you go to call them on their lie, they've already left the office, because 5 p.m. is quittin' time because they apparently live in Fred Flintstone world, and then when you try to call them they don't answer, and why the hell am I working so hard and they're not getting fired? -- because we were less than a day away from deadline and couldn't even start on what needed to get done.
So I'm panicked and angry and barely able to speak, when this guy who I'm on friendly terms with ambles up from behind, clearly with not a lot to do, and decides to tease me about how many times the Dodgers are going to get no-hit this year.
I heard the woman next to me say, "don't".
I didn't turn around, mumbled something and continued to panic and seethe among my desk filled with papers.
He didn't take the hint and continued forward, "How many times ..."
I whirled around and said, "I don't CARE, I don't CARE ABOUT THE F-----G DODGERS!"
But it wasn't "f-----g". There were no dashes.
That's what stress can do. It can cause you say the most blasphemous things.
Of course I care about the Dodgers.
Later that night, I tried mightily to stay up through all 14 innings to see Adrian Gonzalez's walk-off home run that smote the Giants. I couldn't do it. I made it through the first two outs of the top half of the 11th. I was too tired and had to get up early to complete the project that should have been finished already. (Thank you incompetents, you made me miss A-Gone).
But I'm happy the game turned out well, and I do care. I really, really care. I care way too much, in fact. I shouldn't be putting myself through this for a baseball team at my age. This is stuff kids do, right? I should have outgrown this by now.
But I haven't. I care.
I received a PWE from 2 by 3 Heroes a while ago, with some members -- or former members -- of the team that I care so much about.
I care so much that I'm freaked out the Dodgers will play the Mets in the playoffs (that is, if the Dodgers make the playoffs) and Juan Uribe will turn into a hitting automaton and make the Dodgers rue the day they let them go, but that won't be enough. Justin Turner will proceed to hit .046 and get thrown out at the plate ... twice.
I care so much that I'm freaked out the Dodgers will play the Cardinals in the postseason again. And instead of Kershaw getting his well-deserved redemption, it's more unjust suffering.
I care so much that I will spend what it takes to get vintage cards of the two players here. Of course, I don't have the money it takes to get cards of Snider and Robinson, so that's kind of a moot point. But if I did, I would be so broke.
Jeff added some A&G insert cards that I don't really collect (that Curious Cases card is the most boring-presentation of the subject of secret mind control that will ever exist). But I'll gladly put them in my A&G binders.
And there was a night card or two.
But my greatest interest, as always, were the Dodger cards.
See I really do care about them, no matter what profanities I shout out in the newsroom. And I'll be caring about them again tonight.
Just don't hassle me about them in the middle of a crisis.