It's true, Redbirdbrain--they ARE lame

"I just don't think I can stand it anymore."

Those were the words coming over the phone in the O.R. lounge at ten minutes after 7 this morning. The gal at the scheduling desk had hollered that the call was for me, so I picked up the extension. Seeing on the caller ID that it was coming from one of the other hospitals, I just figured it was one of my colleagues, probably trying to dump some overtime.

The voice on the other end wasn't another anesthetist. It was the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the area.

I blinked. "What?"

He repeated himself. "I just don't think I can stand it anymore. Was that not the most miserable series of baseball you've ever seen?"

I had to agree that it was, and told him how much MORE miserable it seemed from the ballpark, as I had attended all three weekend games. We commiserated briefly, but before concluding the conversation, he said it a third time.

"I just don't think I can stand it anymore, and I just had to tell somebody."

Yeah. I know. We all have our ways of dealing with grief.

Last night's game was excruciating. I thought briefly about not attending at all, as I had driven home Saturday night in order to do something productive with my weekend. The friends that I planned to meet for the game had already been given their tickets, so it wasn't like they wouldn't be able to go if I opted out. But this was an annual trek that the four of us make to celebrate their birthdays (the tickets are my present to them), so I felt compelled to go.

To celebrate.

Problem was, none of us felt like celebrating after Saturday's fiasco. We were just kinda going through the motions. Added to that, there was a heckler in the section next to us who shouted things like "Okay, Andy, it's almost the break, you can start pitching any day now!" He finally was kicked out in the seventh after people complained. (Hell, I would have complained in the first if I'd known it would help!)

Andy DID pitch (7 IP, 7 H, 3R [all earned], 1 BB, 8 K). His performance was the bright spot of the evening, and I was pleased for him.

As for everyone else, where do you start?

Lamb's error in the eighth (at which time I packed it up for my hour-and-a-half drive home) allowed Damien Eckstein to score from third, tying the game at 2-2. Dan Wheeler then allowed Spot Rolen a 3-run jack, which I heard overhead as I was exiting the gate. To top off the miserable evening, I slipped and fell on the concourse before I actually got out of the park (no injuries, thankfully). It was apparently premonitory, as Jason Lane later tripped over his own feet off second base during the eighth, eliminating the benefit of Morgan Ensberg's sac fly. As I continued to listen to the game on the radio, Eric Munson got picked off at first by one of the Throwing Molina Brothers (Yadier really seems to have a thing about trying to pick off fellow catchers--unfortunately, this time it worked). The disgust in Milo Hamilton's voice about the Astros' performance in that inning was barely containable. It got worse in the tenth, when--with the bases loaded and only one out--both Preston Wilson and Jason Lane struck out to strand the runners. At that point, I turned off the radio.

I just couldn't stand it anymore.

Got home, expecting to catch a final score on ESPN, only to find the game still on. My TV was only on for about 15 seconds--long enough for me to realize that Lidge was in with two baserunners and two outs. I didn't need to actually see the conclusion to know how the game would end.

Yeah. I need this All-Star break as much as the players, I think.

I just don't think I can stand it anymore.