It was apprently during the first inning in Boston, the interrupted line-score online saying so, when it occurred to me the weather was taking a turn: Delay at Fenway, the sky growing darker outside (and, here, some 140 miles north), and an "Emergency Storm Warning" news-graphic, complete with irritating alert buzzer, crawling across the television screen.
I added two and two and came up with 22. Still, I had to get out of the house. The plan was to deal with email and browse the Sunday papers with coffee at the L'il Dog, then go hit another large bucket of golf balls, the 4th time this week. At ten bucks-a-pop, even I can see this is slowly bleeding my checking account. But it's starting to rain out there now, enough where all I can think to do is roll up my passenger window, skip back inside, and pretend I'm working when I'm otherwise fixating on the sexy Polynesian-brown feet of the bespectacled Bowdoin student fussing for a comfortable reading position across the lounge chair over yonder.
Meanwhile, the pool in Freeport closes in an hour, insufficient time for me to drive the 10-12 miles, get changed into my trunks and dive in before being told to get out, shower and go home. Ergo...
Goddamn! It's comin' down pretty good now!
Wonder what the Sox score is.