I'm hysterical!
I'm having hysterics! I'm hysterical.
I'm wet. I'm wet! I'm hysterical and I'm wet.
I'm in pain...and I'm wet. And still hysterical....
Texas dropped three in a row in the Big 12 baseball Tournament, losing to Missouri (7-3), Texas Tech (4-2), and Texas A&M (9-3) in succession. Our pitchers got rocked, our hitters couldn't string together hits that mattered, and we ended up in more easy double plays than a Chi-O after Little Sister tap-in.
Look, this is simple: I cannot go through June without Texas in Omaha. I need this. Bad. My other sporting alternatives are unwatchable, joyless major league baseball, the fainting wops of World Cup Soccer (yes, I'm going to try this again), and capturing spiders and/or scorpions in Marin during my mountain bike jaunts to battle Binky - my tiger beetle, in his terrarium.
And I don't have a tiger beetle. That's how hysterical I am right now.
If this ship isn't righted, this is the worst thing that ever happened in the last several weeks. Worse than when I left my keys at the gym, walked home, realized I didn't have my keys, and had to walk back. That's 45 minutes of my life I'll never have back, and a gym worker smirked at me with that "Oh, leave your keys, guy? Nice move!" look. I don't even want to get into the selfish bitch that wrote a check in the 9 items or less line at Safeway on Wednesday. This wasn't an excusable grandmother faux pas, but a fortysomething Marina yenta wearing Jackie O sunglasses and an insatiable hankering for tampons and Cranapple Juice. I had to restrain myself from following her out to her Volvo and bludgeoning her with a Swiffer WetJet. I'm just scaling the tragedy for you people.
And for you Safeway yenta, I hope Sex And The City 2 sucked.
We are assured of a regional, we'll pull a Top 8 seed somewhere between #4-#6, and we're still led by a salsa samurai warlord poet. I expect Augie to pull the right levers and push the right buttons, a packed, rowdy Disch to lift the team and restore the joy in their games, and a general restoration of God's order.
Get me to July, Longhorns. That's all I'm asking.