He swings, he misses, he folds.
I honestly do not know which is more exhausting, playing a large field MTT staring at 8pm and running deep, or sitting through every single pitch of a 22-inning marathon.
Every. Single. Pitch.
All 659 freaking one of them. Frankly, most of them were great, as there were nearly 40 strikeouts in the game, all told (even though the zone was a bit dodgy at times, it seemed.) Jeff Francis was....well, he was finally Jeff Francis.
Anyway, I can only say this...the only thing that sucks harder than having to play 22 innings and get on a plane for another road trip is, playing 22 innings and losing, and then having to get on a plan for another road trip. Sucks to be a Padre today, eh?
Kinda sucks to be me, too, in a small way. See, after I dunked and donked and won a Denver Poker Tour event last week, their annual semi-final is tonight. They're only playing down to top 20% or something similar, but honestely, I dunno how I'm going to be able to read cards by 10pm after watching every. single. pitch last night. Too bad, because if I can get over hundreds of semi-final players, and probably 80-100 final players, there's a WSOP seat with my name on it.
My Rox should have thought about that before torturing me so. But that's okay, the pain is good, even if it likely means the poker won't be.
And just in case anyone's wondering -- yeah, he touched it:
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