Pouring cats and dogs. Grey skies, not a Ray in sight. No crack of the bat. No roar of the crowd. No pop, nor gurgle of a beer poured. No sizzle of a brat. No slosh of a backpack margarita, or crunch of a cheesy nacho. No substandard Bullpen Bar Mai Tais. No homerun booms. No "HEGONE"s. No jerkoff umpires throwing out pitchers for below-the-knee pitches. No Smooth Sale-ing. No Bulldogging, Captaining, Cubaning, Baconing, Tanking, or Donkeying. No being glad "In Da Mout" Guillen is no longer around to draw attention to himself. No chance for Wee Willy Lillibridge to regain his rightful starting position in... somewhere. No excuse to go to the bar (wife knows I hate the NBA and NHL). Nothing to pump my fist about, while silently hollering at work. 8 wins in a row... and we've paused now, boys. Waiting for tomorrow. Keep streak alive.