The 2021 White Sox season is over too soon. If you’re on this site, it was too soon. And the end was unseemly. Pretty damned ugly. As my now deceased eldest brother would have said, "ugly as a sack of assholes." Hence, the bad taste in our collective mouth.
But it’s human nature to hilariously dig in the salt mines looking for coal*, so I’ve spend much of the past 24 hours or so hunting up silver linings to shape around our particular dark cloud. Here is what I’ve found so far:
We’re one season closer to TLR’s retirement party. Though I doubt any of us will be invited.
My evenings are now free to catch up on all the movies I’ve put off watching.
Ano’s blood pressure will return to whatever still-alarmingly high rate passes for normal for him. And we can cut the wellness checks back to once a week.
The site trolls will migrate to the Bears’ and Bulls’ sites for the foreseeable future. Please note that when I say "trolls," I mean "trolls." Not the site’s curmudgeons, contrarians, and chronic pessimists. It wouldn’t be White Sox baseball without them.
Various players can rehab various body parts. And psyches as needed.
I can stop ignoring my grandkid’s calls and texts during games. This is a joke entry. My grandkids never call or text me. I call and text them. And they ignore me.
My wife gets to have the TV remote back.
I can listen to more music in the evenings. Hell, I’ve got The Lolas cranked right now.
Look at all those great free agents out there for the Sox to sign. Not that the Sox will sign any of the great ones.
No matter how far they may go, the Astros will still be stuck in Texas. Though I’m not sure their wives or daughters deserve it.
My still-at-home kids will probably get more attention. Probably.
I don’t have to care about the outcome of any sporting event ever again. Until next spring.
*Yes, it’s a Nazareth reference for all you other old people.