Since it was an off-night in my fandom, I tuned in to game 7 between Chicago and Cleveland, and grew more and more irritated as the game continued way past bedtime, until I tuned out and went to bed at midnight when they called a giant time out with the score tied at six. Except for the Impossible Dream year of the Red Sox when I was at college in Boston, I’m not a baseball fan, but I’ve tried to become one at various times for various reasons, such as when I was dating a girl who was a big fan and because many of my literary heroes are. Compounding the drag of not seeing the last inning, after staying up late anyway, was the awful chore of finding out how it played out next morning because all the news stories went way overboard on all the ancillary business, without first stating the simple facts of how the Cubs broke the tie and how the Indians rally failed.
Bottom line: Rain delay also keeps baseball off my must-love list. A little rain shower – hold up the World Series, game 7, at midnight – c’mon boys. There may be no crying in baseball, but there sure is dumb.