Plotnik Goes to Confession

Dear Doctor Blogstein:

Plotnik is confessing. He hasn't been to Confession in, well, ever, but maybe it's time. Plotnikkies don't technically believe in Confession, but Plotnik sometimes talks to a butterfly he thinks is his grandfather, so how different is that?

It's only August. He wants to tell you about yesterday's Plotzer game.

The Great Plotnik had looked forward to having this crucial Rockies-Plotzers game on TV. In the top of the First Inning, Rafael Furcal walked and then Matt Kemp hit a home run. Once the Plotzers were ahead 2-0, Plotnik couldn't watch anymore.

At first, it was just the Rockies who he couldn't watch. In the bottom of the First he left the room, came back in the top of the Second, left in the bottom of the Second, missed all the Third, came back in the top of the Fourth, left in the bottom of the Fourth.

By the Fifth, he couldn't even watch the Plotzers bat. He sat in the hallway outside the TV room, with the TV on and Vin Scully calling the game, but staring at the wall not at the TV screen, listening to Andre Ethier pop up with the bases loaded. He heard James Loney do the same thing the next inning.

Then, Ducknik got home from school. "What are you doing?" she called. "I'm (unspoken: sitting in the hall, not watching the game) downstairs," he said. Ducknik does not understand but she does understand that she will never understand. She fixed lunch, and seeing as it was the most beautiful day of the year, said "why don't we eat outside?"

You can see what the sky looked like yesterday. It was so gorgeous, Ducknik had to take that picture.

"You go ahead," Plotnik said, "I'm going (unspoken: "to go sit on the floor in the hallway like an idiot) downstairs."

When George Sherill relieved in the bottom of the Eighth with the Plotzers still ahead by one, Plotnik couldn't even take sitting there anymore, he had to go out and start weeding the garden. He weeded. He transplanted. He raked. Baseball takes a long time to do anything. He weeded some more. He picked some epazote. He doesn't even like epazote.

When he went back to check, it was the bottom of the Ninth.

Apparently it was a tense half inning, but Plotnik missed all of it. He sat on the floor in his and Ducknik's room, talking to her about vacation plans and her class and half-listening to the ballgame, WHOSE SOUND HE HAD NOW TURNED OFF.

By the time he checked again the game was over and the Plotzers had won.

What a great game, Dr, Blogstein! You'd-a loved it!